Soul Cap Excitement

8 minute read

My mum is afraid of deep water.

She isn’t going to appreciate me exposing her like this, but her commitment to tackling her fear of deep water is a damn good example that in life, it’s never too late to face your fears. 

One afternoon, my mum and I were preparing lunch together when she declared:

“I’m going to learn how to tread water.”

“Yeah?” I asked, looking up from my tomato chopping.

“Yes, I’ve got to. When I go back home, I can carry on my lessons there, but I’ve got to master it here first.”

I looked carefully at my mum, noticing the optimism and hope in her eyes. Everything she said made total sense: it was a good idea for her to start swimming lessons in London and then take her new swim skills back to Jamaica to unleash in the Caribbean Sea. Although it made total sense, it was also very unrealistic. It was the month of February and the average temperature was between 7-11 degrees (44-51 F). Since touching down in England in early December, my mum was struggling daily with the British wintertime. When I say she was struggling, I mean, I was also struggling. The heating was on literally 24/7 and more than five times in a day (sometimes in an hour), I would be subjected to disparaging remarks about the cold:

1. “God, this country is freezing, I don’t know how people live here.”
2. “Bwoy, England is cole, it cole, cole, cole!” Accompanied by rhythmical foot stamping for emphasis.
3. Assessing the weather conditions from the kitchen window: “Are you going outside? It’s like the Baltics out there.”
4. With all the doubled-glazed windows shut tight in the kitchen and all the hobs on the stove blazing, “I’m so cold, I can’t warm up.”
5. “Abigail, is the heating actually on? Turn it up, my feet are like ice blocks.”

In short, my mum can’t stand the cold. As she isn’t one to keep quiet about how she’s feeling, she kept everyone fully informed and regularly updated about how the cold was affecting her.

I’m reflecting on my mum’s general intolerance of the cold and her new goal to learn how to tread water, when she repeats, “I’ve got to do this, I can do it”.

We circle each other around the dining table, Mum heading to the hob fires to turn the largest hob up to full whack, and me, seeking temporary refuge in the fridge as I rummage for the red peppers and cucumber. With the central heating blazing and all the hob fires raging, I feel a slow sweat building in my armpits. Pink-cheeked, I’m slowly roasting as my mum tries to get some semblance of feeling back into her fingers and toes.

“I know you can, Mum” I assure.

Although I’m a bit sceptical if my mum can actually turn her admirable determination into a reality in the middle of the month of February, after years of supporting me in anything I set my mind to, it was my turn to support her.

We took action – well, I took action. After lunch that day, I started looking up swim lessons, whilst my mum, between frequent complaints about the bitter British cold, thought about who she could get to continue her swim lessons when she returned to Jamaica.

We both had hard tasks.

Living in the countryside of Jamaica and trying to find a swim instructor, was no easy feat. I was also encountering some bumps in the road. After a solid thirty minutes of internet research, including emailing two companies for more information on their swimming lessons, I still didn’t have anything concrete to give her. Who knew it could be so difficult to find adult swimming lessons in London town? For some reason, I expected an abundance of options, but most of the classes were in bundles (and blinking expensive). A bundle package deal wouldn’t work for her; she was going back to Jamaica in under a month. We needed local lessons that she could just show up to as often as she wanted. Trained to continue to look for the answer even when the answer doesn’t seem to be out there, I kept on surfing the net.

After refreshing my inbox for the third time to see if the companies I emailed 30 minutes ago had responded, I opened a new tab to search for something that would lead to a definite satisfying result. My mum needed a swim hat for her lessons. Blessed, my mum has locs that trail all the way down her back and dangle at the top of her thighs. Looking after locs requires time, energy and patience; there was no way we could afford to get my mum’s hair saturated in chlorine each time she went to a swim lesson – especially in the middle of February. I ordered her a bright yellow XL swim hat from Soul Cap, an inclusive swim wear brand that makes swim hats for swimmers and soon to be swimmers just like my mum. Soul Cap cater for people with locs, braids, curls – basically, afro-textured, voluminous hair.

When the Soul Cap arrived, I flew upstairs to my mum. She was sat upright, tucked in bed reading Bernardine Evaristo’s “Girl, Woman, Other”.

Visibly distressed, the first thing she said is, ‘Feel my hand Abi, I just caan’t warm up.” Letting her book fall, she thrust her left hand at me.

“It’s not cold Mum,” I say before I even feel her hand.

Offended by my rebuff, she says indignantly, “You might not be cold, but I am cold” with a don’t you contradict me stare.

I laugh, amused by my telling off.

