I never truly appreciated the lyrics to India Arie’s I am not my hair, until I looked at myself in the mirror, I didn’t like what I saw. I remember the first time I permed my hair. I was 13 years old and after years of begging, cajoling and even bargaining with my mum, she eventually agreed to it and from the moment I ran that fine-toothed comb through my hair and it went through smoothly without it getting caught, I was hooked. I relished the weeks when my hair was silky straight and smooth because it meant for a few weeks I could enjoy some reprieve from the dreaded hairdressers who would plait my hair into cornrows so tight, I thought my scalp would split open.

The experience of being forced to sit on a low stool shoved between a thick woman’s thighs, to whom tender headed was a concept that didn’t compute and I suffered silently as the smell of her crotch wafted into my nostrils while she pulled at each strand of my hair as she plaited it was agonizing and torturous. So, I welcomed permed hair with open arms. Do I regret it? No, not really because that is how the proverbial cookie was destined to crumble.

I had my hair permed all through high school, at a time when it was illegal, and we were threatened by the deputy and principal that they would wash out anyone caught with permed hair with clothes detergent. When we went home for our mid-term holiday, I informed my mum of the rules and that if I were caught, I would take an expulsion before I let someone ruin my hair. Thankfully, I made it out unscathed…others did not. That is how attached and possessive I was with my hair. I still am.

I have always had a simple, almost lazy and ignorant approach to taking care and styling my hair because I do not like to fuss with it and I always found it to be a chore. So, I entrusted it to whichever hairdresser I was going to at the time, trusting that they knew best. Looking back now, that may have been one of my biggest mistakes because I did not notice when my edges, one by one packed their bags and exited the premises. Whoever said ignorance is bliss lied because it finally caught up with me because by bouncing around different hairdressers and not learning to properly care for my hair, I had disrespected my hair and in retaliation, my edges deserted me.

I never thought the day would come when my hair would bring me to tears, until I found myself in the Netherlands, knee deep in a pandemic no one foresaw, trying to comb my brittle hair that was breaking off in fistfuls, that I realized I was no longer in Kansas…excuse me, Kenya. I had gotten by for so long without having to worry about what to do with my hair, I was clueless and anything I tried, my hair rejected. If that was not enough, I also had the new challenge of navigating my way around finding a hairdresser, braiding hair and adjusting to the high prices of getting my hair braided here.

Sometimes, I wonder if I took for granted how easy, accessible and affordable getting hair done back home is. Over the past two years, I had found a brilliant hairdresser who was knowledgeable, understood my hair and made it thrive. If I was getting it braided, all I had to was make an appointment with the person braiding my hair and show up. It was a relaxing experience, and I would enjoy a cup of coffee with biscuits, get a manicure and pedicure while my hair was attended to. 

Now, I was on my own now and I did not know where to start. My husband, the ever so patient man was clueless as to how to help me but assured me that it would get better. He even offered to shave my hair once when I had reached my wits end, only for me to change my mind but not before he shaved off about two inches at the front. He also stuffed me with my favourite comfort food, chicken wings and potato wedges, which helped me get by.

Seeing as I had been unwittingly recruited into the natural hair community, I took to the internet to learn more about the best way to take care of my hair. After a couple of days of research, I found natural hair friendly products to try out. I also found a couple of African/Black hair friendly salons I could consider in the event I wanted to braid my hair. I have had my hair braided twice in my time here.

The first time I had my hair braided in the Netherlands was by a Nigerian auntie and it was an experience to remember. We were still in the dead of winter, my fingers almost falling off and after getting turned around in my directions I eventually the house. I remember initially thinking that it was an individual who simply took in clients in her home to braid their hair. I was met with what seemed like a scene from a modern day Naija film that featured a makeshift hostel. The main room had been partitioned off with some dreary looking curtains to form a bedroom on one end and a living room on the other.

There was all manner of tailoring equipment on the living room and a madam furiously working at her sewing machine and my braider who wanted to constantly take breaks, especially mid braiding to speak animatedly in their traditional dialect. A few minutes after she started working on my hair, I heard some mumbling and groaning in the “bedroom” only for a white guy, who was definitely nursing a nasty hangover, emerged with his beau in tow who seemed a little suspect.

It was such a culture shock for me, all I wanted was to get my hair done and get back home soonest possible. I was raised never to accept any food or drink from strangers, so when I was offered some wine, I politely declined and stuck to drinking hot water throughout, keeping my eyes glued to CNN, while keeping my ears sharp for anything as well as my eyes through glancing out of the corner of my eye.

The second time I had my hair done, was better though I had to travel over an hour to the hairdresser’s place. It was also someone’s personal home, but it was more professional. She had set up a separate space in her back yard, which was quiet save for some background music playing. It was an overall pleasant experience and in both instances the braids were simple and neat.

I have never really been too experimental with my hair and I’m okay with that. The most I have done is get a bob cut and colouring it once. I tried going natural once, but my heart was not in it then, so I gave up in a few months and resorted to texturizing my hair. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure I was a fit with the natural hair community, mainly because I didn’t know how to manage my natural hair, I thought it was a chore and remember, I was working with a barely existent hairline. I did not have the full, luxurious, beautiful manes I was seeing on social media and I was not comfortable or confident in how I looked with my natural hair.

I have fully embraced my natural hair in all its glory learned to be gentle and patient with my crown. I still have no idea what my hair type is or my porosity, but I have found products that have seen my hair transform from brittle and dry to feel and look healthier than it has since February this year. I barely fuss with my hair anymore and it is usually in three strand braids, aka matutas or two strand twist outs, that I learned to do after watching YouTube tutorials.

I am still in awe at how much I have learned and still learning regarding my natural hair and that I even have a washday routine. My edges and I have made up and they are slowly making their way back home so long as I keep my promise to be kind to them and care for them every day. Most importantly, I have learned to be confident with my natural hair as it looks.