I am not my Hair, or Confessions of a recent Nappy

We are entering Black History month. On February 16, the “Black Panther” movie is coming out. Everyone is talking about Blackness, Afro-descendants are going back to their roots... And so, I decided to write my first article on this blog that is not related to my faith. Rather than being about my one true first identity (being a daughter of God), this article will be about one of my many other identities, that of being a Black woman. Being a Black woman in a White-Male-dominated world, even though I consider myself very lucky, as a Black person, to know exactly where I come from, from what country in Africa, what village, what tribe, and to know exactly who my ancestors are. Not all of us have that chance. So let's start.

As a Black woman, I was always told, out loud or not, by my Black community or not, that when it came to hair, the longer, the straighter, the better.
I don't remember at what age I got my first perm, probably around 5 or 6. I just remember the before and after feeling of having natural afro hair. I remember being disappointed one day as I tried to style my hair in two big pompoms. I couldn’t. The afro hair that would have allowed it was gone! I don't blame my mom, even though I admit I have for a while. After all, she did what any other mother of four daughters between the age of 3 and 11 would have done: use the magic product that she was using herself, and which would allow her to comb her daughters’ hair without going through war each time.

Mommy's four little girls

As my sisters and I grew older, we started wearing weaves. My mom tried to keep me and my younger sister, her two babies, away from them for as long as possible. I couldn't understand why. They were so convenient! And they met all the hair criteria we were always told were better, without half the hassle! She also stopped wanting to put perm on our head herself, telling us to go to the hair dresser because she didn't want to mess up our hair. She herself had had long, voluminous hair, which had severely suffered from all the perms and extensions, and now she barely has any of it left. Like most African moms her age, she exclusively wears wigs now. This is a taboo reality in our culture which gets more and more concrete with age. Some young women are trying to break the stigma, and that led to the Nappy movement, of which I now consider myself a part of. But what happened between then and now? How did a normal Black young woman like me switch from being ashamed to show her natural hair between two extension hairstyles, from being a full-time nappy? That's what you'll find out. Keep reading!

  Beware of the perm

When I was about 15, my mom, my sisters and I discovered something wonderful: Dominican blow dry. Combined with a good perm, it made our hair feel "white"! It would blow in the wind, people! I think that's why my mom stopped wanting to put perm on our hair. She would rather us going there. And anytime I felt like leaving my hair out (about once year in the past few years), I would go find that good old hairdresser, even after she moved like three times in fifteen years (close by, so I always ended up finding her!) Anyhow, twice in my life I have left my relaxed hair out for two long. The first time, after more three months and two perms, I would comb it and put heat on it every day. I would see my hair fall down little by little, but realized the damage too late. It wasn't so bad that time. I put perm in it, cut it out really short and did a Rihanna "Good girl gone bad" hairstyle, which was very fashionable at the time, everyone did it. Then I travelled and wore braids for months, and when I took them out, my hair was back to normal.

My 21st bday (Dominican Blow Dry)

My 22nd bday (Rihanna Hairstyle)

My 23rd bday in Mexico (hair grown up after a year)

The second time though, I did the unthinkable: after doing two perms back to back (one in Brasil for carnival and the following one in Montreal, in the middle of the winter), I applied an "open" weave, leaving half of my hair out. It sure looked good on my graduation pic, but when I removed the weave like 2 months later (I know, I killed it!), it literally looked like I had a mohawk on my head! The front and the side hair was GONE as if I had cut I had with scissors! Had I not been doing another long-term trip in a country where I had no idea how I would take care if my hair (i.e. Mexico, like the first time actually), it would have been the perfect occasion to try a mohawk sort of hairstyle, which had always tempted the rebellious side if me.

My beautiful second mistake

But now, that rebellious side of me had to come up with something livable while staying in Mexico for 9 months. That’s when I chose the most extreme solution: shaving everything. It was obviously very scary, but I ended up doing it. I went to a male hairdresser, who looked at my hair asked if I had cut it my myself on purpose, or if it broke! I was mortified. I showed him a picture of the kind of cut I wanted. And then he shaved my head! The cut he did was not exactly what I wanted, but it didn't look bad either. People actually made me compliments, and I was like "Really? Thanks!", feeling like someone who was told she was beautiful for the first time. 

