'Barufu' - By Kemi Jinadu

Abena walked into the class room and glances trailed her, chatting was halted for minutes as majority are in awe of how unique and remarkably beautiful she appeared.  Abena’s dark skin colour, colour of charcoal not so much of an exaggeration but is pretty close, her curvaceous slim body settled into the seat at the front row of the classroom.  

Immediately curiosity took over me, one thing I knew for sure was that Abena originated from Africa but which part of Africa was the question of the day for me.  Rwanda? Uganda? Senegal? And other eastern Africa countries begin to play back and forth in my mind. 

Then Modupe walked in chewing and humming to herself oblivious to the others seated awaiting the speaker.  Being a Nigerian myself it was not so difficult to figure out that she also originated from Nigeria; she had this conventional Yoruba look, her dress size was about UK eighteen to twenty.  Modupe’s back side was noticeable; part of her body feature one cannot help but give a minute stare, it shakes systematically up and down as she walks which makes her pace smaller and slower like those chubby legs were too heavy to be moved. 

Not so long the speaker walked in and asked everyone to sit in a circle, we were about twenty people in the classroom, not many.  Everybody stood up and grabbed their chair to make a circle then my eyes caught Abena’s dark flawless skin as it glimmers against the ray of sunlight that shines through the window blinds. 

Everything about Abena makes a statement, Africa! She had a long plaited corn roll weaved to the back of her head with long extensions; she also wore a designed sort of leather earring matching her sandals and bracelet that moves up and down those slender arms to compliment the outfit.  

The speaker told us to introduce ourselves giving our names, what we do, marital status etc Modupe introduce herself as a nurse and a mother of three then Abena informed us that she was at the time a freelance writer. 

I was taken aback when Abena introduced herself as a “mother of four”and that she's forty-eight years on earth; for a second I thought she might be lying but what good does it do?  She would pass as a twenty-four years old without kids.   Inquisitiveness was an understatement if compared to the immediate answer I craved from Abena to satisfy my curiosity.  I did not get to speak to anyone after the workshop because it was getting late so everybody hurried home. 

The duration of the workshop was for three months the following week the speaker came late, people subconsciously begin to team up into groups of three to four to chat and to get to know one another even more.  Guess it was natural for me, Modupe and Abena to indirectly form our own group being the only coloured people in the classroom.  We talked and answers to my questions for Abena was granted, I will share the secret to Abena’s looks some other time; she's more of an organic veggie type of person. 

One day we were having lunch together; then Modupe announced that she might not come in next week.  "Why?"  Abena and myself spat out the word at the same time.  “My daughter wanted more Brazilian hair, those hair are expensive so I have decided to work overtime”. Modupe retorted. 

A thought ran through my mind, this workshop is not free a daughter that feels it is mandatory to wear Brazilian hair must work hard to buy Brazilian hair, especially if the parent cannot afford it.  Then I said, “Can't you work overtime on a weekend or any other day aside workshop day?"  “This coming weekend I have to attend a family wedding, can’t afford not to go because they are very close to me” Modupe responded.

As a business woman this was my opportunity to advertise, I informed Modupe that I sell Brazilian, Mongolian and Indian weaves. Wink!   Immediately Modupe jumped at the opportunity, “can you bring in four packs of twenty-eight to thirty-two inches lengths of Brazilian hair next week, she love them long and full just like Beyonce!” I saw taciturn Abena rolled her eyes at the mention of Beyonce. 

“I thought you are not coming in?” Oh I will come in if I am buying it from you, Modupe answered.  “So how’re you going to pay if you don’t have the money now and you’re coming in next week?”  “Ha! I will pay small by small but first I will give you £50 deposit” Modupe replied.  
“Never!” I exclaimed.  In the past I have learnt from bitter experience not to mix business with sentiment or pleasure plus I have a golden rule for Brazilian hairs, I do not sell on credit the worst is that you put deposit (half of the full price) and you can collect when I receive full payment.

I was gripped with shock when Modupe with a bewildered look on her face informed us that her fourteen year old daughter was just a teenager.  I did not realised my face was still lit up with surprise until Abena said “can you put a smile on that face” I smiled, then everybody was silent. 

We left for the classroom, the following week I was amazed to see Modupe in class I was not expecting her to turn up. We exchanged greetings during the first cigarette break given to smokers or to those who want to quickly use the gents or ladies. Then as we were about to resume session I heard my name “I need to see you after class, don’t rush off please” Modupe said.  So I nodded to show my acknowledgement.    

On the way home it was our usual trio, suddenly out of the bloom I heard Modupe asking if I brought the extensions, I said “No”.  At that point I regretted telling her I sell Brazilian hair because my intuition told me she won’t let things be just the way they are; I will only sell if she was ready to pay the full amount. 

“Can’t she wear braids or corn roll like every other child? Abena asked? “Oh all her friends wear Brazilian hair she is the odd one out; the Brazilian hair I bought the last time was fake so she cannot re-use them” Modupe answered.  I watched in horror as Modupe uttered those words.  “But she is only fourteen!” Abena reminded her. 

Anabel an English lady a native of Yorkshire also from the same workshop caught up with us as we chatted away on the road side; she tickled my waist from behind, I looked back then smiled.  

“Yes I know, but children of these days are different; their generation is just not the same with ours they want everything from long hair to make-up” Modupe continued.  

“Yes I know mi twelve years old wants her hair coloured then tinted and highlighted” Anabel caught in with her usual rhythm-like accent. I wish Annabel could just shut up, I thought.  Then Modupe jumped up and clapped like a school kid who has just been given candy “I know! I know!” Modupe repeated; her countenance changed; it was full of joy.

Three weeks later, I was getting ready to get up when I heard a bang on my desk , looked down and it was four packs of Brazilian hair, “see” Modupe said as she pointed at the packs of hair scattered in front of me.   
“I get anything I want am sure yours is barufu not the real thing” Modupe said as she smiles and swayed her sturdy body left and right victoriously.

Is been a while that I have heard or use the word “Barufu” wanted to reply her but on second thought I held back because am sure of the product I sell “no counterfeit”.   You're looking at me “se o ri mi ri ni? Jo o ti e wa bami wo bo ya motu ti ra barufu oooo, Modupe continued in Yoruba language, then I burst out into laughter.

To be continued……………………………….

By K Jinadu

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