My Natural Hair. The Genesis.

           So natural hair is a 'thing' now, right? Everyone, both guy (considering that I haven't seen plenty boys perming the hair on their 'hawk' hairstyles for a while now) and girl, wants to have natural, unaltered, kinky hair. Well, I on the other hand, have been a natural for years now. Long, long before it became a fashion statement or a 'thing'. And no, this is not an "A-haa! I-told-you-so!" post. This is just me trying to articulate the reasons why I've had kinky, coily, natural Afro-textured hair on my head for virtually all my life.
        And side note, it's been a while since I had a hairstyle that hurt my scalp, but right now as I write this, my hair which was freshly braided this afternoon, hurts a little at the edges. But not in that intense, 'you-should-be-worried' kind of way; But more like in that friendly, slightly, it-hurts-cos-its-still-new-and-its-only-bringing-out-your-face, this-hurt-will-be-gone-before-tomorrow-morning kind of way. I'll put up a picture of my hairstyle now at the end of this post.

And so, why I have natural hair:
     Well, I've had natural hair for 6 years (when I started growing my hair) and what inspired me to stay natural and not perm it were two reasons:
A, being Allison, my sister's friend, who at that time had the most beautiful, black, luscious natural hair which I lusted after. I had just finished secondary school and my hair then was what Naturals today would describe as a TWA (Teenie Weenie Afro). I think it may have been an inch or two long. But being the hair fanatic I've often been told that I am, I fussed and fussed over my really short hair all of the time. I told everyone around me how I had 'natural hair' (which I'm pretty sure just looked like an ordinary low-cut to them but Lord bless their souls, they sweetly bore with me), and how I was going to have beautiful, black, long natural hair like Allison's. I believed it. So everyone else did. So strong was my conviction and obsession that I mysteriously creeped into my sister Chinasa's dream one day and in there, I had the longest hair ever! She said it was so black and thick and long that it flowed down to my waist and I banded it like 5 different times in between. This dream was like rapture to me. It became my future, hope and dream. I grabbed it ferociously from her and held it tightly with my both hands, refusing to allow anyone make me let go of it. Not even my mom, who was the sole unbeliever then, and who kept saying to me, "Don't worry, relaxer di. When you are tired of all these your gra-gra, just tell me and I'll give you a jar of relaxer to go and perm your hair. I che na natural hair di easy". Or no, she said 'virgin hair'. She must have definitely called it 'virgin hair', because that has always been the native, commonplace name of the kinky hair in contemporary Nigeria, before it became "what's up" and it went to church and was christened with the posh 'natural hair' name it bears today.
By the way, Allison has since permed her hair though and broken my poor, little heart. RIP, Allison's beautiful, black,luscious natural hair. You'll forever be in my heart.
         Anyway, reason B was the sincere, simple fact that I like being different from the lot. I have always been a non-conformist. Well, sometimes. Most times. The Road Not Taken always holds this special appeal and wonder for me and a lot of the time, I find myself trudging stubbornly and sometimes, even foolishly down it. So I wanted to be natural because I liked Allison's natural hair and because it would make me different. That was 6 years ago. And please, don't come at me with all the "Girl, your hair is 6 years old??!!!! Why is it only that long?  Did you cut it? What happened?!!" No,I did not cut my hair. (Even though sometimes, I tell people I did just so I can save myself the stress, plus embarrassment too. Yes, I admit that second part because there are humans who have that rare, special ability of making you feel shame over the most natural of things). Anyway, my hair is one of those ones who like to take their time, you know. I won't use the word 'slow' cos that's too sensitive. And mind you though, my hair is not short. My hair is far from bring short, even. With the length of my hair now, I can do any and every style I want to and I'm quite satisfied with that. Would I like for it to get longer though? Why, yes of course! But gone are the days when I used to worry, complain, over-treat and fuss over it. Uh-uh. Health is the way, Baby! The health of my hair is what matters the most to me now. While I wait for it to grow down to my waist shaa. Sorry, scratch that. To my feet. I've always loved Rapunzel

Lessons having natural hair have taught me.
       Having natural hair has been like a journey for me. I've learned and re-learned a lot, I've made mistakes and found ways to fix them (thank God) and I've also gotten to see myself in other ways.
Patience. Endurance. Trust in your process. Self love and acceptance. Celebration of life's small victories. Self discipline. Redefinition of beauty. Unconventional outlets for creativity. These are few of the lessons and virtues having a head full of nappy hair have taught me.
     For the first four years of my journey, I almost never wore my hair out. I always had box braids or Senegalese twists or faux locs or Marley twists. I did ALOT of protective styling. And I did them commercially. If you've ever lived in Nigeria or in Africa in general, you'll know how commercial hair braiders never listen to you, are always impatient and always braid too, too tightly. So this caused me a lot of hair damage and loss. As at that time, I didn't know that was what was wrong with my hair. But I noticed my hair wasn't growing. I would be concerned for a while but then I'd get another twists or braids and I'd forget all about my hair again. Then, I used to have these attachments in my hair for as long as 6-8 weeks. Dandruff has always plagued my hair and so, this will get to the root of each braid or twist and concentrate there and then, when taking them off, I'll have to yank off some of my hair, thereby leading to hair loss. I come from a hairy family however, so hair has never really been a problem for me. No matter the amount of hair I lost due to poor hair care, I always had a bountiful amount of hair on my head. It was not until mid 2015 before it dawned on me that I could actually twist and braid my own hair without using attachments and it'll still be pretty. Plus, my sister who does my hair a lot of the time now was done with school by then and was home most of the time. So now, she does my hair almost all the time. She or my baby sister does. I still use attachments, but only occasionally, and not as much as before. So far, my hair has felt healthier, grown a lot more and is softer. I really love having just my hair on my head, feeling the wind in my natural, God given tresses and having my scalp breathe freely and easily. I feel like my truest self when I have only my hair on my head. To touch my head accidentally and actually feel my own hair on my head, that's pure bliss and joy for me.
   Someday maybe, I'd tell you how I take care of my natural hair, what I've learnt so far and what I've dropped.
But for today, Ciao.
And thank you for reading this really long post. May your hair grow long and be healthy!


