Of Coffee and Apple Cider Vinegar

apple cider vinegar

If you were having coffee with me, I would ask you if you ever tried Apple Cider Vinegar, between you and me I would tell you I think it tastes pretty horrible and also drinking it neat like a shot of whiskey is super bad for your internal organs because its acidic hello.. Dilute maybe from one teaspoon up-to four teaspoons at most of ACV to a glass of water.

Why would you drink it? Well its been the all new rage in the natural community for ages now, with it being claimed to be a great tonic and natural remedy for weight loss, belly fat reduction, lowering blood sugar, lowering cholesterol, reduces heart attacks, reduces cancer risk, kills some bacteria…

Image result for natural remedy clipart

If you were having coffee with me I would tell you that, some of this is not quite scientifically proven yet but the internet is full of raving reviews on the amazing benefits of Apple Cider Vinegar so having some in your kitchen cupboard and using it occasionally in a salad and in the odd kitchen hacks might not be a bad thing at all.

And I have recently discovered a new ACV use too, its apparently a great hair wash.

So the ACV wash is great for dreadlocks, removes build up makes hair feel softer. Someone even claimed their hair felt longer too. (But I wouldnt know about that hey, mine feels longer after every wash day.)

If you were having coffee with me I would tell you that I havent quite figure out the ingredients for my next hair was but wish me luck because while I was figuring out how you mix an ACV hair wash I noticed you add bicarb and if I paid any attention to chemistry class well that is essentially a neutralization reaction between an acid (ACV) and a base (bicarb) to give a fancy fizzy salty water solution

acid + base + fancy salt water

The way the economy is set up and I be not having apple cider vinegar to waste washing my hair decided to look up the next available chemical reaction in the kitchen cabinets and I found a citric acid powder, which should work in place of ACV.

tiyler's citric acid

Its also interesting to note some people use lemon juice to wash their hair and citric acid occurs naturally in citrus fruits, I am thinking it should all work out

Wish me luck, lest my hair fall out

Rasta salt and pepper beard


PS Have you tried the ACV as a hair wash, as a face tonic or even in a salad; what are your thoughts, any interesting hacks to share in the tips

Of Anniversary Coffee With A Writing Challenge

If you were having coffee with me……

coffee mug next to fire

I would tell you that if you haven’t figured me out by now you really should know that I am is a story teller….. I tell stories. Life happens and I tell stories.

Well technically I write them, but in my head, as I write, I tell the story, and I imagine, you really are here, listening, my imaginary audience, I even imagine how you will react the way you are shaking your head right now and then reading this paragraph again from the start…. Its freaky isn’t it

I know right.

…..and there is a fire, there’s always a fire, the Story Gods are appeased by the flames, as it has always been. Fire is my spirit animal.

If you were having coffee with me I would tell you that you are a voice in my head, correction, one of the voices in my head. Don’t be alarmed I am not a crazy person, and stop It!!! Stop trying to imagine what goes on in my head.

My head for your own information is quite fine, I had it examined today even. I looked in the mirror and I thought to myself I look fine right? And my hair is quite long!!



My brothers agree with you too.

me and them.jpg


If all the people who thought exactly what you are thinking right now (yes I read minds sometimes besides you are a figment of my imagination remember) if all those people were doctors I would be telling you this story from the comfort of an asylum and I would be asking you why straitjackets don’t come in any fun colours…. A rainbow coloured strait jacket Id rock that.


also dont believe my brothers they are no better, they just dont write


If you were coffee with me I would tell you that if my blog had gone to High School it would be matriculating or writing its General Certificate of Secondary Education O levels just about now.


As an anniversary gift to my blog I shall present it with a blogging challenge to write a blog post everyday for the month of September. The general theme of the posts will be #MyAfricaMyWords and you will get an insight into who I am, why I blog and the place I call home.

Brace yourself  and do drop by to read, hang out and encourage me…. If you would like to take part in this challenge, consider yourself tagged… You Are In. Bring a friend.


Look out for the following hashtags on social media #30DayAfriwriter #BlogTemberChallenge #MyAfricaMyWords


Ps I have been day dreaming on the future of storytelling I wont be impressed until someone invents (you know how some phones have that speech-to-text function) a thought-to-text function you simply think out the words and they are plucked out of your head to magically appear on the screen including the relevant images ……

You should come visit my head.

Have an awesome week.

