My Hair, My Strength

My story resembles that of the Old Testament. A tale of a strong man, who drew his strength from his hair because, he was destined to live that way.

Back to reality, you’ll find me, against this go-to-the-barber-shop-and-get-a-clean-cut thing. My old man dislikes my style. I choose to keep my hair long, nappy and clean. It represents my
African nature: A man originating from the tropics. Every time I think of visiting the barbershop, I feel like my brain will fade away. Just like the Swahili Saying: “Akili ni nywele, kila mtu ana zake”, meaning: Having hair is having brains, everyone has his.

Our fore fathers started this lifestyle. Our Caribbean sisters and brothers continue to embrace this. The problem with us, African natives, is that we keep embracing Western culture, forgetting the trends our ancestors set for us.

I feel more attractive with long hair (Most girls agree with me). My parents think that may be I’ve started doing drugs or something. They associate such lifestyle to Bhang smokers. They at times call me a Rastafarian. The same humiliation is present in schools, where teachers believe that cleanliness begins with the hair.

One thing I know for sure is that: Being natural is not a crime.