My Mind Speaks.... Afronacities

I guess my mind just went on to create a new word lol the right way to begin this conversation is to describe what it means, right? So, Afronacities is the necessary conversation around the mighty Afro and yes, as you may have already guessed this article is about black hair. By far the most versatile of all kinds of hair. I guess we have to credit Minnie Dlamini Jones for going on record implying that rocking Bantu Knots is considered ghetto. But hold on, I want to try stay away from the politics of black hair. That would actually requires me to have time to properly address the politics, I guess today will just be an introduction to many conversations about our hair. The Afro. Coils or Curls if you may. 

It was about 5 years ago when I decided to transition from relaxed hair to allowing my hair to grow freely from my skull without interference. I remember the events leading up to that decision like it was yesterday. It was on the back of a trip to Kimberley to visit a human attachment lol before that trip I had gone to the salon to get my hair did and I just happen to decide I was going rock a weave. I remember it was this dark reddish/maroonish colour and to my defence, it was so dark that it looked black from far. Anyway I thought to myself; “I want to look good for my trip to the diamond city” and so I did. A couple of days after that trip I was walking on Justice Mohamed Street from my place to Brooklyn Mall, just before you turn into Jan Shoba, there is an office with mirror walls. I looked at my reflection on the glass and just when I turned to look ahead, I saw a white lady walking towards me. I could have sworn she had a smirk on her face. Or a frown. I don't know but I remember looking back at the mirror and just seeing that red hair. It made me feel so uncomfortable. In my mind I felt like that lady was judging me. Like she saw right through my pro-black demeanour and hard a little laugh. Now, of course I was creating all this in my mind. This was an internal battle. The truth is, I was judging myself. I found myself asking myself why I wear my hair straight. At the time, I did not know how my real hair grows. Except for the growth I got when I braided my hair, which was a few inches that would be relaxed as soon as I unplait whatever I had on, I had never seen how my real hair grows. I couldn't remember a time I had an afro growing up. Momma made that decision for me and I guess I had never questioned it until that point. Momma knows best, right? 

And that encounter would mark what would be the beginning of a beautiful chapter in my life. See, Daddy had good strong hair. My relaxed hair was healthy hair. It didn't break much and it had volume. So I thought I would be okay. I'm letting my hair grow out. Of course there was the Sandra's, Akhona’s and Thabisile’s of this world who had walked ahead of me. Confidently rocking their beautiful bouncy afros. I call them the pioneers of the game. I must admit that I did not go through the "Big chop". I was too scared of not having hair. So I transitioned over a year. Cutting and trimming the relaxed ends every two months until I had fully transitioned!! It’s a beautiful story to tell now. But I did not even know what I was doing for the first two years. I officially decided to stop wearing weaves in 2016. The biggest motivator being the death of my father. The afro reminded me of him. He too had that soul food afro back in his days. I still think I look him with the fro unleashed. So I hang on to a glimpse of him when I stand in front of the mirror. 

Hair is such a long and complex topic that cannot be exhausted in one post. I mean I still can’t believe that one day on my way to a mall I just started having issues. Self-esteem issues related to hair. I couldn't stand being there with that hair so I took it out that same night. Now I am afro person. I feel so whole. With nothing missing. 

To wrap up this article I just want to throw in a story that happened when I was in Brazil last year. Rofhi and I had visited the Sugarloaf Mountain and right at the top of it, we met a group of teenage girls who were on what seemed to be a school trip. At that time, it had become so common for strangers to come up to Rofhi and ask for a picture because she had bongo breads done (trust Rofhi to go to Brazil with the same hairstyle the other lady who got caught with drugs had, I mean she had also flown from Brazil Smh. Story for another day) so anyways before I get distracted with Rofhi’s hair situation... This kid comes up straight to me and starts speaking in Portuguese. From her body language I could tell she was very excited. We had a full conversation about our hair and braids. Her in Portuguese and I in English. Both of us did not understand each other’s languages but being two black people our souls understood. She told me she had been doing braids since she was 5 years old and that she also keeps her hair unrelaxed. She said my hair was beautiful and I told her the same. She loves braiding her hair and her sisters too. This thing was a big deal for her. As if she had found the reason why it all made sense. This was the most beautiful conversation I had with the locals in Brazil. We took pictures and went our separate ways. But that thing stuck with me. I had just validated that black hair is indeed beautiful and that you can look absolutely gorgeous in it. Nothing ghetto about it. And it is not as difficult as we make it out to be to maintain. Not even close.
Afronacity: A necessary conversation about the afro. 

My mind speaks…