Of Coffee On WashDay

If you were having coffee with me…… you would be in time to join me on my washday ritual. Washday for me comes every once in an assymetrical number of days, possibly weeks sometimes monthly there is no definite system, but usually the weekend before a week with events I want to look my best…… Happy Valentine’s day  ♥♥♥♥

Screenshot (40).jpg


WashDay I circle it on my calendar in red over and over again and in case you are wondering, washday is not about laundry, it is a whole day dedicated to all things hair. I have twisted locks and you can tell by the length of my locks I am fanatic about it, you can call me Rasta B  


First step is oil treatment or a conditioning mask, shampooing the hair makes it dry and brittle so first I pre-oil.


After that the soap opera begins, detangling, anti-dandruff shampoo…. Lather, rinse and repeat until the hair foams freely and the rinse water runs clear. My eyes always wind up blood-red like I have been huffing paint; I have tried No More Tears Shampoo, but am not sure how much of it one must drink to stop the tears, though you start burping really cool bubbles. Sometimes when I run out of shampoo I use dish-washing liquid, and fabric softener as a conditioner. Some say it’s a terrible idea, some say its ok, all I know is it works except for an urge to want to wipe down dishes in the kitchen sink with my hair.

I am currently raving about a shampoo I bought from a street salesman. H e approached me while I was walking in town and said “Rasta Big Up, I promise if you buy this stuff you wont regret it” and since it cost only $1 I decided why not. He even gave me his number assuring me I would be placing a future order.


I was a bit skeptical the bottle and label is unremarkable and the unscented gel shampoo smells is like detergent but I have to give it  a thumbs up a single palmful lathers up my entire hair and it doesnt dry it out. I think it has traces of conditioner and moisturiser in it. I’ll definitely be calling him up for my next fix.

If you were having coffee with me we would sit in the sun, and warm up after that soap opera affair as we wait for my hair to drip dry. One always hopes washday falls on a nice warm and sunny day.


Next I section my hair into some sort of buns or is it bangs? I am not quite sure. Followed finally by retwisting all the new hair growth with beeswax; some oil and moisturiser.


My hairdresser introduced me to this hair Ganjalizer Super Natural Herbal Hair Food. I suspect it has questionable legality issues seeing as the label claims it contains 100% Ganja also known as marijuana, cannabis, weed, herb, hemp…. People who sell it don’t display it and if you look like a plain clothed policeman undercover (i.e clean shaven; plain bald head) and ask for it they will tell you it’s out of stock.



It does have the scent of marijuana and I think when you use it you might want to stay away from police sniffer dogs or areas where drug searches are conducted…. just to be safe. Common street myth is if you want your hair to grow luxuriously infusing marijuana seeds into your petroleum jelly and using that as hair food is the holy grail.


If you were having coffee with me I would tell you about the acid test of successfully completed washday.

The Acid Test …. Walking downtown in an area where hairdressers and barbers are lined up on the pavement seeking out clients… If not a single one of them calls you and says “lets style or cut” or offer any service done on your hair then you know your hair is on point. Though sometimes just to fool you they might just call you…….

If you were having coffee with me I would ask you if a random hot person compliments you on your hair and then when you smiling and feeling yourself graciously trying to accept the compliment and then they suddenly say “By the way I am a hairdresser, here is my card call me sometime……” how genuine was the compliment they paid you or did they speak to you just to solicit for a potential client and would you call them?

Thanks for the visit do you have any hair routines and tips you might want to share? Have a happy heart day.


Ps Some guys have washday too ☻☺☻


Of The Great TV Licence Conspiracy

TV Licence

I answered a knock at my gate, only to find it was a TV Licence Inspector and he was like ‘Sir I would like to see your VALID TV licence, if you do not have one; you can either renew it because I conveniently am authorised to issue out and renew licenses or I can write you ticket and you pay at your nearest police station so in addition to paying your license you also have to pay a fine within 7 working days or risk prosecution……

I might not know law but isn’t that a form of blackmail or extortion setup thing going on?

Anyway as I did not have cash on me nor did I want to go to jail I had a bright idea***:

I said to the guy “toita sei” meaning “what shall we do?” and he said “imi manga mati toita sei” meaning “what do you think we must do?

