A new moisturiser can’t stop you from getting older

August 13, 2021August 13, 2021 A. M. KLeave a comment

My adventure with American consumerist culture and unattainable perfection coincides with my journey out of my twenties, the need to control, the allure of perfection, – skin, shape, perfect endings – to conversations, to relationships, to life; and the second semi-apocalyptic wave of covid 19 in the country [and earlier, the world] these past two months.

Like most other teenagers, I battled with self image and self expression. When I learned to talk I said too much and when I tried to keep quiet, I sometimes expressed myself with strange things like the short lived relief of breaking glass [before you have to search for every last piece]. When I discovered the impact of food and exercise, I became adept at cutting out bad food and felt a little more ‘healthier than thou’ when someone in the supermarket aisle picked the junk food I had managed not to pick after my own dizzying battle with myself of Should I or should I not? The more chaotic I felt at different periods of my life, the less I ate and the more I controlled what I did not eat.

Goop came to me at a time when I was new to juggling career and motherhood. Their podcast made me feel a little bit more sane because it talked about intricate details of things I wondered about. There was an episode on hormones, thyroid function and imbalance after pregnancy. I listened to it like I had just received a revelation about my life. I would get home and remain in the parking lot listening to one more last word. I looked forward to the daily grind of shoving errant third lane drivers into pavements and in the way of rushing trailers during the morning’s traffic jam because of these podcasts. Finally I noticed that at the start and in the middle of the podcasts, they were selling something tangible- something perfect. Months before when I had read a review of Marie Kondo’s work, I had left feeling annoyed and disturbed at the writer’s cynicism. It was a video about folding clothes and the comment was, “Well, she must be selling some thing. She’s probably selling boxes.” What I did not know was that the commenter had more experience than I did with consumerist culture. They were American after all.

The first thing I got myself was a Schmidt’s deodorant last Christmas. I had dreamed of what it would feel like to stop worrying about what my natural brand deodorant was up to by lunch time. Due to my health concerns with conventional deodorant, I longed to finally be a part of Jean Godfrey June’s cohort of Schmidt’s wearers- her teenage son and her musician boyfriend who played in a band- all potential victims of excessive sweat. I was promptly disappointed. Even the cheapest commercial brands did not leave white streaks anymore. The stick melted and the odor of green tea in my arm pits not only made me question the choice of smelling like green tea but it also merged with me to create a much deeper funky scent accented by a hint of green tea. I convinced myself that Schmidt’s was not made for the African sun and our Ugandan humidity.

Stepping into the huge shoes of any new age is daunting, but especially if its a big rounded number like 30. Apart from viewing myself from the lens of what my 8 year old self would think of me- that is, a grown woman- I have the ultimate questions of a to-be 30 year old, Am I making it? One of the areas where I have constantly questioned myself is the goals I set myself and my impact in the work place. Coupled with this, is the constant need to prove that I am self reliant, that I am something to be proud of, that I turned out well, or in more colloquial terms, that I did not waste school fees. Amidst this, you start to notice the balding, the greying, the hunching, the glazing over of eyes once strong, of the axis upon which our life, support, self worth and validation once revolved. Anyway…Where are we going after this place is over?

So, in line with the above, I decided to buy a belated birthday present for one half of my life forming duo. I bought something that I could buy, but not something I could afford comfortably; like, if the government bought cars for the Olympic medalists whom on their normal salary could not afford to fuel for their cars. Through the sample kit I received with the package, I, in a shorter time frame than I had originally planned, experienced my long awaited first taste of one of the best advertised lotions on the website.

There was tingling and slight burning immediately but I looked a bit different [maybe the allusion of fancy?] the next day so I continued with it. If it had been that pink lotion that my aunt had brought my mother and me from a certain mama lususu some years back, I would have questioned it sooner. No, this was a high end product by well researched wellness focused wealthy people who in the words of Gwyneth’s mother about good marital matches, ‘do not take fixer-uppers.’ By day three, I had broken out in a rash and my skin was red from what I eventually learned was the 20% Ascorbic Acid in the cream. Still, I did not throw it out immediately. It has taken me days to accept that I bought into the world of aggressive marketing and organic 100% pure naturally derived wellness consumerism.

When I finally accepted that I had been confused by money and unattainable perfection, I found an article that explained everything to me, including a statement which should not have shocked me but did – A new moisturizer can’t stop you from getting older. Embedded in my new found interest for clean beauty was the fear that my pre-30 year old face might be my best face and that I will soon join that dark oblivion where mammy caricatures endure- no svelte, no edge – just sexlessness. Most fellow millennials still can’t believe that we are not the babies anymore, we are actually the ones having babies,; and yet for women our life armor still includes beauty. I have not yet been convinced by microblading, false lashes, wigs and makeup, probably because my dream list is more acupuncture, supplements, anti-oxidants, more sleep and face yoga. I think it has to do with the disappointing feeling that comes when you rub off the concealer, the primer, thefoundation, tinted moisturiser, blush, mascara and red lipstick. An un-contoured face becomes like an unfinished painting.

The beginning of the thirties comes with, the more important things, like the rush to collect and compare even more financial and career accolades as success indicators. Moisturiser should only be a small part, but clearly, it isn’t.

