I am not my hair!- Living with African hair.

So, this weekend was pretty awesome, had good food, good company even though I was very Arabic-ally challenged.

But, before I headed out I had a bit of a dilemma that I thought I would have grown out by my mid 20s. Sadly, not so much!! I think many African ladies can identify with me on this one. HAIR!!!!!!

Many African ladies would tell you that you can tell from how a girl keeps her hair how she keeps herself. If her hair was always neat in any form, then she is a neat person. If her hair was all over the show, then.....you can figure the rest out.

As far as I can remember, the term "hair" has raised hairs on my back and has given me every reason to tear them out more than anything. At some stage in my life, I honestly believed that I would have a peaceful life if I just did the unthinkable......SHAVING IT ALL OFF!! Be as bold like the moon staring back me at night time.

No one has any idea of what it takes for us African ladies to deal with this hair we have. From a young age I dreaded Sunday nights, because that used to be the day when my mom would chase me with a comb or brush, cursing me on how nappy, crinkly my hair looks like. I remember it being more of a tearful event rather than a moment of mother and daughter enjoying a feminine thing. My brother used to tease me endlessly about my hair.

Unlike the other black kids, my mom was very strict in preserving my hair's natural state,  meaning Afro style. Yes, at the age of 13 my hair was big and puffy and the texture was like a delicate sponge as your hands would sink into my scalp. I enjoyed my hair like that. It was natural, the way it was supposed to be.

However ,when I had to go to high school that is when I had a hole in my head about how insecurities of others crushed me.



At some point in my life I wanted to do the unthinkable......Shave my head!!



As soon as I figured braids out, I decided to braid my hair. Did I love braids!! The process of waisting 2 days of my life sitting on a cushion on the floor and braid my hair into beautiful long dreads was awesome! I loved it! I don't think anyone looks as beautiful, as a girl with beautifully braided hair. I also loved braids, because it was the only thing me and my mom could actually agree on. At school everyone would ask me the same questions.

"How long did it take you? " , "Is that your real hair?". "Can you do mine, I will pay you." On and on the admiration for the braids carried. However, after  3 months, it was time to remove the braids and that was a nightmare of note. The cutting of the braid at the end, unbraiding it and then having to undo the knots out of your hair without breaking the precious hair. At the same time, no one can value hair growth as much as an African woman. It has been proven that African hair grows very fast, however, why is it always so damn short?? Well, because it breaks easily. So, we take good care to preserve the little bit that we have to go a long way.

After un- braiding, it was the usual, combing it out session, which would leave headaches for weeks and a tender scalp.

By the age of 16 in high school I started getting teased at school by one big bully. She made my life in high school one living hell after another. It started with the hair. Since my hair was virgin (not chemically treated), I was teased. They would even go as low as saying "She has kaffir hair."  Yes, I said it! Yes, I did!

Just because my hair was curly and beautiful. Big Afros run big in my family. My mom had it, my dad had it and even my big brother had it. So, naturally my hair is better,stronger in a natural African state.

I remembered one day when I came to school and I tied my hair in one big puff at the back. It looked like one big fluffy ball at the back. These bitches would follow me, teasing me day in and day out. 

So, it dawned upon me to go out and beg my mom to get my hair "relaxed." Now, if you don't know what this term mean then you need take a step back.

RELAXED hair simply means chemically straightened hair. This chemical process is a burning experiences that can leave scars on your scalp. Many,  if not all,  African women go through this at some point in their lives.

My mom gave in to my appeal and made an appointment for me. I sat in the chair at the salon and I thought to myself "Just because I am doing this, doesn't change who I am. I refuse to be like those fake bitches at school." However, I wanted to do this, to shut them up once and for all.

So, I got my hair relaxed. It was a painful process as my scalp is very sensitive. However, at the end when the lady was busy blowing my hair out, I couldn't believe that my hair hit at my shoulder. Look, it is RARE to see African people's hair hitting shoulder length. Our hair always comes by the neck. That is it!!

When I was done, my hair was as straight as a skid mark down the high way and I was looking like Andre 3000 from OutKast.

When I got to school the next day I got the response that I was dying for from day one. Silence!! What these idiotic bullies didn't realise is that they shouldn't have tempted a woman with a big Afro to straighten her hair, cause it would only mean that hers would be longer than theirs.