***This is the same conversation path you would delve down if you were seeking a bribe, I know people who take detours to avoid roadblocks with ZBC radio listener’s licences officials because they won’t pay car radio licences…. Oh I am firmly against bribes and corruption by the way

So I scratch my head looking thoughtfully into the distance and said “well… I dont have a TV…

His reply “I see a satellite dish on top of your roof you therefore have a TV…

And that’s when I was like “….but see if I have a sat-dish, doesn’t that mean to you I care not to watch your local TV and that’s why I might not pay TV licence (if I do have a TV and I don’t pay that is…) or maybe if you had better programmes and I did not feel I was being subjected to propaganda or endless repeats of stuff I watched growing up….

Yes I understand it costs money to get quality programming and if we don’t pay our TV licences then you can’t give us quality programming and well I don’t want to pay for substandard TV until I know I am not paying for shoddy viewing… and we reach an impasse… what for must happen happen now?

hmmm how about, can you as yet bar my TV from getting a signal….. Oh you havent gone digital yet ….. so I must pay simply because I own a TV…… besides how do you even know I have a TV hey wena jus because there is a fridge in my house doesn’t mean there is milk in it, just because my hair is the way it is doesn’t make me a witch-doctor I dare you to go look for my TV AND IF YOU FIND IT.. I will gladly pay the license, but IF YOU DONT…”

The inspector just walked away shaking his head…

I am now keeping gate locked and getting an attack dog and a sign that says

{Survivors will be hospitalised} !!!

I forgot to show him my phone and say “You see this phone it’s got…

  • a TV,
  • a radio,
  • a multimedia player,
  • a home theater system with flashing disco lights
  • the power of the internet and live streaming at the tip of my fingers
  • and other things I don’t know because the manual for it wasn’t in English

Do I need radio and TV license for it too?


PS I where can I buy a TV that doesn’t have TV Tuner, not a TV but is simply a monitor? I wouldn’t have to pay a TV Licence for that now would I?

PPS would you rather have a month of Premium TV subscription or unlimited WIFI internet service?

Of A Sunday Story 

Imagine it’s Sunday and a friend who has been inviting you to their church for like forever, manages to catch you, when you have absolutely no reason to say no, at least not one you can make without seeming like perhaps you burst into flames when you enter the doors of a church ⛪ 

You agree to tag along, and when you get there, you really want to sit at the back, blend in, be inconspicuous, maybe somewhere you can make a quick exit if the sermon drags on for too long but noooo they drag you to the very front row 💺 

When the service starts the pastor asks that if there are any visitors may they stand up, introduce themselves and how they came to be here today and then be welcomed to the church. You try to slouch in your chair and make yourself invisible but everyone seems to be looking at you and your friend nudges you rather obviously in the ribs. Slowly you stand up and mumble your name, as your friend beams beside you. 😁

The pastor says “hallelujah” 🙋 the congregation shouts “hallelujah” back.🙌… 

The choir starts a hymn 🎤

Right in this place, the spirit is moving…. “♪  ♪

Slightly alarmed you look around  😱 For The Spirit  👻 that is moving in this place, right now…  

Eventually the sermon starts and the pastor reads from the book of the First Corinthians 11 verse 14.  About how man must not have long hair but a woman must never cut hers but she must cover it always. 
And you with your shoulder length locks can feel the eyes of everyone trying not to stare at you as the pastor delivers a fire and brimstone service about how demons live in braids and long hair…. 

You want to raise your hand and ask what if you are like Samson?

The Pastor says tell the person next to you, “I want to cast out the demon in you!”

“I want to cast out the demon in you you repeat!”

“Out!” the pastor says.. 

“Out!” the congregation repeats. 



Suddenly voices in prayer fill the room, some even start speaking in tongues. It’s a bit disconcerting for you as you are used to more conventional churches where everyone bows their heads and close eyes to pray silently and only a few people one after the other speak their prayer requests out loud then everyone says Amen.. Not this when everyone speaks at the same time. 

You try not to stare at people slamming their bibles into their hands, jumping up and down while praying, filled with the Holy Spirit presumably… 

You realize you haven’t uttered a single word in prayer you try to but it’s rather hard to think of anything to say and finally you notice everyone slowly getting silent as the prayer session draws to a close, till everyone says Amen 
In conclusion the pastor then reads from the gospel of Matthew 25 verses 1-13. The parable of the ten virgins waiting for the groom, five of them were wise and five were foolish. The wise had extra oil for their lamps and the foolish did not…. 
The parable is to teach us that we must be constantly vigilant as no one knows the day or the hour of the coming of Christ…. 