Mexico with short natural hair

The transition

So I arrived in Mexico with short natural hair. My friends were divided. On one side, some felt like I had lost my "mojo", as one of them told me. Mexico being a rather patriarchal (not to say sexist) country, girls are expected to be very feminine. I got asked a couple of times why I didn't let my hair grow. “I would look better with long hair”. The other half of my friends were glad to see my natural hair for the first time, and were in love with the growing afro, which they would touch every time they had a chance. They would tell me I still looked beautiful, which comforted me in my insecurities. After four months of having my natural hair out, I went to spend Christmas in Cameroon, my Motherland… and the motherland of my afro insecurities. There, I kept my natural hair for over a week, not having the time to go to the hair dresser at my arrival. People would not hide their disapprobation of my new look. "What's with the ‘fro?", "If you're going to have an afro, at least cut it neatly!", "Why don't you get your hair done already?" And as soon as I put some Indian girl’s long, straight hair on my head, they would be like "There you go!", "You're much prettier this way!". See where I'm heading to with this?

Short Nappy, Mexico 

Eventually, after the holidays I returned to Mexico with ultra-long Senegalese twists, which are a must for me every time I leave the country, and which Mexicans were absolutely mesmerized with. After a few months, I got back home to Montreal and let my natural hair out again. I had passed the test. I wasn't scared to walk around with my afro anymore. During that time, I got to witness a conversation that truly resumes the complexes of the older generation passed onto us and our response with the nappy movement. I was at a retreat with my prayer group, and during a chillout evening, this older lady, who is like the mom of the prayer group, told one of the girls : "Laurence I like you, but I don't like your hair/head (“Je n’aime pas ta tête.”)" The girl kept quiet. What our "mom" didn't know is that Laurence has a blog on natural black hair which has thousands of followers from all over the world. She gives advice to girls on how to take care of their natural hair. So I quickly came to the rescue, giving this info to Mom with a humorous tone and saying that it was thanks to girls like her that I decided to go back to natural. We changed the subject, but I could tell that my sister in Christ was uneasy and did not appreciate the comment. To this day, I use this conversation as an example of how we were brought up to despise our natural hair, and how our mothers, who barely have any hair left, keep on perpetuating that insecurity to us even as adults.

My long, Senegalese twists

My hair last summer, after taking of the twists

Here and now

After that incident, I travelled to Europe for 2 months, and so I decided to wear a weave so I wouldn't have to worry about hair care while going from country to country.  In Switzerland, in which I participated in a program for artists from all over the world, I got to share a room with a beautiful Nigerian girl, who became like a sister. One of the many things that struck me about her was the way she styled and took care of her natural hair. I would watch her taking long minutes that added up to hours, styling her hair, and the result was beautiful.

Me and my nappy Nigerian sister Mirabel

Mirabel definitely inspired me, once I was back to Canada, to keep my natural hair for a long time (finances definitely encouraged me too, after that long trip, lol!) So I've been living with my natural hair for 6 months now. I adopted some tricks from my Nigerian sis (like wetting my dry hair with a spray made of water and Olive-oil), and I found some products that give my hair a texture that I like and which I use daily.

What my hair looks like as I am writing these lines

Pros and cons

Now, I’m not going to sit here and tell you that there are only positive sides to wearing your natural hair, that would be a lie. I think the obvious pros are: the money saving (even the most  expensive hair products cost just a fraction of what we spend on weaves or braids), the enhanced feeling of self-love as God made you, without having to fit into image requirements that are based on colonization. As for the cons, since our hair grows in a curly and voluminous way rather than on a vertical length basis, most of the time it feels like it’s not growing. You actually have to untangle it from the inside out to see that yes, it did grow, but it shrinks when you style your hair. Laurence actually explains that quite well in one article of her blog.  

Moreover, as a result to all the perm products and heavy extensions, my front line is very short and some hair never grew back. My natural afro is therefore unequal, so I style it short-looking in order to not look like Marge Simpson. Besides, keeping my hair out in the winter and combing it a lot probably contributed to some hair breakage. Finally, lots of nappy women (I am not one of them) spend a very large amount on hours taking care of their hair, applying treatments, etc. So if "nappyness" saves them money, what it does not save is time. So if you consider that time is money, it gets as expensive as extensions for some. But that depends on each person's level of commitment and patience.

Got it. Now what?

 I guess the message I have for all the young girls out there who would like to make the hair cut/nappy move is: don't be scared! God made you and your natural hair beautiful! I am aware of all the mental decolonization that this process requires, not only from the Black community’s ideal of straight, long hair, but also from the patriarchal society that tells us that girls look better with long hair. Finally, I have to say that being a nappy doesn’t have to be forever. You don’t have to go all radical and tell the world that you will never use perm again. It is very normal to be tempted to relax your hair again. If that happens, just do what you feel. It’s YOUR hair, therefore YOUR decision. Don’t be like that Nigerian blogger who, after being a nappy guru for years, diabolizing the use of perm, ended up filming herself getting a perm, apologizing, crying and making all this drama, as she was publicly going “against” everything that she taught to thousands of followers. Never say never, people!

To conclude,  I hope by reading this, some women will find the courage to make the move! Black power!