Mommy, mommy my hair can reach my butt!!
I was so attached
All around me girls complained that their hair wouldn’t work for them
It wouldn’t sit down
It wouldn’t grow long enough
It would not be TAMED!!!!!
But I never had that problem
Why would I want to tame something that is better unleashed?
My locks are beautiful just the way they are
My mother would wash and grease my hair and let me go
My siblings and I would use our locks to tangle each other up or play fight
My hair tells my story
You can totally notice my obsessive years when I needed to twist them every two weeks
Or the years that I was stressed and my hair thinned
It holds my strength.
The difference is clear when I have it braided in corn-rows.
Or when I have it all tied back in a sophisticated bun,
Or when I curl it just for fun,
Or when I have it all down and it is easy to confuse it with a lion’s mane
But not everyone sees this beauty
In fact they sully it with ignorance and false accusations
“How can you keep it clean?” they ask
Does your hair itch they wonder
Or more bluntly, “Eww!”
It doesn’t matter how clean my locks are or how neat they look
People will just hold onto fallacies
The logical approach is the road less taken
Of course I wash my hair
Why the hell would I keep it dirty?
It does not make sense, nor does it sound pleasant to walk around with dirty hair
If you must know:
It takes me an hour to wash my hair,
An hour to twist the roots,
And an hour to dry under high heat
To style my hair takes between thirty minutes to an hour if I choose to style it
I spray my hair with water and lavender each day to lock in the moister and for perfume
I also sleep with a satin cap to keep it soft and to keep out lent
Just in case you wanted to know.
But why must I explain myself???
This is just the way my hair works
This is the way I like it
This is what makes me happy
It may sound like a lot
Its maintenance is not simple
But I cannot put my hair in a ponytail and just go
This is my lot
And I am fine with it
In fact I love it
My hair dates back to the Kenyans during the Mau Mau rebellion
Or more recently
The Rastafarian Movement
My hair can be a political statement if it chooses
But mostly, it’s just my hair
Not looking for a battle
But ready to take a stance if it is challenged
It may come in the form of stares from an elderly woman in Brook’s Brothers
Or my cousin giving me attitude when I have to go to a special beauty salon with a locktician
But my locks are here to stay
They have been with me since I was nine years old
They serve as a pillow on planes
And as a blanket when I am cold
As a link between me and my fellow Rastafarians
Or they attract nice hellos from people who think that they are simply awesome
Or a shout of “Right On” at a Damien Marley concert
It may attract the hand of a little girl who is dying to know what they feel like
Or the sometimes gentle tug of a baby who is into grasping whatever is near
I love my locks
It puts a smile on my face just thinking of them!