However, what stung me more than anything was the at the lengths we were willing to go to fit inside the fashion or the social acceptable bubble. That is why so many African women have to wear wigs, because our hair is falling out, we have holes in our heads and suffering just so that we can look like the cover of the magazines.

However, it is not just African women's fault, it is society that shove their expectations upon us.



Natural African hair.



"Bad hair makes you look like a slave." That is why our own people say to us!

"Look at you!! with that Jerry curl. Looking like a slave."

"Your hair is like a real course steel wool."

With commentary like this, how are the sister suppose to deal with their beauty if we are not accepting them  the way they are.

Even amongst the men,  there are some brothers that would not date a sister, just because she doesn't have hair like Kelly Rowland. However, what they fail to understand is that how fake do you want us to be to be okay in the eyes of the social society.

Since I straightened/relaxed my hair I have never had a day of rest. I think I might have spent over R3000 in hair products, hair appointments and all that goes with maintaining this fake straight hair. So, I gave up on that and went back to what I love, which are my braids.

Naturally, African hair is suppose to be dreaded. It is only form of how to maintain it. You can hate or love it, but that is how natural our hair comes. If you love Bob Marley, I loved  him too, because he represented a bit of who we are and being okay with it.  Being okay with our hair, the way it suppose to be.

As much as we all had journeys. I have never had much of a journey as I had with my hair. Whenever I travel, the first thing I think of is "Do they have African hair products in that country?", in case a sister is stuck in an emergency. I remember the first time I went to Turkey with my braids. I didn't realise it was so out of the ordinary, everyone wanted to touch it, to feel it......I let them.......even though YOU NEVER  touch an African woman's head. NEVER!

I even bought myself some natural hair weave. Like human hair weave. I would like to say that I didn't buy it to look European.  I bought it, because I was suffering under the Turkish non-African hair products system that left me with no choice, but to get a weave.

Most African women do it, because it is the easiest thing to deal with in our busy lives. I am sorry, but there is no such a thing as a quick a wash-and-wear look for us. I have never washed my hair in the mornings on my way to work. That doesn't exist in my life. In my life after work hair washes, 2 hours of blowing drying, 20 minutes of ironing and making sure I wear a head wrap whenever I go to bed. That is my life. So, should I feel ashamed for wanting to wear a weave just to take a break from all the hair doing?

Now today, when I stood in front of the mirror looking as natural like I have never touched a relaxer before, I loved it. I think Saudi has been the only country where I could chill out a moment. I even put my hair weave away and I haven't had a relaxer in my house for months. I stared at this girl in the mirror and realised that she looked better the way she suppose to look. It felt good combing my very curly, weaving, wiry hair  and braiding it the way I used it when I was only 5 years old. It felt good and I was happy with the image in the mirror.

I thought of writing this blog, because a lot of women, weather African, European or Asian get judged, ridiculed, because we don't seem to represent the ideology of whatever society calls "beautiful" How many women out there are plucking, pulling, cutting, trimming, ripping their bodies and hairs apart just to feel okay? Is it that our families don't validate us enough and we depend on what society asks of us? Is it that women are just mere objects and we have fallen in this trap time and time again?  Is it that, it is a natural thing for women not to be satisfied with themselves? What is it that makes us wanting to change ourselves so much?

We can blame men all we want. We can say, well men are the ones running the show. However, I have found it to be as hostile in the women's circle. Women making other women feel like crap. Women judging, gossipping, laughing at other women. Look at my life and experience of appearance. It was not any man that told me this or that, or made me do this or that. No, it was women. Until this very day, it is still women.  Don't get me wrong on this one. I am not crapping on women or saying that men are better or are innocent, however the disease is within our circle as well. Most girls become anorexic,  because her peers are judging. Her peers are other girls, not dudes.

Maybe if we are kinder to each other, uplift each other, love each other more...maybe we can become stronger and avoid this. Maybe we can see that we are all so beautiful,  the way our Creator intended us to be. After all the beauty is in the differences and not looking like clones of each other. This would also end stereotypes associated with people.

Being at the age that I am, I know and I have always known that I am not my hair. I am not my skin. I am not any one's expectation or wants. A woman's hair is not her. Yes, it is a part of her, but it doesn't make her. That is why I can thank Allah for giving me the veil so that you can SEE me. See me, by understanding me, listening to what comes out of my mouth and see me for who I am and not for my physical attributes.