I Miss My Aunt
Nostalgia from important women in my life, Black womanhood, and my current read
I have a self-proclaimed aunt, whom I miss dearly. Here I am, on a random Saturday eating a mini sweet potato pie, thinking to myself this reminds me of Miss Alana. Let me give you some backstory.
When I was growing up, I would get my hair braided. Ive been natural my whole life, I loc’d my hair in fourth grade. My favorite styles before I loc’d were two-strand twists and conrow-like braids with lots of beads (picture Williams sisters’ beads).
Anyway, half of my memory from growing into a preteen took place at Miss Alana’s apartment with her cat, Calypso. The smell of incense, Dr. Bronner’s peppermint soap, and the smell-good scent of freshly braided hair has been engraved into my memory. She would share her recent baked goods, my personal favorite being her banana bread, and give the warmest hugs.
We would binge Project Runway and The British Bake-Off, eat banana bread, oddly side eye her odd cat whom roamed around her house as she washed and braided my sister and my hair, and gossip about school, our friends, and our recent discoveries within ourselves. Sometimes Princess of China by Rihanna would be humming in the background.
I would draw, type out the beginning of stories I’ll probably never finish, write in my diary. I would often break out in tears in her bathroom. Looking back, that was probably because I was extremely comfortable there and I deeply feel emotions and sobbing frequently tends to be my method of showing happiness.
There is such an intimacy between Black women and getting our hair done. As I grew up, so much culture was introduced to me in Miss Alana’s private hair “salon”.
I’m currently reading Honey & Spice by Bola Babalola and so many quotes and characteristics have been sticking out and making me reflect on my experience with the Black women—aunties— in my life.
I’ve been having the weirdest grin on my face as I read Honey & Spice. (Of course, once I finish the book I will report back with another jaw-droppingly long book reflection.)
Keke, the main character, is low-key just. like. me.
“‘Sis’ was a powerful, potent word, one that had the power to build up or destroy with the same intensity; it was a sword that could either be used to knight or slice.”
The characters speak in AAVE and it’s the best real-life connection I’ve read in my entire life.
“We were taking out our bins at the same time one morning, both in our PJs—which happened to both be jersey shorts and tank tops—hair wrapped in satin scarves… We gave each other polite, silent nods and smiles, acknowledging the intrinsic kinship derived from makeshift pajamas and Black womanhood…”
This quote specifically reminded me of Miss Alana.
I’ve also been listening to more Kendrick Lamar and Samara Joy, learning how to play Spades, baking chocolate creme pies, and burning more Beluga Bliss essential oils. Drinking French-pressed coffee with splashes of almond milk, reading Toni Morrison and Audre Lorde. And loving myself (who I am, who I was born as, and who I am becoming) and people who look like me a little extra.
I credit Miss Alana for helping me truly see the beauty of Black womanhood. If I could be the Miss Alana to someone in my life, I’ve truly succeeded.
Yulani.