My Kinky Hair
Rediscovering self: embracing growth through seasons of change
I started a new relationship with my hair after I read Chimamanda Adichie’s Americanah. I was in Nigeria at the time and still wore my hair short, but I was determined never to perm my hair if I grew it out. Six years later, I’ve been grooming my kinky hair for over a year now, and it’s been quite the journey.
I felt encouraged to give growing my hair a try again because I wanted the lush afros I saw on the internet. Long, thick, wooly crop of hair. Growing afro or going afro has grown in popularity over the years because globalization has engendered place branding and personality branding, and nations and individuals alike have been forced to answer the question, who are we? But that’s just my theory for the many self-help videos you can find on TikTok with those keywords.
I used to keep my hair close to the skin low for two reasons: I worked a job kilometers away from home and needed the money for transportation and other personal needs. I also could never get my hair to cooperate, perhaps because I wasn’t invested in its growth.
In the span of a year, however, I tried different products and approaches, all in the bid to feed some weight to my frail, lackluster hair. My first approach was Omez’s shea butter growth oil. I knew from experience it wasn’t going to do the magic promised because my experience with chebe powder in shea butter wasn’t good. Perhaps my applying a generous amount for a quicker effect was equally pretentious on my part, but this combination always leaves my hair looking flaky and dull. Anyway, I was religious with the bonnets at bedtime when I didn’t have my hair braided and used extensions when I could, which I now understand is a protective style.
Extensions are protective because they protect the high-porosity kinky hair from losing too much moisture. Also, being combed less often allows room for growth and less breakage.
When my hair isn’t braided, which is most of the time, I like to wear my hair in cornrows. This makes wearing a wig easier, but in trying to grow my hair, I started to worry that this was also contributing to my hair’s limpness. Whenever I wore a wig for a whole day, my scalp itched more. I thought the heat from long hours of being under the wig was damaging my hair, so I decided to reduce my dependence on wigs.
For my graduation, I stitched faux locs to my fragile hair. Can you imagine that? I wanted a Ghana-braids look and could have travelled out of state to get it done but I settled for faux locs, it only seemed natural. I had many torturous nights of trying to sleep on those tightly plaited things, and when I eventually took them off, I was horrified. A loc on the left frontal lobe of my scalp completely came off while still wearing the style, leaving an arid, scalded spot where hair once grew. No faux locs going forward! That was my resolve.
It took all the love and patience I could muster not to drive into a barber’s shop and have the limp curls coalescing on the floor around me like I had several times in the past. I found a braiding salon down on Pine Street and had my natural hair twisted into long, weightless strands. When I envisioned the style, the beads I had with me at the salon were supposed to make the strands come alive. While the hairdresser was still working her way through the hair, she quietly observed that my hair was long but didn’t look it. She also wasn’t sure about the beads because they were going to fall out. What does a girl who is already having a bad hair day do with that kind of information?
When my friend picked me up, I was embarrassed, and he was disappointingly silent. LOL! I recall breaking that awkward silence with my ideas for perking up my twists. I was going to buy hair charms to help make the difference. I never did, and I was convinced I would be visiting the barber soon. However, before I got my hair twisted, I applied a new hair product — the olive oil set. I am sharing my experience because I fell in love with my curls when I undid the twists. The new growth had given weight to the hair, making it thicker, fuller, and curlier. The hairpins I got look regal on my bun.
This is why I relish being a woman. I love that I am nurturing, delicate, and relentless. Like my hair, I have known seasons of barrenness and self-abandonment, but every time I found the courage to know myself again, I discovered a fascinating layer, a more acclimatized and comported version of myself, ready and eager to explore new territories.
