Home from Jamaica . . .

Sand. Sea. Sun. Snorkel. Scuba dive. Sleep. All good things in Jamaica.

The day before I left work, my students discussed that I should get my hair braided in corn rows while in Jamaica. They went so far as to establish a donate-to-Nina’s-corn-row-fund. Several students donated. My supervisor donated. A professor who by chance walked in during the discussion donated to the cause. In a PowerPoint presentation blasted on a 20 foot high screen was the agenda for a meeting with co-workers. First item on the agenda was a request for money to my hair braiding fund. How embarrassing.

I was hesitant. One must be dignified (mustn’t one) when in a managerial role in an office at a prestigious university? And what about going to church? And riding the public transportation to work?

But as they say in Jamaica, don’ worry mon! No problem.

So I went to Latoya who was recommended to me by Beth, a lady who was staying in our hotel. Latoya braided Beth’s hair. And, Latoya’s salon is on the beach under the shade of the palm trees.

I used to think I was fairly tough headed. I could take what ever any hairdresser threw my way. But I hadn’t had a Jamaican hairdresser before. Bamboo spikes under my fingernails would be a Sunday walk in the park compared to having Latoya braid my hair. And part of the time she was talking on her cell phone. Never missing a beat either with her conversation nor with her pulling my scalp to its utmost limits. (Christi, you would NEVER be able to stand having Latoya braid your hair!!)

When I got back to the hotel, Beth asked if I needed any Tylenol for my headache. Tylenol, no. Morphine, yes.

While in Jamaica, I saw so many people with their hair braided — men, women, teeny children. My question: how in the world could they ever get a good night sleep with all those beads in their hair.

I’m counting the days until I can take the beads and braids out. Wonder if my hair will ever be normal again . . .