It’s been an interesting service, you think to yourself and everything is going fairly OK until the pastor for emphasis just has to ask you, “So where would you rather be….  In the light with the five wise virgins or in the dark with the five foolish virgins….”

Erm, well, honestly I’d only answer that to a priest during confession.
Finally the service ends and on your way out people stop to greet you and ask you to please come again and you say  “I’ll see….”


Of The Pink Band

Genre: Inspirational


His hair was an untidy affair held in a pony tail by a bright pink band. That is the first thing you noticed about him, the pink band, followed by the faded army jacket. He sat by himself on a two-seater in a crowded bus with a couple of standing passengers. It’s not that he had refused to share but no one had been brave enough to approach him, an aura of barely contained hostility rose from him, the flavor ripe of aggression.

He was not a small man, you could tell that beneath his camouflage jacket he had muscle, granted he might have gotten a bit soft round the edges. It had been awhile since he last went to the gym, he used to practically live there and could bench press three times his weight in solid gold. But now, now he was out of shape; the fact that he had taken the bus when he could have just walked was testament to how far he had let himself go.

In a dusty old shoe box under his bed were two gold medals from the Comrades marathon and a medal for Valor. Gold of medals has such a heady flavour, something about it makes you stand up straight.


He didn’t care; he had stopped caring about anything a long time ago, the day he was relieved of his duties as an elite commando soldier. Dishonorably discharged, the word left a bad flavour in his mouth. A decorated veteran, dishonorably discharged, it was a stain on his honour he could barely bear and he carried it like a weight, shoulders slightly hunched.

He sat close to the window, gazing out with a far away look that saw nothing but the past, back to a time when he stood taller and men looked up to him. Lost in the past, he absent-mindedly scratched his beard, it was mildly itchy, he had stopped shaving and a fuzzy fur covered his lower jaw.

A loud bang startled him out of his reverie, old instincts took over as he shifted into a defensive posture, and adrenalin flooded his system as he readied to spring to action; identify and neutralize the enemy, it was in the basic training manual.

We hit that pot hole hard” a passenger behind him commented.

I thought the wheel had burst..” someone else added, followed by random passengers grumbling at the driver to slow down as he was not ferrying sacks of hay.

He realised that there was no immediate danger, well not unless the driver was recklessly speeding through a road filled with potholes.Slowly he flexed his fingers,it was only now that he was noticing he had clenched his hands it fists so tightly that his fingernails drew blood from his palms. He reacted to sudden noises in the same way like a beast about to pounce, in the world that felt a lifetime ago, if you were slow to react fatally bad things happened to you.

Bad things had happened to his men. He took out a faded photograph from his wallet it was a photo of a group of men hard to recognize because yellow berets covered half their faces leaving only smiles which were mostly teeth. The picture must have been taken either just before or after a parade inspection because the uniforms were neat, the boots were polished even the buttons were shiny. It was the only picture he had of his brother in arms, but he carried their memories with him.He remembered their names and he remembered their deaths, meaningless just like the war they fought in.

They had managed to roust the rebels only to discover the rebel forces were just slightly grown boys playing at war, they hardly had any weaponry armed  with machetes, scythes and probably a misguided sense of liberation. The ranking officer in his outfit had ordered that they execute the treasonous troops. Execute was just fancy dressing the murder that was to follow. He had snapped and dragged his superior by the collar to reprimand him. It turns out the rebels were not quite as harmless as they seemed because while he was busy arguing with his superior, one of the captured lads detonated an explosive device, everything went blindingly white as everyone was flung like rag dolls and only two people walked away from that encounter.

They had been out of the blast zone by stupid blind luck. The first thing he did, ears still ringing from the percussive blast, was to punch the major square in the face, broke his nose too and that was why he was court-martialed  and discharged from the army, he never stopped blaming himself he should have seen it coming, he should have___

The bus stopped with a sudden lurch that scattered his thoughts.

There was the sound of breaking glass as a stone went through the windscreen narrowly missing the driver. The road ahead was blocked with stones and burning tyres, ropes of thick black smoke rising skywards and an unruly horde of protestors chanting revolutionary war songs.Riot police had tried to quell the mob, wielding their batons and throwing tear gas but this had only had the effect of poking the hornet’s nest and now they buzzed angrily throwing rocks at everything crazy enough to get close.

