Hidden Desires

Year 8 2000-2001: Bossu de Notre Dame

Quickly glancing in the bathroom mirror one last time, I let out a sigh and kiss my teeth, as I pulled onto my hair and extend my bushy puff to desperately make my short hair appear longer. I roll my eyes in frustration and turn off the light, running down the stairs. "Maman, j'i vais!" I call out my usual greeting in French to my mum, who's standing in the corridor applying her makeup in her Asda uniform, getting ready for work. "Bye" I hear her faintly call out, but I was already on the balcony running down to catch the 345 bus on time. I was always in the hurry in the mornings and that's because although I would wake you at 6am every morning, I'd spend almost an hour doing my hair. But it was the same hairstyle day in and day out. I would either have my hair in 4 bushy puffs. 2 at the top stretched out to the max looking like 2 malnourished palm trees and 2 at the bottom, with 3 attempts of cornrows going down on my left side of my face, in a poor effort to hide my face. I wasn't a confident girl at all. Not. At. All. Years of insults and teasing hadn't helped either. Although I was considered as 'tall' for my age, I stood at 5ft8 and was quite curvy for a 12 years old going on 13. I was a size 14 and I'd never been a small girl. I had thick thighs and a shapely big bum. I was naturally athletic and had the body to match. I never looked my age and acted mature too. Often too mature. This would get the attention of men, much, much older men. Gross, I know. But that's a story for another time.

Annoyingly, everything else about me was big too. I had big size 7 feet, a big nose (that I got teased about a lot, even by my own sister who used to call me Bossu de Notre-Dame), big thick lips (that years down the line I learned to love) and a deep voice to match. According to Nathan Daniels, Scott Charles, Marlon Austin and others, I was quite 'butch' and 'manly'. And every morning, I would replay their insults and their words would torment and spin round in my head, as I stared back at my reflection in the foggy bathroom mirror getting ready school. "If Sierra was the last girl on earth, would you move to her?" "Errrrr man, no!" Boys would reply and laugh in my face running away from me. In other words, no boys at school fancied me. Not even one. Or so it seemed.

I was darked skinned and got teased about that too. However the very same thing, years later, would excite older men. I would often get compared to the infamous black tennis player, Serena Williams. The only way to console myself was to take it as a compliment. I often told myself that these silly, immature boys in fact wanted me, but they were too afraid of what their friends might say to admit it. Yup that was it. Yeah right.

I wasn't popular popular but I wasn't considered as a 'neek' either. Part of the neeks gang though, I had been, once upon a time. Although, I had been born in London, I originated from France. This meant that I was placed in 7P when I first joined Stockwell Park High school back in November 99'. 7P was the class of 'neeks', 'society rejects' and 'EAL children'. Like moi. I was EAL, learning English as an additional language. I could talk, read and rap in French. Yep you heard right. Rap. I later on become popular on that basis alone. I recall being put next to a 'French girl' during french class and getting excited thinking I'd finally made a friend. I'd raffle and babble on in French to her cautiously, ensuring the French teacher didn't catch me. But she'd ignore me and simply smile turning away to focus on the lesson. I'd later find out that she simply didn't understand what I'd been saying. Little did I also know, that 20+ years later we'd not only still be friends but besties, having been there with her through her engagement to the birth of her first child.