More Shea Butter than You can Shake a Stick at

This year, I finally made it to the Odunde festival. The best part was actually my approach to the event. As I walked eastward on the South Street bridge, a ran into many small gatherings of people, some dressed all in white. Some were throwing flowers into the Schuykill River. One woman was on her knees, her hands over the railing, clasped in prayer. It was the nicest I'd ever seen anyone treat that river. One group was throwing pieces of some kind of large nut or melon onto the lumpy tarmac walkway. I wasn't sure about the significance of this act, so I paused in front of them until someone indicated that it was cool for me to walk though it. Anyway, for some reason, these river rituals left me with a good feeling.

When I got to the festival, I was struck by the number of shea butter stands. Who knew there was so much of the stuff? And were did all these dreadlock people come from? Brooklyn, I think. Because Philly is a weave-wearing town.

The sign at one stand said beautiful hair is a lifestyle. That really stressed me out for a moment, but soon I was re-mellowed by the smell of fried fish and some funky stand that advertised food "for superior people." I ordered up a plate of curry tofu and collard greens and had a superior time.