Once upon a time…
A Haitian woman and some oil that was being heated.
For as long as I can remember, my mother used Maskreti oil. She would lightly burn it before massaging it into our bellies when we were in pain, our temples when we had a fever, or our hair when it needed a boost. It was there when I was born. And after my deliveries, too. It was there for my children from their very first weeks, helping to remove cradle cap, strengthen their roots, and soothe their skin.
THE UNGRATEFUL
Then I grew up, and I forgot. Forgot where I came from. Forgot the simple things. Forgot what had nurtured me, what had sustained me. I wanted to do things the right way. To conform. To follow the routines, the advice, the trendy products. I wanted to be that version of myself I thought was expected of me. Smooth. Strong. Fit.
But life doesn't always let things pass without a bump. Stress. Hormones. Sleepless nights. The pain of the soul that even the body eventually reflects. And my hair… it was the first to speak. It became dull, tired, brittle. As if it, too, no longer knew where it was going. I pulled, tightened, suffocated under my scarves that were too tight.
I looked for solutions everywhere. In the aisles, on the internet, in the advice of other women who, like me, were a little lost.
But nothing held together. Nothing resonated. I eventually grew weary. Constantly not recognizing myself, I cut it all off.
THE LEGACY
In the end, I had everything right under my nose… and I didn't even see it. I was too tired to take care of myself. Too busy just holding on. I massaged my children, I nursed them, I watched over their hair, their skin, their still-new little bodies. I took care of my husband, of everyone, except myself.
I was proud of their thick, vibrant, and strong hair, but honestly, I didn't have that willpower for myself.
And then, one day, my mother spoke. We talked for a long time, about fatigue, responsibilities, what we give, what we forget. And in that conversation, I understood that the care I had been searching for so far away was already in my hands.
I immersed myself in her gestures again. Warming the oil between my palms. Breathing in its smoky scent. Massaging my head, my neck… as if realigning my body before settling my hair. It was a return to myself. A return to my body. And soon, my hair followed.
Lwil Maskreti has never been a trend.
It's a legacy. A treasure for those who take the time to appreciate it.
