As l got older, l was actually disappointed that my hair did not grow to the length that the towel had given me as a little girl. Years rolled by and l trudged on with my regimen of straighteners and stuff. Along the way, l made an enemy named moisture! For the life of me, l could not understand why my hair recoiled at the very sight of it. Sweat, bath water, and worse, the rain! How l dreaded the rainy season. If l did not have a shower cap and l was in the rain, that meant a plastic bag was going to do the job.
Constant apprehension is what l went through during those years until l bumped into an optimistic and refreshing group of girls who call themselves Naturalistas. At first l was like, “Hold on, I am as natural as they come. What do you mean l should chop off my hair and embrace my kink?” A lot of education, enlightenment and encouragement finally did the trick. A burden has been taken off my shoulders. l am free and so happy l have embraced the kink in my hair. The kink l was born with, the kink that sets me apart as a true African girl.
Back then, l mistook the relationship my hair had with water for a hate/hate situation and yet the opposite is true; it is in fact a love/love situation. I have come to the full realisation that indeed my hair never hated moisture but simply that at the sight of it, my hair grabbed it and hugged it with utmost love.
As l continue to dig deep to find who l truly am, embracing the kink in my hair has been both liberating and exhilarating. I salute all the women out there who have embraced the true structure of their hair no matter their race, kind and creed.
