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Once upon a time…

She put on her tiny satchel and stepped outside into the big wide world.

She was happy, her beautiful hair akin to a lion’s mane flouncing everywhere. She thought she was the most beautiful little girl there ever was.

Then she saw those scary eyes and scrunched up noses.

Their expressions were filled with disgust. She played with her fingers in fear. Had she done something wrong? Why were her teachers and classmates disgusted with her?

Then someone told her that her hair was something fearsome. She forgot about the beauty of her hair and always covered it up instead so that everyone’s eyes and words would scare her no more.

The hair debacle…

My hair has always been a subject at the tip of everyone’s tongue. Well, not just my hair but every black woman’s hair. It’s no secret that our hair has been subjected to disdain and maltreatment all thanks to our inseparable besties both colonialism and white supremacy. Like everything, let me catapult you to the past so that we can come to the conclusion as to why we’re silly enough albeit ridiculous enough to hate our own hair.

It all started when some imperialists opposed their will on Africa and completely destroyed our way of life and values that we held dear. Now, whilst the hatred for afro hair was never prevalent in Zimbabwe or many countries, it is suffice to say that the Westerners and their beauty standards really destroyed the way we viewed our own hair.  We were reminded that our hair was naturally unkempt, unprofessional and unappealing.

People always claim that these issues took place in the past. Like no black person has disdain for their hair. I’ll have you know that afro hair hatred is very prevalent. Another shocker is the fact that I see it mostly manifesting in black people as opposed to the rest of the world and their western-dominated beauty standards.

When I hated my hair until I didn’t.

I am happy to say that I fall in the category of people who have great hair genes. I never had problems growing my hair. All I had to do was moisturise it and it would sprout and grow beautifully. That wasn’t until I was shoved into my high-school era which I can assert was one of my less iconic eras. I digress, but my point stands. Being shoved into a world teeming with uninformed teenagers was akin to being a vampire and being stabbed by a dagger. Dramatic? Not really, no. I have good reasons for my salty comment.

I’m sure we are aware of the hairstyle called mabhanzi. I had that hairstyle gracing my hair all the time. But turning 14 made me realise that natural protective hairstyles were no longer good enough if you wanted to fit in. It was official folks, mabhanzi were out and free-hand or cornrows became a frequented hairstyle to sit on a scalp I’ve come to finally admit is damaged. Every two weeks I would tell my mum that I didn’t want the cute mabhanzi she was now grudgingly used to plaiting.

A teacher of mine even examined my hair and looked at my mabhanzi plait. She asked why I wasn’t doing cornrows like everyone else as she deemed them neater. I finally gave into the pressure and got a very set straight-back cornrow sort of hairstyle. It was an awful experience because constantly plaiting this hairstyle without any knowledge of hair care over the years completely destroyed my hairline and gave me hellish split ends.

Everyone was happy though. They told me that I looked older and more sophisticated as opposed to how I looked with the “infantilising” mabhanzi. As a 14-year-old girl I was pleased that I wasn’t  being called a kid every time I so much as blinked an eye in any way, shape or form. I enjoyed this new found attention I had when I had cornrows. Every two weeks, I’d haul myself to our local braider’s cute cottage and have her do my hair. She was a marvel at the art of doing hair. The issue was that she had quite the tight hand and I would often leave with a headache. I choked it off as normal. After all, I had read article after article and had heard women tell me that beauty is pain. Much to my chagrin, of course.

When I went on holiday at the age of 14, that’s when my hair died. It committed seppuku because it just couldn’t keep up with my constant maltreatment of it. It dried up and it developed numerous split ends. It was a winter holiday and I remember not having funds to get myself a fresh set of holiday braids. It was only 2017 so the knotless braids and boho twist craze hadn’t reached Zimbabwe’s borders or even the world’s borders yet. It was the age of thick box braids with colour or nothing. I was discouraged about going anywhere, deathly sure and convinced that I was certainly headed for social suicide if I ever infiltrated society with my unplaited hair. Going to public spaces with undone hair was one of my biggest nightmares. The idea to me at the time was unfathomable.

I only ever felt truly pretty with extensions. I remember when I was in form four and I finally got the guts to wear my hair in a cute high puff. So, I’m a 4c hair girlie and I’m sure most of us blessed with that hair type understand how challenging it can be to manage it. That being said, my hair had shrunk that day. It had come in contact with water, much to my dismay. I remember getting my mum to wrestle it into a bun that cold Monday morning.

