I realize that no one else probably cares about my hair as much as I do, but I care about my hair a lot so bear with me. I have this theory that if you have curly hair you are really, really into it and it is kind of a defining quality of yourself because if you have curly hair you inevitably spent years struggling with it until you figured out how to make it look amazing. Well, when I came to The Gambia I think maybe the universe was trying to teach me a lesson about vanity because the constant dust and heat and lack of basic vitamins and nutrients was making my hair coarse and brittle and worst of all it was falling out at an alarming rate. But then a couple weeks ago, my friend Anika (the one who magically made a cheesecake) gave me a magical hair cut on her front porch even though she had only cut hair twice before. I think I lost about six inches because it was all dead and now my hair is probably the shortest it’s been since I was twelve, but it looks great. So there, universe, you didn’t teach me anything.
(That’s not Anika, that’s Jo.)