My latest Anything But Him post is up. This month it's all about hair. I divided the post into two parts because apparently, I have a lot to say about hair. Check back next month for part II. Also there's a link on the blog header that'll take you straight to my Anything But Him page so you can read everything I've written so far. Enjoy!
I do not remember the first time I got a relaxer but I do remember always dreading going for a retouch or anything to do with hair. If the option of wearing a wig had been presented to me at a young age, I am almost sure, I would have taken it.
I hated hair --combing it, washing it, braiding it, the burns I'd get from relaxers-- I hated all of it.
In fact, it always made me cry. There is no salon chair from Sam Levy's village to Union Avenue and Leopold Takawira St. that I had not cried in, by the time I was 12. At one point, my mother got so tired of the constant bribing and hassle that she took me to salon and said "it's either you retouch it or you cut it." I happily chose the latter option, to everyone's dismay and for two years, I proudly wore this horrendous (hindsight is 20/20) boyish haircut. It felt amazing to avoid salon visits because the salon was an intimidating place, especially as a child. They were so nice while your mom was there but as soon as she left, you were on your own. They were rough and they complained that you cried too much. They supposedly knew it all and they always wanted to decide your hairstyle for you. A few weeks before leaving for America, I found myself at the hair salon again. On this day the stylist said, "munhu arikuenda kuAmerica angaenda akadai? Aiwa ticha muisa dark and lovely." That is one of the first times I remember feeling inadequate because of my outward appearance.
These hair dressers like so many other people believed chemically straightened hair was the best ever. Somewhere along the line: natural hair had come to symbolize being backwards, or rural or poor. Only people who could not afford to get their hair done had natural hair. People did not willingly keep their hair natural (hello, it doesn't even grow) if they had a choice. "I'm going to cut your hair" was a legitimate threat from adults. It was punishment. We did not celebrate and embrace our "mufushwa" and we certainly did not go to America with it.
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