I don't even know where to begin. I saw this video facebook post this morning.
I cannot tell you how this breaks my heart. As you all may know, my daughter Lucy was born in Ethiopia, is almost seven, has brown skin, and African hair, just like this little girl. To me, this is Lucy's cry. And let me tell you. This is not a vanity cry. This is not a misplaced-values cry. This is not a "oh, she'll get over it" cry. This cry is so deep, so painful, and so heavy in baggage, it cannot easily be explained (to white people, particularly). It carries in it's salty tears hundreds of years of history. Of not being seen as humans, as not the same, as not good enough, as not worthy enough. As much as racism still lives, Caucasians have come to understand and accept different skin colors, and many have made peace with our multi-tonal world. But the deep-rooted hair issue lives on.
Hair in general, is not only an integral part of one's self esteem, it holds tremendous symbolic significance socially, particularly for women. I could write a PhD dissertation about this. But in the name of being brief, one can ask these questions to get a sense of the answers: What is one of the more difficult parts of cancer treatment? How difficult would it be for you to shave your head, or be bald? How much money do people spend on hair dressers, curling straight hair, straightening curly hair, cutting, trimming, coloring, styling? What does going out in public without brushing/caring/washing your hair feel like? Why do so many societies have women cover their hair as a major religious dogma? What happened to Samson when he cut his hair?
For descendants of Africans, living amongst Caucasians, this has been an even more symbolic journey. For this community, whose (beautiful) skin color is permanent, being able to change their (beautiful) hair has been the one thing that they have control over, in order to feel more integrated in a mainly Caucasian society. Until today, much effort is made, to use what technology and means (which are often highly unhealthy, terribly expensive and unimaginably time consuming) are available, in hoping to achieve the feeling that hair is the great equalizer. And that has been, for the most part (despite the noble efforts of the Black Panther, Black is Beautiful, and embrace the Afro-look), the status-quo. Thankfully, there is a new movement under way, that is re-embracing the Natural look of Black Hair (check out Oprah Magazine September 2013 issue). If you're interested in finding out more about this, a good place to start is Good Hair, a documentary by Chris Rock.
And now comes the bit from my experience, where I hope to shine a light, and perhaps an "a-ha" moment for some. Non-black people, who have hair ranging from silk straight to very curly, just don't have the slightest idea, how much time, effort and often pain (not to mention money) is involved in taking care of African hair, especially girls' hair. This was a complete cultural shock for me, with a learning curve as steep as Mt Everest, and I'm still at base camp. We're talking about thousands of years of inherited experience, combing techniques, styles, products, vocabulary, scheduling, tactics for dealing with pain and sitting time. This hair, so beautiful and amazing to me, so malleable and deep in expression, is very (from here on, when I write the word very, read VERY to the power of 10) difficult to take care of and very time consuming. It has to be combed properly daily, so as not to get tangled and knotted. But combing it is an art form that is very hard, and if you have a tender-headed* daughter like mine, it is full of suffering, pain, screams, wails and tears. Often, little kids wear elaborate hair-dos, which are breathtakingly beautiful, and serve not only the purpose of removing the unruly hair stigma, and helping create an image of beauty and tidiness, but also help with the maintenance of the hair, a hair-do having the life of a week or more, in which time it does not require much attention. Seriously, you have no idea what effort was involved in producing those hair-dos. Please appreciate that.
Hair in general, is not only an integral part of one's self esteem, it holds tremendous symbolic significance socially, particularly for women. I could write a PhD dissertation about this. But in the name of being brief, one can ask these questions to get a sense of the answers: What is one of the more difficult parts of cancer treatment? How difficult would it be for you to shave your head, or be bald? How much money do people spend on hair dressers, curling straight hair, straightening curly hair, cutting, trimming, coloring, styling? What does going out in public without brushing/caring/washing your hair feel like? Why do so many societies have women cover their hair as a major religious dogma? What happened to Samson when he cut his hair?
For descendants of Africans, living amongst Caucasians, this has been an even more symbolic journey. For this community, whose (beautiful) skin color is permanent, being able to change their (beautiful) hair has been the one thing that they have control over, in order to feel more integrated in a mainly Caucasian society. Until today, much effort is made, to use what technology and means (which are often highly unhealthy, terribly expensive and unimaginably time consuming) are available, in hoping to achieve the feeling that hair is the great equalizer. And that has been, for the most part (despite the noble efforts of the Black Panther, Black is Beautiful, and embrace the Afro-look), the status-quo. Thankfully, there is a new movement under way, that is re-embracing the Natural look of Black Hair (check out Oprah Magazine September 2013 issue). If you're interested in finding out more about this, a good place to start is Good Hair, a documentary by Chris Rock.
