I’m wincing as I pull my comb through my thick mass of dark kinky hair. It’s a very African hair that has not yet been subjected to the chemical touch of the Americans; so while my mates are all sporting silky, smooth, straight hair, I’m like a living relic from the past to remind them that once upon a time, African hair was kinky.

I will be late for school again. My hair is only half way combed and even that took about twenty minutes. It’s ten minutes to nine and there is no way my hair is going to be ready in five minutes so that I can get to school by nine for my Law of Contract lecture. Maybe ready for to scare a small child, or ready for the barber to cut or ready to make me cry but definitely not ready for me to take to school.

My friend is leaving me to school today. She’s already ready and really, I would not feel good about making her late to school again. I’ve already done that one too many times. My Indomie is still on my table, uneaten. That’s going to take me about fifteen minutes to finish. Where do I get 15 free minutes from?

Ouch! I think I’ve just pulled some strands of my hair from my scalp. This is bad. I wish I didn’t have kinky, untamed hair like this. It’s during times like this that I wish I was on a low cut hair. And it’s during times like this that I tell myself and anyone that’s willing to listen that I would cut my hair soon…

Hmmm….the hair’s gradually getting untangled. Now, I just have to take it easy and comb carefully and thoroughly to bring out the kinks and knots. Thank God it’s finally looking ready.

What’s the time now? What?! It’s already twenty minutes past nine. My phone is beeping. I have a message from my friend. Mr. Ochems is in class. So I am late again. The lecturer is already lecturing and I have an assignment to submit. I don’t feel like going to school anymore. My Indomie is really tantalising. If I eat it, I’ll get to school something around ten o’clock. If I don’t I’ll get hungry in class and my stomach will begin to pain me again. And I dread stomach ache? Oh, what’s a girl to do? I’ll just take one forkful of Indomie. Mmm…I’ll take one more. Just one more. Oh, why does food taste so good when one’s in a hurry?

I really have to leave now. I’ve covered the indomie and if it’s still edible when I get back then I’ll eat it but if not, poor indomie. I’ll have to throw it away.

I hope my afro hairstyle looks good. Bye…I have a class to catch. I hope there’s a bus waiting outside…