A revolution starts with the distinct flavour of tear gas and burning rubber.

The police had fled and at the head of this mob, stood a man poised with his foot on a police helmet, as would a conquering hero.



He held a bottle, with a rag sticking out and the end bit of it was lit. He waved it at the bus shouting

“If you all don’t get out you will burn along with the bus”

The ex-military man was the first person out of the bus and walked straight to the ring leader.

“Hold it there son, let’s not get carried away, no one wants to burn anything or anyone.”

“I’ll start with you ol’ man” the lad growled as he tried to punch him but was easily grabbed and held in an arm lock.

“listen son, I could break every bone in your body twice, even your own mother would not recognize the mess they would have to scrap up from here as her son…  now what’s all this about?”

“Don’t you watch the news, man, today we shut down the country, a massive stay away, we have had enough of lying down, letting the government mess with us, we are showing the government, we lay down no more…”

“and how will burning this bus and stoning all these cars help are they the government?”

The lad remained quiet

“You do realise the riot police will come back in full force, you might be able to hold out but that only makes them more brutal it’s all they know. Violence is like a fire that once you start, burns leaving nothing but ashes… There are ways of getting your messages heard, so there is a strike today, fine can you let this bus turn around and all these people go home?”

“Sure Boss, that’s all we was saying.”

As he boarded back into the bus the passengers started clapping.

….meanwhile someone had been filming the whole encounter and within a few minutes the clip was viral and making breaking news.

When he got to his stop the driver thanked him again and again saying if the bus had been torched his life would have been over, jobs are such hard things to get.

Walking up to the gate of home, his daughter rushed to greet him

“Daddy,daddy I saw you TV they are saying you are a hero,but I knew that already.”

He scooped her up in his arms “silly daddy” She said“you are still wearing my pink hair scrunch.”

That’s when he remembered way earlier his daughter had asked if she could style his hair; so he had spent the day with a bright pink thing in his hair and was probably going viral on the net, some things have a flavour all of their own; he begun to laugh as he twirled his daughter in the air….



#BlogBattle theme: flavour

of my hair

Genre: Contemporary  


I am not my hair. My hair is unruly, it grows wild, long and free. I am not my hair but my hair is a part of me.

My hair speaks volumes without me ever saying a word. Judging by the length of my hair, you can tell that I have not been arrested in a long time (they cut your hair when you go to jail, so I have been told) So by the length of my hair you can tell I am a law abiding citizen or maybe I am just really good at never being caught.

2014-03-05 10.18.16.jpg

My hair is the length it is, not by design, but simply because I stopped going to the barber every other week, curious to see how long it would go. It grew to become too difficult to comb out the kinks in my hair so I let it grow into locks.

I am not a Rastafarian but people call me Rasta. I walk in the street and random people stop me just to say “Hi Rasta” like we are old friends, we shake hands and they say  “Jah Bless” like we belong to some secret society. They tell me stories about how they are Rastas too, on the inside, even if their hair won’t grow to be like mine and sing that song by Morgan Heritage Family, you do not have to have dreadlocks to be Rasta.

2014-06-25 10.jpg

I am not my hair but less than half of half the people who think they know me would not recognize me if I cut my hair, how can they, when they hardly know my name they just call me Rasta.

Imagine a random person walking up to you and asking you if you can hook them up with a cigarette or asking for matches or simply passing you a blunt and walking away no other words spoken, that happens every other day to me. Sometimes I walk with matches because it is easier to just give someone a light then a lengthy explanation why you do have matches and they still walk away thinking you simply refused.

Some call me Dread because of hair. I read that one of the origins of the word Dread referring to Dreadlocks is that the hairstyle was thought to be dreadful. I have long since discovered that the term Dread is one of respect, Dread also means Fear of the Lord. The Fear of God is the beginning of all wisdom so I rather like this definition of Dread, there is nothing dreadful about it.

I am not my hair but people make assumptions about me from my hair some good some not so good, but I can tell you from my hair you can tell that I I can stick with things for a long time, I guess I am a keeper .

From when my hair was awkward like this…. When everyone kept asking me when I would cut it


to here


I am not my hair,

I am not this skin

I am not your expectations

I am a soul that lives within

~India Arie

What does your hair say about you?


My #BlogBattle entry themed Hair….

P.S. it is definitely shoulder length right??