My people, it has happened to me. Ever since I went natural, I have never, ever carried my own hair outside. And the reason is that (1) I never know what to do with it, and (2) It’s a lot more convenient for me to just do something to it, so I don’t have to bother with it everyday. That’s why I love braids (though I hate sitting to get them done, and I hate taking them out).
But this week, I decided to face my fears. So on Sunday night, I washed my hair very, very well. I deep conditioned it, washed it off, and used some leave-in conditioner. Then I proceeded to twist it because the plan was to have a twist out the next day. My hair is short and thin: double trouble. It’s not horribly short (6 inches) and it’s not horribly thin either, but it’s shorter and thinner than I’d like.
I even parted the hair in front and pinned down the twists overnight, so they’ll follow the pattern I wanted them to follow. The next day, I excitedly untwisted my hair. This is what my hair was supposed to look like, even if not this pretty:
This is what my hair actually looked like:
My hair isn’t dyed, nor has it ever been dyed. It’s just two-toned for reasons best known to it alone.
This picture of my hair was taken after I picked everything out to the point that it started looking like an afro. I didn’t take a picture as soon as I untwisted it. Still, it had me asking my God some questions: what is the meaning of this, ehn? Who did I offend? How can my own be different from other people’s own? Which sin did I commit to deserve this? Chineke, ogini kwa’n? [God, what is it now?] Witches and wizards of bad hair, leave me alone! Get thee behind me!
I checked this hair in the mirror front to back, and I thought to myself, but this is not what the picture looks like on the internet and in those YouTube videos — and I watched sooooo many of them. I was running late to work, so I decided to be a warrior and carry this thing on my head to work.
I was so uncomfortable. Anyone that looked at me, I swore they were judging me. They were looking at me and thinking the same things I think when I see people with bad hair: what the hell were you thinking?! Go get your hair did, girl! I really, really want to let my hair breathe. No braiding. No weaving. But how am I supposed to be walking around looking like a mad woman that ran away from the institution?
To make matters worse, I had to stop by the store before going home. Ewo! I don’t think I have ever walked that briskly in and out of the store. It was as if an evil spirit was chasing me. And I kept praying, Lord, please don’t let me run into anyone I know here. How will I explain this hair? Is this how my life will go? As the girl wey resemble crase pesin because of natural hair (as the girl who looked like a mad woman because of her natural hair)? No, now. How will my readers react? What will they think of me? What if I run into one of them at the store? *faints*
And for some reason, the walk between my car to the store had so many women with beautiful braids on. Is this a sign, Lord? Are you telling me to cut this out and go get my hair did? But how can a whole me be having a bad hair day? Me?? I, Vera Ezimora, the girl who takes out her braids and gets them rebraided the next day (in spite of a sensitive scalp) because she doesn’t want a bad hair day? I, Vera Ezimora, the girl who gets pissed when people even dare to wear sleeping caps out of their homes? And now, I’m having bad hair??
I prayed. I asked God to take this plaque away from me, and I promise to never insult people with bad hair — too much. I’m still looking at this hair looking at me, no idea what to do with it. I even briefly considered going back to perming it. It was just too much. It is very, very possible that I did something wrong. But I don’t have time to be experimenting. If I worked from home, then sure whatever. But I have to go out and face people. I run into friends, acquaintances, and readers, so I cannot have bad hair!!!
Look, I don’t care what you’re praying for in this month of October, but you need to suspend and postpone that prayer and focus instead on my hair. I will vex and stop blogging oh!
P.S. I have Type 4a hair, which is coily, not curly. It reminds me of those springy things inside a pen. No matter how you stretch my hair, it retracts back to a coil.
P.P.S. I deliberately didn’t show my face in the picture of my hair. What if I want to run for President in the future, and then my opponent pulls out this picture of me with bad hair and says, “How can you vote for a girl who has this kind of hair?” *shudders*