Koko's Hair

“Foster Them and They Will Also Foster You.”

My Koko is eighty years old. She is a short lady who moves much slower these days, but does not skip a beat. She wakes up at the same time every morning, slowly gets down on her knees and prays, gets up and takes a tour around the house with her hands clasped behind her back inspecting every corner of the house. She opens all the curtains and blinds and if its Thursday, she grabs her oversized, wool sweater, slides her flip flops over her socks, and goes out the back door to take the overflowing trash can down to the curb. She comes back inside and sits in her chair behind the couch and stares at the TV. She does not understand anything that is going on as she cannot speak English. As everyone else hustles and bustles around trying to get out the door to start there work day, she sits and stares back and forth, sometimes smiling, sometimes not. Koko does not eat breakfast before her bath. Never. However, before she does, she toasts her bread and heats up her tea in a saucepan that she keeps on the counter next to the stove. Koko meticulously makes her bed and lays out her clothes for the day atop the neatly made bed. She does not use the shower. Just like back home, she she uses a round plastic basin to bathe in the bathtub as to not waste water.

After her bath she gets dressed up as if she is heading out for the day. Always a long skirt or liputa (Congolese traditional skirt) she grabs her already prepared breakfast and cup of tea placing it on the side table next to her chair behind the couch. She ties her scarf around her head and bows her head to pray for her first meal of the day. Then she eats. Slowly. Enjoying each crumb, each sip.  Just as I am bout to bolt out of the door, she says, "Ya Chanty," and asks me to add soap to the already loaded washing machine.

She will fill the rest of her day with cooking, cleaning, checking on her garden, writing her books (her life stories), bringing the trash can back to the house, and watching her favorite show Family Feud. Family Feud, contrary to what you may think, does not require you to know English. Koko likes when the black families win! 

Then there are days when she says "Ya Chanty" and asks if I can find some time to braid her hair. I never say no. Sometimes I forget that I had agreed to do it. But I never say no. I grab my wide tooth comb, Softee coconut pomade, and rat tail comb. Koko sits in her chair behind the couch and takes of her scarf revealing the silver and white mounds of hair on her head. She does not complain about it ever. She likes her gray hair. She calls it her "wisdom". My Koko, like most Kokos keeps her hair covered so it usually gets matted if not braided. I rub the pomade all over and use my finger tips to massage her scalp ever so gently. She closes her eyes and clasps her hands in her lap. What is she thinking?  

I did not grow up with my grandma. She lived in the Congo most of my life. She came when I was born and then when I was twelve when my youngest sister was born. Unfortunately, I barely remember either of those visits. Even when I was twelve, I only remember bits an pieces. So, now as an adult, I try to savor every moment with her. 

I comb out her hair. It has grown. "Koko, your hair grew," I tell her. She is surprised. I ask if she wants to see the growth in the mirror. "Eh?" she laughs. She doesn't want to see, just tells me to braid. I take the rat tail comb and start to make rows from front down to the back. Her hair in front is not much anymore, but I still manage to grab and begin the braids. Always six, neat, not so tight, plaits.  We don't talk much and she never says if its too tight or too loose. Sometimes, I don't do my best. Not for a lack of trying, just having an off braiding day. But Koko never says anything. Good or bad. She never complains. This time, I'm proud of my work, but whether she likes it or not, I'll never know. "Okay Koko, I'm finished." She just says okay, dusts off the hair that fell on her shirt, and goes to the bathroom to put on her scarf. And her "wisdom" becomes hidden from the world, until I I get to braid it again.