No, it’s not.
Look how neat and cute this girl’s pony puffs are!
I loved my hair. I held nothing against it except for when we washed it in the bath tub and the water would cascade over my face and into my nose and ears. But other than that, we had a good relationship. Sometimes, a young family friend would come and plait it on Sundays and I was convinced that plaiting it made it grow.
I also liked my hair because it was different. In those days, in the Black schools, even little girls had bald heads. But I didn’t! I felt I looked like a girl whereas sometimes I couldn’t tell from behind if I was looking at a girl or a boy. I just felt so sorry for them. No fun experimenting with different styles Sometimes some would have sores on their scalps…
I liked my hair until the day the Muslim girl asked our White teacher why I never won her “Neatest Hair” competition and the answer was, “Because her hair isn’t like ours. It’s different.”
Different meant bad.
Different meant it never looked neat.
Different meant less than.
I had known she looked down on me. I didn’t realise she thought my hair itself wasn’t good enough. I knew my cornrows were very neat. I knew my hair was nice, the other girls said so! Even asking how I got it into my small curls. (My Afro hair- with its natural kinky curls.)
But nope. She hated me. And she hated my hair. It wasn’t good enough. Never would be.
And so, I started burning it (and my poor scalp) into submission. First with perms (I think Americans call it Jheri curl?) and then with relaxers. I tore my hair out my scalp with braid extensions and yearned for long, fly away hair.
My hair was an extension of me. Black. Less than. Not like them. Different. Never good enough.
But today, I marvel at the beauty of our hair in its natural form.
I marvel at its elasticity as I start a new set of microlocks on my teen daughter’s hair.
I marvel at our different curl patterns and its versatility.
Showing off my grey❤️
It’s not just hair. OTHERS have made it an extension of their idea of the value we hold, our worth.
Well, it is not just different. It’s different and wonderfully made. It can win any competition it wants to enter because it’s not less than. Who needs to burn their hair into submission, raising their chances of ovarian cancer in the process, when their hair is beautiful with the texture it was made in?
God made no mistake when He created me to have pony puffs and cornrows. His creation was good enough.
They said I should write a book 