When I was a young girl growing up in Paradise Lakes in southern New Jersey, my Ma did my hair on the weekends. During the spring and summer months we’d sit outside on the grass in our yard; I would sit in between her legs, facing out to a beautifully tree-rimmed lake. It was on this lake that my father built our home. 

We had a very big family and our home was the place to gather. We lived really close to the land, despite not having a proper garden. We would go to the big fields and pick after the machines finished. You could always find big bushels of fruit, snap peas, and other vegetables outside on the picnic table. We canned peaches and tomatoes in preparation for fall and winter. My dad also had a friend who was a farmer with cows, so we'd get milk from him.

When my Ma did my hair, she would grease my scalp with a bergamot scented pomade, which was in a very small, oval green jar. The pomade was made with a lot of natural lanolin, which helped moisturize and protect the hair, but on its own had a very unpleasant odor. So, to make it more pleasant, the product was heavily scented with bergamot oil. For me that bergamot scent smelled exotic because nothing else going on in my life at that time had that smell to it. It smelled otherworldly and different. Today I know that bergamot smells citrusy, green, and floral. 

Of course, during that whole process there were other smells too. My mother first washed with a mild baby shampoo and then conditioned. After that she’d use a common detangling product, and finish up with the pomade. It was that last product, and the smell of the bergamot scent, that was most prominent and special to me because it was so intriguing and different.   

The process would begin with my Ma giving me a scalp massage, then parting my hair, and afterwards putting the pomade into my hair. You might even get some rubbed in your hands and then dressed on the top of your hair. The process could take anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour. It was a nice treat after your hair was detangled because your scalp is smarting with pain from being detangled. My Ma would put my hair into two Afro puffs on either side of my head. Afterwards, my hair would smell of the bergamot pomade that she applied.

As a kid, I didn’t enjoy sitting there for so long. Naturally, I was bored and would often nod off to sleep. But I would spend some time talking with my Ma. It was our time together, just her and me. My Ma was very gentle with me, which I really appreciated, because you’d have to hold your head in various positions, and stay patient as she detangled the hair.  

My Ma was a very elegant and capable person. Growing up, we’d have the typical strife that mothers and daughters can have, and I don’t think I fully appreciated her until I grew older. She came from a very poor background, but studied ballet, learned French, and mastered archery. Those things intrigued her and she found a way to do them. She was very resourceful. She inspired me to do all of those things as well. And yet, at the same time, she would do what it took to help her family survive. She took on some very mentally difficult jobs in factories. And, as an adult, went to college, got a degree and worked in a bank. My mother was a very complex woman and also a light for the family.

About 10 years ago, while at a beauty supply store, I was able to smell the bergamot scented pomade again. It was so emotional because all those memories tied to this one scent came flooding back to me. 

If the scent had a sound, what would it be? A mourning dove cooing.

If the scent had a color, what would it be? Yellow-orange.

If the scent had a texture, what would it be? The feel of water.

If the scent could give you advice, what would it tell you? Remember and honor your ancestors. And don't forget where you came from. Remember everything.