When I got to school, I remember being the subject of scrutiny and judgement. A friend and classmate of mine had also decided to don her relaxed hair without any extensions and believe you me we caused quite the stir. Two boys in our class asked us, albeit confused and even a little concerned because our hair looked “funny”. They went on to say, “what’s going on with you guys’ hair today?” My classmate and I couldn’t form any words. We just stood there, our little hands slowly patting the high puffs we were actually so proud of until we had stepped foot in class. Our hair, in it’s natural and unmanipulated state was deemed unattractive.

The following weekend I plaited a hairstyle known as twist. It was nice and thin. A fan favourite really. That is, my female teachers preferred us to have it anyway. I walked into class next Monday morning feeling like I was on top of the world because I had hair extensions. Whilst there’s absolutely nothing wrong with feeling pretty and enjoying your hair, the problem surfaces when you realise that you hate your own natural hair, how it makes you look and feel. But who taught you to hate it like that?

The two boys who had first admonished and shamed me for the state of my natural hair in my class even whistled and complimented me when I walked in next Monday morning with a fresh set of braids. They called me pretty and what little girl doesn’t want to be called pretty?

It was then embedded in my mind that I was only beautiful if my hair was long. Society was kind and inviting when I had long twists nipping at all my hair follicles as opposed to when I had mabhanzi which actually protected my hair. After taking down my twists one weekend, I realised just how damaged my hair actually was. It had split ends and my ever-coveted hairline was now non-existent. My hair was damaged. I remember combing it and crying as I looked at the state of it. I reminisced and mourned my old hair. It had been a giant obsidian cloud. It had been soft to the touch and as wild as a lion’s mane. Staring at myself was hard because my once majestic mane now looked like a hairball spat out by a cat. It was as though I was balding and it was terrifying beyond words. I had little bald spots on the sides of my head, obviously a result of many years of a tight hand pulling my hair. It was years of not moisturising my hair. It was years of hiding my hair like it was something to be ashamed of. It was years of throwing my hair into a high puff and avoiding it.

I tried to console myself and say well, hairstyles like box braids and twists were costly. But that was no excuse. I could have asked my granny to plait my hair into mabhanzi to protect it from the cruel winter. I could have sprayed my hair with water. But I didn’t do any of those things because my hair in its natural state disgusted me beyond words. Because I thought this way, my hair was now paying an awful price. It was dying.

During another school holiday I was scrolling through the internet and discovered images of beautiful black women and their beautiful afros. They were standing in streets, buildings and sitting in restaurants flaunting their gorgeous hair. There was joy in their eyes and pride in their demeanour. That’s when I decided that I wanted to be like that. I wanted to look at my hair and love it, in its bare and naked form. I wanted my hair to be healthy and for it to thrive and I knew I had a very long way to go but this was a good start.

Why we hate our hair.

Imperialists really jumped on their ships and sailed halfway across the world to tell our ancestors that their hair was disgraceful. I am aware that this is somewhat a very gross generalisation but, in a nutshell, that is what basically happened.

We know that they killed, plundered, stole and abused but they changed our societal constructs and way of understanding certain things as well. Before imperialists set foot on Zimbabwean land, we were all fine. Our hair was just nothing but hair that sprouted from our scalps. We had herbs that we used to wash it and no man or woman was ever under the impression that their hair was gross or unappealing because it was JUST HAIR!

When Caucasians imposed their beauty standards on us, said beauty standards stuck to us. They were imposed on our ancestors and served to us on a silver platter filled with shame and judgement for having the hair that we did. It was as though the colonisers were mad at our hair. Because the way they carried on was very telling of their thoughts and attitude towards OUR hair. They basically said “how dare you have hair that looks like that?”

I’ve never quite understood why our hair offended them so, but I digress. After shaming us into hating our hair, they told us that long and bone straight hair was the definition of beauty. They told us that in order for us to be accepted into polite society, we had to have neat and tidy hair. Because apparently our own hair was untidy and unkempt. Which is very weird because how can you sail halfway across the world to tell a completely different race of people with a completely different hair type that THEIR hair was untidy? By whose standard my guy?

So, our ancestors carried this hatred of their hair and passed it on to us. The scariest part is that most Zimbabweans and other black people don’t realise that they hate their hair. I realised this when I was 16 years old so I couldn’t be annoyed or hateful that black people weren’t kind to their hair. The hatred of our hair is so deeply rooted in our minds and hearts that we need to dig very deeply in order to pull it out. Our hatred for our hair is very sly and cunning. It disguises itself as care and politeness when it’s actually really none of those things.

My gogo would tell me that people only complimented her hair when she straightened it with a hot comb. Back in her day, beauty was measured by how straight you could get your hair to be. In my experience, I was in 3^rd grade when I was subjected to micro-aggressions from my teacher. She called me over and placed her pretty and well-manicured hand on my head. I should have said “EXCUSE YOU, WHO DO YOU THINK YOU’RE TOUCHING?”

