please, can you help me?

taking bucket baths is fun, i've found.

its a challenge, especially with long hair.

you get one pail of water to do the job. and if i'm careful enough i'll have the right amount left over that i can even use conditioner, but that takes diligent conservation. i can't just splash around.

i have a frugal disposition, i never like to run out comlpletely. i like to save. i like to keep an inch of water at the bottom of my bucket, just because. i'm the same way when i chop vegetables, leaving a chunk on the cutting board instead of throwing it all into the stirfry. it pays off well with some things, like my finances, and appears to be wasteful with others. this style of living is how i afford my travels.

the other night i had been rough with my hair, and knew i wouldn't be able to have a little extra water left AND condition. i had really scrubbed, lathering up my orange essence shampoo into a huge puffy cloud resting high above my head. this is not a good thing to do with limited water at hand, but the day was dusty and it all settled over me, wrapping me up in a dirt cloth. i needed to get clean.

after i dried off, my hair had really turned into a disaster. it looked like seven scraggly 4 year olds who just woke up from naptime had donated to Locs of Love, and i had bought the wig.

it was nighttime, the house was dark, so i walked outside and around the corner to the dining room to where a lantern was burning. i wanted to brush it all out in the light.

Sakola was sitting at the dining room table, relaxing. i sat down next to him and began the work at hand, ripping and working the brush through the mess i had created. i quickly got tired and offered him the brush. i even turned my chair around in the perfect hairdressor/client position. i was curious to see if he would be interested at all.

he took the brush from my hand and smiled. he stood up and started to untangle what was in front of him.

i closed my eyes and let him do all the work. it's a tough life having long hair. i never knew this, until it grew.

he brushed and brushed, like i was his doll. when he got close to my ears he paid special attention, like he was dealing with the top secret intricacies, like MacGyver. he'd move slowly down my scalp and then whip the brush down my back towards the end of my hair.

if this was a profession, he was qualified, and hired.

not only was i enjoying every moment, i think the oddity of a white woman's hair had him hypnotized into never leaving my side. we were there, in the dim light, listening to sounds rumbling far off in the village, for quite some time. i didn't feel uncomfortable once. i loved every second of it.

brush brush brush brush. brush brush brush brush. no words, just brushing. occasionally the comb would find a newly formed tangle. it'd snag and i would hear Sakola say "saahhhri" in English.

i thought about what HE was thinking about, and how he could have possibly been doing this for so long. i giggled, he laughed too and handed me my brush.

"Dayie (sleep well)" he said.

"You too."

i went to bed enjoying the simplicity of what had just occurred and a head full of smooth hair.