Does my African hair equate to a life of toil?

​I love my African hair and I sure would have preferred to leave it virgin. But, the full-time attention it demands pushes me to other decisions. The most obvious ones? Braids and chemicals and heat. I want to meet one African female who has never altered her natural hair. I desire to sit beside her in solemn calm and derive wisdom and tact from her. I have not met her yet.

I mustn’t complain much, but i especially dread the weeks when my tresses can entangle an entire comb within it and get away with it. Sometimes I imagine that I could even hide coins in there. But I have fellow sisters who struggle with length, texture, moisture, color, volume… I accept my struggle.

God saw my woes and added yet another item to my basket of skills: hairdressing. I think I have had it for some time. I have been in deep denial. I am impatient in several instances and one thing I have never come around to getting used to is the idea of spending hours while my hair is being made. Why can’t I be a man? Rush to a barber, pay close to nothing and rush back home in time to switch off the iron box I left on. But I was born female. With kinky African hair.

For triple the time I would have spent at a salon, late last year, I bought braids and plaited myself. The only thing I can do well is twisting. I have woes towards touching other people’s hairs and heads. But for a very voluminous length of time, I also braided my younger sister who willingly surrendered her scalp to me for grooming. Afterwards, we both loved the looks but regretted the time we spent. Though we had fun throughout as we did it all outside our house, having dad’s home theatre and set it on max volume with banging music. We literally experienced life for those house. But some strands fell off barely a week into the hairdo. Perhaps we should just have paid for a decent salon job.

Weeks later, for the second time in a span of months, I decided to perm my own hair. The first time I did it, I was paranoid! I read the instructions a billion times and panicked my way through the entire thing. The second time, I was more relaxed. The outcome was superb, and I got me ice cream to celebrate. But I must admit, I need a tutor to help me through this and possibly award me a certificate afterwards. I may be developing a new passion.


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