She’s not exaggerating, my mum’s hand is cold, it really is. Tucked up tightly between the cushioned mattress protector, the cotton fitted and flat sheet, the thick woollen blanket bought in Spain, the queen size duvet from John Lewis and a warm earthy red blanket, my mum is still cold.

Eager to avoid a lengthy whinge about how cold it is, I flash the thin, brown package before her, presenting it as if she’s just won the top prize at bingo.

“Your Soul Cap has arrived! Shall I open it?”

Nowhere near as excited as me, my mum nods, perturbed by the cold’s ability to suck the warmth from her.

I whip the hat out of the cardboard packaging and hold it up for assessment.

“Ooooohhhh, fancy!” I shout with an exaggerated ‘Valley girl’ American accent.

Mum’s pained expression relaxes into an amused smile as she reaches for her new sunshine yellow swim hat. We both have a good feel, thumbing the thick domed edges. The silicone feels silky, smooth and durable, nothing like the flimsy, thin swim hats that rip right as you’re readying for a swim. The Soul Cap feels like it is going to last (and it ruddy-well should at £16 a pop).

I lay the cap on top of my outstretched hands. Covering each hand and most of my wrists, it’s the most humongous swim hat I’ve ever seen in my life. I have no doubt it will fit nicely on top of my mum’s high bun of long locs.

“Do you like it?” I ask.

“Yeah, it’s lovely” Mum responds, rubbing the tips of her fingers together to stimulate feeling.

I’m onto something good here as she’s still smiling.

 “I like it!” I announce enthusiastically.

The generous size of Mum’s XL swim cap is complimented by an intricate but simple, Soul Cap logo on the left-hand corner of the cap. It’s a small, white partitioned cube interlinked with a hexagon-like structure.

“Are you going to try it on?” I ask.

Shaking her head vigorously, “No, I can’t feel my fingers, I’m too cold. Later.”

This time I didn’t contradict my mum.

Instead, I tried on her swim hat, and attempting to distract her from her numb fingers, I pranced about excitedly in front of her mirror, modelling the cap at different angles for her. She laughed, I laughed louder, and my mum didn’t complain about the cold for the next ten minutes. The hat did the trick!

My mum didn’t make it to the local swimming lessons I eventually found for her.

She wanted to go; she just couldn’t go.

Packing the barrel to send ahead of her to Jamaica took over. Anyone who has ever packed a barrel to send home or had the responsibility of bringing the goods over to the family member or friend sending a barrel home, can empathise. Packing a barrel takes time, energy and patience – a bit like caring for locs. Every item needs to be arranged in the most efficient way to avoid wasting vital barrel space. Things need to be taken out of their original packaging, clothes need to be rolled and squeezed, containers with liquids need to be cello taped up to prevent leakages and any small crevices, need to be filled.

My mum had a lot of stuff to send home.

We’re talking about 10kg bags of dry dog food, 5kg bags of bulgar wheat, half a dozen packets of pasta, t-shirts for the gardener, Clarks for her brother, little frocks for the neighbour’s new baby, litres of Fairy liquid, antibacterial hand soap, biscuits, sweets for the children that pass her home on their way from school and dozens of deodorants to give away. My poor mum wasn’t just packing one barrel, she was packing two and a box – and two suitcases for the flight in a couple of weeks. She had her hands full, and a reasonable excuse not to go out into the cold to go to the pay-as-you-go swimming lessons I eventually sourced.

All in all, it wasn’t the cold that stopped her, it was time. The intention was there, she had her Soul Cap, her bathing costume and a local swimming lesson to go to, but sometimes, life just gets in the way and the big goal has to on the backburner.

My mum’s determination to learn how to tread water didn’t go anywhere though.

Safely stored away in one of her two 23kg cases, my mum made sure her golden yellow Soul Cap was neatly packed away, ready to be whipped out for the Jamaican swimming instructor she would manifest into existence.

You’ve got this Mum, I’m 100% behind you.

Resources

Soul Cap – for swim hats and other swim attire

Eventbrite – search “swimming lessons”

Gabrielle Kwarteng, ‘Why I Don’t Refer to My Hair as ‘Dreadlocks’, Vogue, July 2020

Swimming lessons*

Polaris Aquatic Training – private and group swim lessons for adults and children in London and the Midlands. They also do swim teacher training and lifesaving skills. Watch “We are England, Swim School Sporting Heroes” (30 minutes) on BBC i-Player to learn more about Annalize Butler’s swim school

Love to Swim – East London adult and children small group swim lessons, including female only and private lessons

Goggle and Giggle – Central London adult and children swim lessons

*These are some of the companies I bumped into when researching, I haven’t attended any lessons with them.