Story

Housegirl

May 31, 2021June 1, 2021 A. M. KLeave a comment

The aftermath of Naaka’s dismissal was like the others, a disgruntled upheaval, a cycle of distaste for everything that revealed any tendency for displaying an authentic glow of happiness.

She was not the first, but it was highly likely that she would not be the last. Many others had been sent packing in the wee hours of the morning and the fourteen year old who constantly burst into trickles of childish unblemished laughter had not gone without a scene. She had been driven out like a demon. The answer was always the same. She didn’t want them in her house. She could do without them.

Naaka’s troubles had began with a few mishaps. She smiled too much, she had too many clothes, she laughed recklessly, she watered the plants when it was raining. Finally, she forgot to cook food without being reminded and for this she was threatened with a saucepan-sponsored head smashing.

The start of Naaka’s demise began the night that the woman who wasn’t supposed to be came around. The woman, daughter of the Head Smasher, had come home that evening to a warm welcome; child and husband in tow. The evening had been like any other, with hard liquor, soft liquor, food and uncommon sounds of her father laughing. Meanwhile, the HS seethed and puffed and heaved until she almost reached smoking point. Finally, because she thought no one had noticed her, she threatened them with the one thing she still had control over, losing control. She grabbed a bottle, tilted it violently at a 90 degree angle and swerved to the kitchen with her glass.

After the trio had left, life resumed as normal, a handful of scrutiny and a fresh carpet of anger and resentment restored, the air was once again heavy with that annoying uncertainty when nothing is right and nothing is wrong.

Unknown to the gang, Naaka was not as stupid and childish as she presented herself. On that night, Naaka had told their secrets to the woman’s maid- the woman who was never supposed to be. Prior to this, the woman, known as Pine, had only seen with her heart what the atmosphere could not say with words. As the gang had sat in her judgement night after night, Naaka lay around playing the literal village fool.

It all began around the time, children begin to reveal who they are going to be. Most adults, well versed in the ways of the world, begin to align themselves with the most brilliant, most social, most beautiful – most likely to be successful child. They map out their life for them; what they will become, where they will work, where they will live, who they will marry and what glory that will bring to the parent plant.

Pine was not that child. It had been years since the conversations that predicted her downfall commenced; her pitied choices, her low standards and the life of sorrow destined for her. But life, as it sometimes does, had tricked them and things had not quite gone as planned. So, a comrade volunteered herself. She would be the friend, possibly the confidant, report back on all matters sad and poor. This she did with the dexterity of an office messenger. She laughed, she visited, she planned, she helped. But, even the best laid lies leave a trail.

The trail began the day, the one who was to be, It-boy arrived. It-boy arrived on one of those hot sunny days which turn into a dark cloudy rainy day when the day turns grey before dusk . On the day, there was a two hour jam from town to the outskirts which Pine insisted that her and Pau disregard in order to meet and greet him. This only confirmed to It-boy just how beneath him they both really were.

Unfortunately for Comrade, he was a much less seasoned, tactless soldier whose actions conveyed exactly what he had been told in secret. He would never have lasted a day as a double agent.

After all, he had started by distancing himself as openly as a child whose father tells her to avoid her cousins during Christmas holidays does. He purposely aligned himself with only those he assumed were the highest in hierarchy- obedient as told. To his dismay and to Comrade’s utter shock, the Chief Source of Power glared past him like a man determined.

In HS’s opinion, research, skills and experience, there was always a hierarchy among siblings. In her clan, there was always the well off one- the one who gave to the poor ones, there was always the one who wanted to be like the wealthy one- the wannabe, there was the one who was unemployed, there was the drunk and there was the one who remained in the village to take care of the house and beat his wife.

HS had trained Comrade very well but Comrade, in one of her weak moments had recited one of their impoverished but treasured beliefs, a scarcity memento; No one can wish better for you than what they have for themselves. Stephanie R Covey had called it a Win Lose attitude.

As Pine’s path became a little less pre-determined, at the dinner when it became clearer that there was one, who though unworthy, never left Pine’s side. I am her best friend, Comrade had laughed. Short and sweet, except that it clarified at least one thing that was true- she expected that she was Pine’s best friend but Comrade had never regarded Pine as her own friend.

It showed. It showed. While Comrade had planned Pine’s wedding, she had kept everything including her wedding venue from Pine. Pine would be an invited guest, an outsider, a witness to her happiness. As she changed her mind over whether Pine would sing or not sing and as Pine debated over what song the bridal party would enter to, the It-boy, a worldwide emblem of all confused-confusers, a psychologist’s tool for explanation as to why brokenness attaches to brokenness- fakeness to fakeness- asked out loud, who Pine was supposed to be anyway. She was supposed to be the matron- maid of honour- that was what Comrade had said to her. It-boy had once again exposed the charade.

The night that Naaka spilled their secret was the second last night she held that job. A potential victim of head-smashing, she went down like Tounde in Houseboy. She had heard what she was not supposed to hear and her presence now remained like a glowing red thumb which had just been shut between a door and its frame. She was like the all knowing eye that sat with them at the table and followed them as they had their conversations.

They created trumped up charges against her. Because she was a twin, they said, she was a ghost, an evil spirit. She had confessed to practicing witchcraft, they said. For this, she was sentenced to freedom; freedom from the peace-thirsty beat down and the suffocating land of head-smashers and double agents.