Love, Pain and Us.

It is afternoon, a few minutes past 3pm. I am going upstairs to bring my bag. I meet Onyinye at the staircase and I tell her Mr. Oruigoni is in class downstairs and I ask her if she's seen Peace. She says yes, that she's upstairs crying because her uncle just died. I climb the stairs quicker, jumping two at a time, grab my bag from the seat close to the door and I look around to find Peace. I see her leaning out of a window down the hall, holding a half full sachet of water and crying. I walk to where she is, lean out of the window with her, listen to her cry and I say nothing. I think of pain. The pain I've known. The pain she's known. The pain we all know.                                                                                     It is early morning, a few minutes past 5am. I am in my underwear on my bed, trying to be quiet and concentrate enough to say my morning prayers. Somebody starts crying in the hostel. Loud, clear, proper crying. The kind of crying people talk while doing; "No... No... My mummy lied to me. Mummy m agho gbu go m. No... Not now..." And for a second I thought she lost her mother. It turned out to be her brother who died. Her brother who's been sick for a while now and had been hospitalised. Her mother had lied to her, telling her he was getting better. Not being able to pray anymore, I lie in bed that dark,early Friday morning and listen to the girl's heart-tearing cries, and again, I think of pain. The pain of disappointment. The pain of losing people we never imagined we could lose. The pain of losing ourselves. Pain beyond the physical tinge or hurt we feel against our bare bodies. That real pain that sobers us up and steals some of our sparkle away. The pain of dashed hope.                                                                    Pain makes me think of love. Pain is the aftermath of love. All different shades of pain. All different permutations of love. Think about it. Last week was Valentine's Day. And as usual, we were engrossed in the celebration of love and our lovers. But if there's anything I know, it's that loving a human person only opens you up to hurt, fear and pain. You're going to lose that person someday. To death, a breakup, or to something or someone else. What would you do then? Where would you run? To love is to risk. To love is to willfully die, willfully give up a part of you to die. To love is to embrace pain. To anticipate it. But still, what are we without love? To love is to be whole. We all love because we all need love. We thrive in love. We do not plan to love these people. My girlfriend Peace never sat down and consciously planned to love her Uncle. I never planned to love my Mummy. My Daddy. My sisters. But I do. Oooh, I do. And seeing people who lose their loved ones cry and get broken in pain, it scares me. I've loved and I've lost. I've loved and I've won. But none of it is forever. Someday, I would lose my Daddy and Mummy. Nasa would be far away, Osy would be unavailable, Tobe would be busy, Buoke would be married and live somewhere else, Mimi would be in college and be occupied. There are several people who mean the world to me, but I cannot control what happens to them or how they feel or where they go. All these deaths and loses and tears around me lately have forced me to think on love. Human love. All human love, however sincere and true and  devoid of self it may be, is temporal. All human loves have an expiry date. And being the helpless romantic that I am, I cannot find the words to tell you how this tears at my heart so. I wish it wasn't that way. But we are only ordinary people. And pain is a part of us. We all know pain.                                                                               Pain is that lingering emptiness and loneliness you carry about for weeks. Pain is that confusion, never understanding why. Pain is that new burst of sadness for each time you remember the times you laughed with them. Pain is that feeling of being naked, lost and entirely alone. Pain is that dread you recognise when you think of the future you want for yourself and their absence in it. Pain is dreading everything and everyone. Pain is that indescribable rush of hurtful emotions that hits you every now and then, like the oceans waves against a rock.                                                                             And love does this to us. Loves opens us up to this kind of pain. Your parents will die someday. Your boyfriend could get shot. Your wife may leave you. My friend Michael Okoro says to be careful who we give our hearts to, because for each love that works or fails, each love that lives or dies, we sacrifice and throw away a part of us we can never have back again. When my Mummy goes, I can never really be a child again. She will leave with that part of me. And each morning I wake up and try to count the number of human persons that I love and all of the things that could happen to them or to that love, my heart freezes and I just stare at my bunk. What would I do if I lose my Mummy? My Daddy? Osy? Tobe? Mimi? My vulnerability scares me.                                                                        But pain makes me think of one Person..Makes me want one Person: Jesus. Pain brings Jesus closer to me. Jesus Who's always loved me completely, regardless of what I did or said. He is True Love. And True Love is always there. There've been times I felt His love so strongly, it was almost physical and I could have sworn He was hugging me then. When I'm in pain or when I lose someone I love, I run to Jesus. And it's not always easy. I do not see Him. I cannot place my head on His shoulders. But I know He is there. So as terrible as love may seem sometimes, Love still is the answer. Think about it. If we run away from love, to where then do we run? We were programmed for Love.                                                                                And so today, and all the days after it, let us be thankful and celebrate all the different loves we have, while they last, because one day, you're going to look out a window and not find them anymore. One day, you're going to wake up and not have them anymore.                                                      Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is not jealous or envious. Love is not boastful or proud. Love is not selfish or rude. Love does not insist on having its own way. Love always believes.