My 3^rd grade teacher went on to tell me that my hair looked very messy and untidy. Mind you, my hair was in mabhanzis. She told me that I had to relax my hair. Well, she had just ruined my day. Even the meat sandwiches in my lunchbox weren’t appealing anymore. I trudged home and narrated the whole ordeal to my mother. My mother said she didn’t want me having a tough time at school because primary school teachers could be weirdly heinous and vengeful. My mum relaxed my hair the following weekend. It was now straight and manageable but most importantly it was now “neat and tidy”. My teacher was over the moon the next Monday I went to school. Going on and on about pretty I looked.

I just sighed. I hated my hair so much. I thought I looked like a cat. A balding cat, that is. My mum and I were novices at relaxers so it came as no surprise when we discovered a lump on the left side of my scalp. My hair had been burnt to the point where it was a dark reddish-brown. We hadn’t seen the lump because it had been concealed by the curtain of hair that hadn’t been burnt during the entire process. When I felt the lump, I burst into tears and ran to my mum. She quickly cut my hair and hugged me, vowing that we would never relax my hair again. She was sad and would go on and on about how beautiful my hair had been before relaxer.  

“Relaxing your hair is like being in prison. You’re caged in. Your hair rules you. You didn’t go running with Curt today because you don’t want to sweat out this straightness. You’re always battling to make your hair do what it wasn’t meant to do.”
― Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, “Americanah”

I suppose I can’t hate my teacher because she thought what she was saying was normal. I suppose I can’t hate her because black people and black women especially have a really complicated relationship with hair.  

Now that I’ve regaled you of that awful tale, I’ll resume the whole “why we hate our hair” part.  For the hatred of our hair to be so deeply ensconced in generations of our culture, it needs to be as a result of a curated system. From my understanding, white people told us that our hair was ugly. Then they proceeded to impose an intolerant culture that forced us to submit to their standards. They stocked the stores with relaxers and produced discriminatory hair policies in schools and many professions. They made a very tight-knit system.

How hatred of our hair manifests itself…

OUR HAIR WILL NEVER BE RESPECTED BY SCHOOL POLICIES

People think the hair thing is not a big issue in schools but it is. It adversely affects many people and the worst part is that it starts at childhood. Most Zimbabwean school hair policies dictate that people keep their hair neat and short. Fair and fine, we can respect that. Those hair policies only become problematic when they are shoved down the throats of one racial demographic whilst the other racial demographics get away with not complying with the hair policies.

What do I mean? Well, it’s simple really, if schools are going to impose rules let them be for everyone, regardless of their hair type or dare I say their race. I attended St Columba’s High School for A’level so I must say I didn’t really have to suffer through their other hair policies.

Apparently, all form 1 to 4 students had to have short hair. However, what struck me as odd was that there was a mixed student and she was never subjected to cutting her hair or keeping it short. Everyone somehow surmised that that was normal. Get this, it was an Anglican school that prioritised the ideals of neatness and being plain to the point whereby everyone’s hair had to be short. Yet, that one mixed girl’s hair was long and she styled it in so many different ways. Teachers and the ever-so strict principal was alright with that. DOESN’T THAT MAKE YOU SUSPICIOUS? I WONDER WHAT IT MEANS?! Gaaaaaassssp!

What’s more, one of my roommates tells me that at her high-school Dominican Convent in Harare, their hairstyles were very limited which is understandable. Their hair was to be their natural hair colour and at bra strap length. However, a mixed girl who attended the same school sometimes came to school with purple highlights and none of the staff members batted an eye. But God forbid a black student comes to school with her natural hair tied in a puff! When that happens, best believe there’s chaos and anarchy because how dare black kids don their natural hair?

I can surmise that private schools tend to suffer a lot of colonial-adjacent school hair policies as opposed to government schools because they tend to be predominantly black attendee schools only. Girl’s College in Bulawayo was also under fire not too long ago for having a controversial headmistress who made very interesting comments about black women’s hair. By interesting I mean racist. I’m just trying to infiltrate “polite society” with my use of semantics because my hair will never be good enough for it apparently. It was alleged that she told black pupils to cut their hair because “it takes away their beauty.”  Wild, I know. That’s not the end of it, it was alleged that she asked another student, “do you keep drugs in your hair?”

There was another issue of racism in Pretoria Girls High. Pupils at Pretoria High School for Girls have said they were forced to chemically straighten their hair and not have afros that were deemed untidy. Over the weekend, students donning afro hairstyles and braids held a protest at the school to voice anger against the long-standing rule. The EFF even chipped in, adding their two cents by claiming that the school’s goal was “to directly suppress blackness in its aesthetics and culture”.

