natural hair – They said I should write a book

I have a channel for kiddies’ Bible stories. It’s reverent and sticks to the actual story- no weird additions that aren’t true and uses as close to realistic images as possible instead of cartoon characters that secular kid shows also use.

And what has kept me posting the videos (I creat them for my children but Ammy asked me to post them online) are two little children who aren’t in my family. Well, one is a dad of children and the other is a little girl who told my husband to tell me never to stop.

What are YOU saying to people you meet? What message is it giving them?

I don’t know if I shared here that the talking girls (age ten and five) cut their locs. They kept cutting off a few despite repeated warnings to stop and my hiding scissors. But nope, they kept sneaking into my room to get scissors, or took them from their brother after he used them for his school lesson and kept cutting here and there till my ten year old Amarissa had a full front section with no locs at all. After all the months and years of pain from standing and creating them and then tightening them monthly over weeks as they are impatient, I had to cut them off. I won’t lie, it hurt. Each loc represented a lot of pain for my shoulders, pelvic bones and back, and a lot of time wasted.

They had been very eager to start afresh but a day after their dad shaved a few bits off to make their hair more even, they regretted it bitterly. “Mom, why don’t you also cut your hair so you are like us?” And cries of, “Why did we cut our hair?? When will it grow again? Can we have locs now??”

So, they started putting all manner of things on their heads to pretend they had long hair. Stockings, bonnets, petticoats. It was crazy. I told them their hair was fine just as it is and that nobody thinks less of them just because they don’t have long hair but it didn’t settle in. They never saw any children with short hair.

On Thursday, I pointblank refused for them to walk out the house to go to the playground wearing stockings on their heads.

The girls returned and my ten year old tells me how the nannies, domestic workers and dog walkers they usually meet there, (“Our FRIENDS!” they always tell me) were surprised to see their hair.🤣They said their hair looked good and they clearly take great care of it.

Since then, since those STRANGERS, said what they said, they no longer hide their teeny weeny Afros. No more embarrassment, no more shame. I am so, so grateful that ~~Black~~ people (We notoriously aren’t into keeping our hair natural and without braids or wigs or weaves) managed to do what I couldn’t. They reminded the children that what matters is healthy hair, not length of hair. And all that is NEEDED is for it to be taken care of, not made to look different or thinner or longer. No traction alopecia from tight cornrows, or braids etc.

Their hair is beautiful just as it is.

Priceless.

So, what will YOU say to someone today? Especially to a little child? 🥰

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.

Tag: natural hair

What are YOU saying?

It’s Just Hair!