Being black in a painfully segregated world and having to live through the scourge of systemic racism is already a huge mountain to climb. For black women however, it’s a double whammy. Our queens are daily victims of unending bias, stereotyping and all kinds of micro-aggressions. Afro-textured hair sometimes is seen as unclean, unattractive, unprofessional and often discriminated against in the workplace. Little wonder they hardly suffer fools gladly.
When your topic of discussion veers towards a black woman’s hair, you have unwittingly strayed into the lion’s den with no good option. Yours truly was lucky to have survived this one but it was close.
As I settled into the middle seat in the huge belly of the Dreamliner, tugging from side to side and trying to get comfortable, I looked up and waltzing right towards me was this ebony artwork. Her gorgeous face sat on a well proportioned torso with a set of well sculptured arms springing forth from the sides. Her eyes were Fox-like with a grayish brown hue and a thick set of black hair could be seen cascading down behind in perfectly nurtured curls. Her poise was flawless and she walked with such majesty you would think the Queen of England was her maid. Suddenly she stopped by my row and dutifully eased into the seat next to me. With no warning I could feel my heart thumping away, almost uncontrollably
Hello, my name is Osmund, I said, getting up from my sit and volunteering a handshake
“Oh hey! Am Renee” she said with the most captivating smile.
“Nice to meet you Osmund”.
It was a little embarrassing since she was already seated and all I could have done was stretch my arm across to make the intro. I quickly surveyed the place, making sure no one had sensed my unease.
It’s very nice to meet you Renee, I said, feeling a little giddy. Looking back, I could have cleaned her seat with my suit if she wanted me to.
For someone blessed with a goddess for a wife, it usually takes a lot to draw my attention in the physical department. With this particular girl, not only was I hypnotised but had to bow down in a silent prayer to ward off any sin of the mind. Since an idle mind is the devil’s workshop, I figured the best way out of this was to engage her. I dived headlong.
Now sitting closer to me I was able to see the details of her wig. It was a 14-inch Peruvian hair with well nurtured curls and a bang that stretched out a little further in front covering a small portion of her lashes. After about a minute of awkward silence, I decided to engage further.
Nice hair with good closure Renee, I complimented, hoping to continue the conversation.
She quickly cocked her head towards me, in a gesture that suggested either she didn’t hear what I said or she was in total disbelief of what she just heard.
“Wait what! Did you just say something about my hair and closure?”
Quickly realising my folly, I wished I could take my words back, but it was already too late.
Noooo! It’s just that I used to run a hair business before now and so couldn’t help myself when I see a good hair. For me, it’s kind of like a reflex and I profusely apologised.
“Aha! I see what you mean” she replied. ”Please no need to apologise at all. Isn’t anything wrong with what you said”, she continued with a half smile.
I was very relieved to see her face brighten up once again.
“It’s not very common to see men make the kind of comment like you just did, you know. But I understand where you are coming from”
“Where are you from Osmund?” She continued.
I replied that I was from Nigeria. She started laughing uncontrollably. It was her most unguarded moment during the entire conversation. She told of how she loved Nigerian men and how they were great providers. How she could have been married to one but for his controlling nature. Then all of a sudden, she got serious and led me back into the conversation.
“So do you still sell hairs?”
Nope! I replied.
“Why not?”
Well, let’s just say it’s a long story. Truth though was, I made tons of money selling expensive hairs of all kinds. Indian, Brazillian, Peruvian, you name it. I, however, couldn’t for the life of me continue on the inglorious path of a slave master. Even all the money in this world couldn’t hold me back when I made the decision to quit.
At this juncture, she sat straight up on her seat in rapt attention, all ears.
I continued!
You see Renee the black man for the most part is free from physical slavery but haven’t done away with the shackles of mental slavery. We can sit here and argue the whole day about which one is worse. Whoever defined the standard of feminine beauty that excluded the kinky hair of our Nubian princesses is the slave master. Those that continue to help propagate this grave injustice are slave-owners. Black women are mere victims
I guess at this point, the narrative was starting to make sense and she seemed momentarily lost in thought.
“You know, I never thought about it like that. But you are making absolute sense. Why should we even subscribe to everyone else’s idea of beauty and disregard our own. After all, God already gave us the entire gift one can get: A chocolate skin, naturally tanned, curvy, ageless body. You name it. It’s like we came to this world fully packaged but other less fortunate ones ended up convincing us otherwise. What a shame “
Exactly my point Renee! Exactly!
And please show me that man looking for a skin and bone for a wife or a girlfriend. I have no idea where all those came from. Maybe owners of the so-called modeling outfits. For me a Nubian princess is my idea of beauty perfected.
She narrated how her friend bought this hair that almost took her life. She developed a terrible scalp infection after wearing it for the first time. I described my life changing experience, watching this video clip of an Indian voodoo ritual that involved donating hair that ended up being sold to our sisters. I told her I just couldn’t continue to sell my conscience and had to let go my hair business
It was an epiphany moment for her. She started to shed what appears to be tears of joy for that she said was just liberation of her mind. She swore to be at the forefront of the campaign for mental emancipation of the black mind and made a commitment to only wear her God given black hair. She thanked me profusely for creating this awareness and putting my money where my mouth is.
Our conversation was interrupted by an overhead PSA, announcing our arrival in Lexington. She turned around and asked if it was okay for her to give me a hug to which I happily obliged… of course. She left me with her email and I yielded mine. We both committed to continuing this conversation.
I later on narrated the whole exchange to my wife. She was understanding of my perspective but remained doubtful that anything will ever change. She pointed out that black men including yours truly are part of the problem. Men for the most don’t even know what they want and in order to be considered beautiful and appealing women take to certain beauty practices not out of choice. It is for similar reason that our ebony beauties pay a fortune to bleach out their melanin-rich skins. Maybe our manly minds have been conditioned to see nothing good in the beautiful kinky Nubian hair and dark chocolate bodies. Whatever the reason, we have lost a whole generation of our blackness without giving a care.
Luckily, today we are on the verge of a new cultural renaissance that is making many Black women join the natural hair movement. More are now embracing their natural hair textures more than ever before.
There is something to be said about the tousled spikes of a Nubian princess. It got that special appeal, looking up to the high heavens in a manner that inspires confidence, strength and celestial beauty
•Dr. Agbo is the coordinator of African Center for Transparency and writes from USA. Email:eagleosmund@yahoo.com
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