I recently made a very drastic decision, one that seems to
be puzzling the world around me. For the past week I have been constantly
attacked, questioned and cornered about it. So what is this new decision? I
Tshepo Jamillah Moyo have relaxed my hair. Firstly it is necessary that I
explain that this blog entry is not due to me feeling a need to explain.
I do not owe anyone
an explanation. It is my hair and mine alone. I was eight when I first started
keeping my natural hair. It was not a voluntary choice. My mother did not make
it an option. I am not saying it was forced but even if I had said no it would
have been (thus is the African culture). I wanted long thick hair like my
mommy’s. I wanted glossy silky hair like my granny’s. I wanted to swim without
a swimming cap like my friend Danielle. I had never seen my natural hair. But I
had beautiful hair. I had long, dark black rich thick hair. And then it
suddenly started breaking. Falling off when I combed it. The relaxer burnt my
scalp. My mother figured I was allergic to it.
She cut it off. She told me no one would ever know I had
natural hair and for years she was right. I braided my hair in singles. No one
ever saw it. I was not ashamed off it. I was not bothered by it. I was
fascinated with the way the blow dryer could transform it. I did not like that
I could not flip my hair like my friends. I was the only girl I knew who kept
long natural hair. I was not embarrassed by it. I was not proud either. It was
just there. It really was just my hair. Then one day I felt brave. I went to
school with my natural kinky beautiful hair. This was long ago. Before afro’s
wear the in thing, when all the girls could flick their hair. They laughed.
They commented. They touched it. They asked questions. I did not have answers.
I was confused. I was twelve years old when I first came to defend my hair,
when they first had to be a reason why it was natural. I have been defending my
hair ever since.
My first defence was that it was healthier that way. I don’t
know when the defence became because I was not fake. Then it was because I was
African and I believed in my roots. I was proud of my natural hair. I have
never been ashamed of it. Just like I am proud to be African and I have never
been ashamed of it. But why did the two have to define me? What do I mean by
that? I am ashamed to say this, but truth is I moulded myself into my hair. I
moulded my personality into defending my hair. I dressed to suit my
personality. My personality suited my hair. Yes, I believed in my principles. I
believed what I preached. Yes I have never tried to be some one I am not. Yes I
absolutely hate weaves with a passion. Yes I can’t stand make up that looks
like it was plastered on your face. You know what I am talking about, those
girls which you have no idea what they really look like. Yes, I believe in the
black conscious movement. I believe in the principles off the Rastafarians. Yes
i dance to home talk-mango groove every morning.
But I no longer want kinky hair. I no longer need to advertise
my beliefs to the world. I no longer need my hair to define me. I do not want
to be a book that is easy to read. I believe that my personality is so strong
that even without my hair; you will “get” me. I, Tshepo Jamillah Moyo have come
to realise that when it comes to being me, there are no rules.
And I am happy to say “i relaxed my hair. I did it for me”.
My hair is finally JUST MY HAIR again. And I love it.