And now comes the bit from my experience, where I hope to shine a light, and perhaps an "a-ha" moment for some. Non-black people, who have hair ranging from silk straight to very curly, just don't have the slightest idea, how much time, effort and often pain (not to mention money) is involved in taking care of African hair, especially girls' hair. This was a complete cultural shock for me, with a learning curve as steep as Mt Everest, and I'm still at base camp. We're talking about thousands of years of inherited experience, combing techniques, styles, products, vocabulary, scheduling, tactics for dealing with pain and sitting time. This hair, so beautiful and amazing to me, so malleable and deep in expression, is very (from here on, when I write the word very, read VERY to the power of 10) difficult to take care of and very time consuming. It has to be combed properly daily, so as not to get tangled and knotted. But combing it is an art form that is very hard, and if you have a tender-headed* daughter like mine, it is full of suffering, pain, screams, wails and tears. Often, little kids wear elaborate hair-dos, which are breathtakingly beautiful, and serve not only the purpose of removing the unruly hair stigma, and helping create an image of beauty and tidiness, but also help with the maintenance of the hair, a hair-do having the life of a week or more, in which time it does not require much attention. Seriously, you have no idea what effort was involved in producing those hair-dos. Please appreciate that.
Lucy at final stage of her monthly hair session, after a big cry.
The hair-dos themselves (which I believe come with a sort of cultural "manual", handed down from generation to generation), are very intricate and difficult to learn (as an outsider). Thanks to YouTube videos, blogs ( such as www.chocolatehairvanillacare.com), helpful African American moms (that walk up to you at the supermarket, with understanding and pity in their voice, and reach out to you with helpful information like products and tips, and who will actually at times come over to show you how to do it), and wonderful patient hairdressers like Sunshine (a Katrina transplant in Houston who is most patient with Lucy and me), I am able to, at least, feel like I'm keeping my head above the water. I used to do Lucy's hair weekly. It was a 3-4 hour ordeal every time, from wash to finalizing the twists. And every single minute of it was filled with suffering, pain, screams, wails and tears (let's just call that scene, "The Stress"). After about four years, I decided to try to reduce "The Stress", by allowing Lucy's hair to "lock" (aka dreadlocks, although as Sunshine says, there is nothing dreadful about them- and they certainly are NOT "faddish"). This would reduce the amount of time needed to maintain it to a once a month, two hour session. Sunshine, who maintains Lucy's locks, and I, still experience "The Stress" at every sitting, as Lucy apparently has a difficult case of tender-headed-ness. But it's the least painful solution (even short hair, as some of you may wonder, would involve "The Stress" daily). And locks happen to be a great look for Lucy, wonderfully matching her unique personality.
Despite the fact that she gets compliments on her hair all the time, which is great, she also has not been able to dodge the fact that her hair is different from a lot of other kids', and, as she sees it, not in a good way. She does, after all, live in a world of blond Barbies (despite also having the token Tiana and a couple of other brown-skinned dolls - which I'm grateful for ), and a majority of girls at school with long straight hair. She has come home crying several times, wishing that she had straight golden hair like some of her friends. She has come home crying, because one of her "pink-skinned" friends told her she would not invite her to her birthday party because she was only inviting girls with straight hair. She has heard "the talk" from me many times, about how everyone looks different, and how that is a good thing. About how her hair is so unique and beautiful. But she still suffers through the physical pain of getting it done, and will inevitably wish for her hair to be different.
What I cannot tell you is into how many pieces her heart would be broken if her school told her that her hair was inappropriate, and that she could no longer attend her school because of her hair. That, my friend, is a hurt you don't recover from.
It's time for this non-sense to stop.
Despite the fact that she gets compliments on her hair all the time, which is great, she also has not been able to dodge the fact that her hair is different from a lot of other kids', and, as she sees it, not in a good way. She does, after all, live in a world of blond Barbies (despite also having the token Tiana and a couple of other brown-skinned dolls - which I'm grateful for ), and a majority of girls at school with long straight hair. She has come home crying several times, wishing that she had straight golden hair like some of her friends. She has come home crying, because one of her "pink-skinned" friends told her she would not invite her to her birthday party because she was only inviting girls with straight hair. She has heard "the talk" from me many times, about how everyone looks different, and how that is a good thing. About how her hair is so unique and beautiful. But she still suffers through the physical pain of getting it done, and will inevitably wish for her hair to be different.
What I cannot tell you is into how many pieces her heart would be broken if her school told her that her hair was inappropriate, and that she could no longer attend her school because of her hair. That, my friend, is a hurt you don't recover from.
It's time for this non-sense to stop.
In the spirit of shining a light on the beauty and acceptance of African hair, I present you with a wonderful picture book, I Love My Hair! by Natasha Tarpley. It is a book that celebrates African hair, in all it's glory. It acknowledges the pain that is sometimes felt in the process of it's caring. But it also focuses on the beauty and uniqueness of different styles, and through poetic text and beautiful watercolor illustrations that complement the text as visual poetry, helps kids of African descent appreciate, and enjoy their beautiful hair. And to liberate themselves by feeling that their hair can let them fly, free from all hair prejudices that bind them.
As far as the school from the video goes, my wish is that not only the African American parents, but ALL parents, withdraw their kids from that school in outrage, unless that ridiculous rule is removed from it's books.
*tender-headed= I have not found an official scientific definition of this, but within the African American community, it is a term widely used to describe some people, especially some kids, that have extremely sensitive scalps, and suffer intense pain when their hair is being combed, parted , twisted or braided.
*tender-headed= I have not found an official scientific definition of this, but within the African American community, it is a term widely used to describe some people, especially some kids, that have extremely sensitive scalps, and suffer intense pain when their hair is being combed, parted , twisted or braided.
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