There are numerous protests in many schools with students voicing out how unfair school policies are. How bigoted they are. How racist they are and how harmful they can be. Because who’s to say that these young and impressionable kids won’t start to hate themselves as their hair in accordance with society is tied to their identity.

My question is why? Why can’t white, racially-ambiguous or Asian students who attend these schools be subjected to the same standard. The excuse is that, black people’s hair is too thick. So? That’s the hair black people have. You’re discriminating against their hair on their own land! In their home where they ought to feel safe, comfortable and normal. Make it make sense. I can’t believe this hatred for our hair has made us feel like our normal and natural hair is abnormal. How bloody weird.

If Themba Ndebele has to get a buzzcut so he can be neat and tidy at school then Thomas Brady should do it to. I don’t mean the typical taper-fade haircut, I mean the buzzcut. Because I bet you my entire novel collection that if Themba relaxed his hair to make his hair texture digestible to white adjacent hair policies and those who create them, he would still have to cut his hair even if its texture is now like Thomas’ hair texture. Why? Because Western beauty standards demonised our hair.

OUR HAIR WILL NEVER BE RESPECTED IN ANY PROFESSIONAL FIELD

If you’re a woman in Zimbabwe you either have a lace front wig or you’re nothing. Your natural hair poses a threat to a society built off of Western beauty standards. We are all under the impression that long straight hair is beautiful and short natural is awful. God forbid you actually go to court donning your afro. You’ll be chased out because it’s not neat enough. But according to who? Who decided that?

The case “In-re Chikweche 1995 (4) SA 284 (ZC) Case No CA 626/93” featured a lawyer who had to battle the court’s decision to allow him to practise law even though he had locs. He fought the court tooth and nail until it was finally decided that his hair did not measure his competence and ability to practice the law effectively and efficiently. My question stands, why did he even have to sue the state because of his commonly AFRICAN HAIR as a BLACK MAN in a BLACK COUNTRY in a predominantly BLACK CONTINENT?

These things shouldn’t even be happening. It baffles me.

OUR HAIR WILL NEVER BE RESPECTED BY REPRESENTATION IN THE MEDIA.

Surprise, surprise the media hates our hair as well.

I remember watching a Winx Club episode and there was a pretty black character who ran to the other girls screaming bloody murder. Her hair was in an afro and she was absolutely horrified. So was everyone else. She ran to the other girls screaming and claiming she looked awful. Stella then proceeded to say, “oh my gosh, what’s that?!” with a horrified expression on her face.

That kind of message was and still is extremely detrimental to young and impressionable kids, heck, it’s harmful to everyone. Imagine the little black girl watching that episode enjoying the entertainment only to see some of her favourite characters calling her hair ugly or unappealing. Imagine other races of girls who watch that episode then perpetuate the message that afro hair is ugly. Issues of this magnitude are taught and learnt.

Then there was Bonnie from The Vampire Dairies Series who suffered quite a lot during the series with regards to her hair and how it was kept. When she narrated the whole ordeal, she was in tears and my heart broke for her. She told us about how they always threw her hair into nasty wigs because no one knew how to style it. She was crying because her hair had been damaged over the years.

The weird thing is…

We hate our own hair more than the world hates it. That’s something I have come to painfully realise. It took me years to gain the confidence to just wear my hair out in its natural state because I knew that someone would make a nasty comment. But the thing is, people talk. And they always will, whether your hair is in afro mode, lace-front wig mode, glue-less wig mode, locs mode or braids mode. Black women’s hair will always be policed.

Natural hair girlies will shame girlies who like to relax their hair and vice versa. Women who wear wigs will shame women who prefer braids and locs because “they look childish” and vice versa. Then all these different sub-group of black women and their hair preferences will intersect other hair sub-groups and they’ll attack and tear each other apart. It’s like a jungle.

Some natural hair Nazis will shame black women who relax their hair by calling them lazy and trying to appeal to Western beauty standards.

Black women who don relaxed hair and wigs will be at natural haired girlies and braids/locs girlies throats calling them untidy, unkempt, nappy-headed and childish. I’ve watched videos of some black women saying that they don’t want their friends at their parties if they aren’t wearing wigs. And I was like, that’s so WEIRD! I was like ma’am; I beg your finest pardon. Because what did she mean? Aren’t we supposed to be a sisterhood or something? It reminded me of the time when one of my roommates shamed another roommate for saying she wanted pretty braids for her graduation. She even went as far as saying, “no you can’t do that. We want grown woman hair like wigs.” That same roommate shamed another roommate for wearing her hair in mini twists because it apparently looked untidy.

