the life of black hair

me & my dancing partner, Andrea, at a friend's wedding

I just returned from holiday in the U.S. and some asked how I felt in coming back after being gone for some months. Others made comments on how my Nigerian accent was much stronger, while others engaged me as if I had never left, and of course there are ones who commented on my hair. I wore braids (with attachments or extensions), and though this wasn’t my propensity while in America, it almost has become so in Nigeria because to take care of hair here is kinda challenging, for two reasons- time & the concept of beauty.

Black women in the U.S. underwent a movement towards natural hair in the last few years. We went from perming/relaxing our hair to letting it all go. (quick aside- On a trip to Morocco some years back with a team, a crazy, beautiful friend of mine, Angie, and I visited with young ladies who were Muslim. They wore their lovely head-scarfs and dined with us as we started a conversation about hair. After some time Angie looks at them and while gesturing like the lady in red, flinging her arms towards her hair says, ‘why don’t you just let it all out. In consternation, the ladies gasped. The thought of being a kind of loose woman, abandoning all sense of morality, neglecting their cultural norm and exposing their hair in public was appalling. Let’s just say we didn’t share another meal with them again. Perhaps they felt insulted by that suggestion. Ok…back to the main theme here- HAIR) Maybe, just maybe black women got tired of putting in chemicals every few weeks and being absolutely terrified of water, drizzling from above or full immersion, there’s fire on the mountain, run run run is what we did at the sight of water, one of the most natural, self sustaining elements on this planet. We traded one pain (burn from relaxers) to another (learning to comb your hair). We wanted freedom, so we let free, rediscovering our different textures, wave patterns, roughness and new hair creams, choosing twists, twists out, fros, fo-hawks, dreads, sisterlocks and anything else you can create.

 

 

 

Once I asked God why He made black people’s hair sooooo high maintenance, like seriously. His response: His intent with it was and still is to engender community. Think about it- Nothing brings women of color together like hair. In Seattle I’d walk around and when a fellow black woman enjoyed what her eyes laid upon in the style of my hair that day, it was common to get stopped and asked, ‘how did you get it to do that?’ It’s the only thing that justifies stopping a stranger on the street and walking away as the quaintest of friends. Ask any black woman if the following is true: she can walk over to two black women doing hair, irrespective of how tough they may look, get all up in their personal spaces, admire and touch their hair, hold extensive conversation without any kind of introduction. ‘Hair’ stands alone. It’s all the introduction one needs. I walked through the ghettos of Cape town, South Africa with two of my white male friends not too long ago on a quest to find the hairdresser who could braid my hair how I wanted it. We walked from container, turned into shop, to container, and when we entered, I would approach the hairdresser and customer, admire the hair, gist, laugh, and walk away. I told them, ‘fellas, this is the beauty of black women and hair’. They marveled at all the different possible hairstyles. I love exposure.

I moved to Nigeria with natural hair and that was a very different sight for Nigerians, especially in the smaller town where I live. In bigger cities like Lagos and Abuja, I hear it’s becoming the trend, slowly but surely. Because Nigerians don’t know how to conceal their facial expressions, I’ve gotten many different looks. Beyond looks, commentaries, from, ‘you’re bravo o. How do you even comb your hair?’ to ‘your hair looks rough, you should try something else’. After the negative comments, even the strongest of women begin wavering in confidence. In all candor, when I wear my natural hair in Nigeria, I don’t feel as beautiful as I know I am. When in braids or something added, people seemingly look upon me more favourably. Thankfully I do have people who appreciate natural and actually prefer that look on women, most of them being men.

Well, I finally caved. After 8 months of rejecting a cover up (weave), I caved. This came after a good guy friend told me I should try changing my look. He had his motives and I was reluctant even in listening because surely it meant changing who I am, but the more I thought about it, the more reasons I had to just try something different. So the next day I sat down at my neighbor’s shop with the intent to walk away with a fo-hawk with my natural hair and I got up with my first ever weave, not a wig o, a weave-on. I even called my Aunty before making that decision. Don’t ask me why it was such a big deal, but it was to me. My wrestle- Am I betraying the natural hair movement and giving into the concept that a cover up is more suitable, more mature, more attractive?! I still don’t know the answer. All I know is that something is covering my hair and it is quite alright…for now. It gives me a break from daily hair maintenance.

I walked into work yesterday and an admirer of my natural hair said, “why did you hide your fine hair?” I was internally elated. These comments lift my spirit because all hope in natural beauty isn’t lost. Brave women like Lupita Nyong'o and Viola Davis are using their platforms to redefine black beauty. We are on an upward movement and we’re all better off for it.

Ok- I have many thoughts on ‘How To Get Away With Murder’ TV series, but answer this question- Does Viola Davis’ character Annalise Keating look better with or without a wig?