Three days ago on a hot sunny afternoon, friend and I were taking a walk to our room after a long day of hectic classes. We were all hungry and dog tired. Bags on our backs, we walked slowly laughing at our stupid jokes and just making small talk. Then my friend showed me a pack beautiful tigresses walking towards our direction. I would have called them ladies but the way they walked gracefully engrossed in their own stories really caught my attention.
Four ladies dressed in mini-skirts. Those type of mini-skirts that expose beautiful thighs like a smooth well-crafted sculpture. It was like a beautiful painting that was hung in a wall of a well-lit private art gallery.
One lady in particular caught my eye. She was tall with a chocolate complexion and her smile oh my!!
Perhaps ‘smile’ isn’t the right word for it — the top row of teeth was showing, and there was a faint curve to the lips, but there was no crease below the eyes, no movement of the cheeks. On anyone else, it would be a grimace, at best. But to me it was something different.
“Hey man you gotta be my wing man. I have to say hi to this lady,” I told my friend. Although he somehow resisted, he agreed and off I went for the kill. “Hello ladies,” I stopped them scanning their faces from left to right with a witty smile plastered across my face. Curious eyes and facial expressions showed on their faces as if asking me, “What do you want?”
As if answering their imaginary question I said, “You are the first most beautiful chiq I have seen today. I had to say hi,” looking at the lady of my dreams. Oh my, the same smile appeared almost making my words disappear. It really took balls to approach this lady who happened to be in that fierce pack. Well, my friend did his work well to engage the rest of the group. The rest of the conversation is history because some of the team mafisi want to steal my vibe.
A cool breeze blew towards me. Normally I would let it massage my face, my ears and my sweaty body due to the hot atmosphere, but today it was different. I turned to look whether there was a pit around. I didn’t see one. Neither did I see anything rooting around. The normal fresh calm wind had been contaminated by something I didn’t know what it was.
Oh no!!! It was her hair. At first it looked alright until i realised she must have gone to the salon 2 months ago. The long dark braids that made her look so appealing had not received a massage from Mr Water for a very long time. That smile that I had dried up. “Why didn’t you wash your hair?” I almost asked her. I would have taken the number of that girl down for a later coffee or lunch date but her hair hygiene caused me to politely say, “It was a pleasure meeting you ladies,” and off we went.
Please dear ladies kindly wash your hair. If you always keep yours clean pass the message.
It’s noble to share.