It’s honestly a never-ending cycle of hate that we continuously perpetuated and continue to perpetuate today.

If Nyasha wants to rock an afro then let her.

If Ayanda wants to rock her locs then let her.

If Tanaka wants to rock her lace front wig, then let her.

If Anesu wants to relax her hair then for the love of all of Yves Saint Laurent shoes, let her!

It’s not rocket science. It’s respect.

A black woman’s hair is not all who she is. Black women are more than their hair.

Black women, remember that short hair doesn’t mean your hair is ugly. Please prioritise the health of your hair over the length of your hair. Do away with the mentality that short hair is hideous because whose standard is that?

Women of other races can wear braids or locs or whatever hairstyles they want and it’ll be deemed cool or amazing or refreshing or retro or whatever it is people can come up with. But when black women wear these hairstyles, they risk their reputation, their careers, their livelihoods and basically everything. Because black identity is only cool if it’s on white skin otherwise it’s just ghetto.

45% of women have spoken about how they have failed to get employment because of their hair in America. A study by Koval and Rosette (2020) suggests that Black women are less likely to be interviewed for a job than White women due to their natural hair. Opie and Phillips (2015) reported that Black women with natural hair are perceived to be more aggressive and less professional than Black women with straight hair. Sure, these years are a bit far back but not as much as you think. Some these things are still happening still this day.

A recent study showed that Black women’s hair was two-and-a-half times more likely to be perceived as unprofessional, and one-fifth of the Black women surveyed between the ages of 25 and 34 had been sent home from work because of their hair. Although 20 states have adopted the CROWN Act, which prohibits discrimination based on hair texture and protective styles including braids, twists, and locs, hair discrimination is not prohibited at a federal level in the U.S. To address and mitigate hair bias and discrimination, company leaders should focus on the following three areas: awareness, employee feedback, and objectivity.

What makes our situation even more sad is the fact that trying to adhere to societal beauty standards perpetuated by Western beauty ideals could actually kill us. We could die because according to the Havard Business review, one 2015 study found that certain hair products commonly used by Black women may increase the risk of breast cancer. The popular permanent hair straighteners, called relaxers, were also found to contain hazardous chemicals, and a 2022 study linked them to uterine cancer.

It’s better now…

Living with your natural hair was heinous especially in the past. We could barely breathe. We couldn’t walk out with our hair without being called untidy, unkempt or scruffy. But it’s better now, we have a wave of proud naturalistas taking the internet by a storm by inspiring us to wear our hair however we want it to. Remember the iconic creator Lipglossss who got on TikTok sharing her journey about how she came to love her hair because it was hers. She didn’t care that it was an “awkward” length. She said she stopped fighting her hair and decided to let it to do what it wanted to do.  Other hair influencers have taught us how to take care of hair in whatever state, whether in a wig or locs or braids. We have way more knowledge to take care of our hair, which makes building a relationship with our hair a bit easier.

My hair is my own. How I choose to wear it should make me happy and no one else. That’s all that matters. Once again, easier said than done but that’s the truth. I won’t manipulate my hair so that whatever part of society on that day can be pleased because they’ll never be happy, they can choke for all I care.

I am more than what I decide my hair to look like. I am not my hair.

Dear society, keep my hair out of your mouth. It was never your hair to begin with.

—The “Weird” Brown Girl.

SOURCES:

https://news.yahoo.com/news/news/racism-row-over-africa-schools-hair-policy-123313234.html?guccounter=1&guce_referrer=aHR0cHM6Ly93d3cuZ29vZ2xlLmNvbS8&guce_referrer_sig=AQAAAAYUdb7RTezvKTXY6PlEQ-VKlcNhIjubki2Izqxdx6CEtaYl9P0gvPr2WFPH8YQpZ5VSzjMdq70SjwDGIdVfK2b-jujrAzU6Ejc5q-OBAfigZh2co_zxWykWLh3iOyCOIKYlXbNEBBP6FgwbXLGeiJB8zI4Qso52roo9Lhc-_Dng

https://www.sundaynews.co.zw/racism-allegations-rock-private-school/#google_vignette

https://bongani-ncube.medium.com/black-hair-is-political-36606edbb165

https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/15234223221135557?icid=int.sj-abstract.citing-articles.3#:~:text=A%20study%20by%20Koval%20and,Black%20women%20with%20straight%20hair.

https://hbr.org/2023/05/how-hair-discrimination-affects-black-women-at-work

https://www.refworld.org/jurisprudence/caselaw/zwesc/1995/en/15587