I think I must have been born with a thick head of hair, in all my baby pictures it’s the same, a smiling little girl with an exquisite mass of black hair. My long suffering Ghanaian mother had a job on her hands, and it was a job well done, she painstakingly combed and braided my hair throughout my childhood and early teens. My crowning glory came with a price though, it hurt like anything. So when I reached 19 I thought I’d get it relaxed, so it would be straight, and pretty and easy. No more battling with my afro comb to unravel the inevitables tangles and clumps in my hair!No more sitting for hours upon end whilst someone braided my hair! And no more being envious of the girls who “swung” their hair behind them as they bobbed down the street!It was never about self hatred to me, or about fitting in, it was about what was convenient. And plus it looked good. This was just my preference..I think? 

 I‘ve grown to realise that there is a fine line between preference and prejudice, and it’s so difficult to unpick the almost invisible thread which seperates these two, or perhaps they are not two separate and disinct things, but rather prejudice is merely a more extreme manifestation of preference, therefore they are on a continuum. Perhaps we need to start rethinking words, and look deeper into meanings; is preference often just a socially acceptable form of prejudice?

 That’s what I had to ask myself over the years each time I went to the hairdresser. I had read the bluest eye at age 16 and was moved by the story of racial self hatred within 1920s America, Pecola the main character wanted blue eyes. She was black. This was ugly, and was as distateful to the author as it was to me. I had never encountered this before, growing up in a mainly white society so it was a foreign concept to me which I mistakenly put down to being a uniquely American experience. I was shocked to encounter it when I began spending more time with other black people here in Britain,and found so many of them enslaved by the white beauty myth and believing that dark skin, nappy hair and big lips were unattractive for women, and that somehow having light skin, light eyes and “good hair” was the beauty ideal for black women. In other words, the fallacy that black women who look more ‘white’ are beautiful. I never bought into these lies simply because this was not the way I was brought up, light skin or straight hair was never idolised in my household. If I had negative comments about my skin it was from white people, who never differentiated between light and dark skin black people.

And when I refer to someone as having “good hair” I mean they have healthy hair, full hair, glossy hair, I do NOT necessarily mean European hair, this is the most ignorant thing ever, mixed race people have “good hair”. Good according to whom? Its almost become an unspoken sentiment in the black community that if we have soft loose spiral curls or “mixed hair’ it’s okay to wear it out, any more afro than that and we need to straighten it, braid or it, or just hide it under an indian hair weave.

Perhaps now is the time for us to rewrite the rule books, be rebels, be radical, and challenge the accepted discourse on what is beautiful and what is not. I may not have the influence of an established writer or esteemeed academic but what I do have is people who fall within my “circle of influence”, as Stephen Covey author of Seven habits of Highly effective habits put it. So here, in my world I am trying to reignite some debate,passion and the revisiting of old ways of thinking, and to critically appraise and analyse the accepted discourse on beauty, the taken for granted assumptions and “truths” about what is attractive and what is not.

So what is the difference between prejudice and prejudice?The bottom line is, I’m still not sure how what the answer to that is, i’m not entirely convinced that these two things are anaethema to each other, and I would still contend that to some extent- the lines are blurrred. However, I will say for the purpose of this argument that the two can be distinguished by what they are informed by; preference will be wholesome and peculiar to that person for no obvious reason; for example I love the color lilac, I wasn’t brought up to think that, or taught this, nor was it particularly the main colour projected by the media. Conversely, prejudice will often appear to be something intrinstic to a person and therefore will lay masquerade as an inate preference, however under careful scrutiny and honest  reflection it will become evident that it has been formed and moulded by external influences.

  So now ten years on from reading the Bluest Eye, I’m still not sure about how much I have been affected by the negative media images of black women, and the focus on white and european as beautiful. I’ve been reconditioning myself and my thoughts, both consciously and unconsciously.  I’ve began to hate the language surrounding natural hair…every time I visit the hairdresser they tell me I have so much new growth..new growth?Is my natural hair a tumour or a cancer? Is it something that must be removed or treated?

I give a loud and defiant NO in answers to these questions, my natural hair is beautiful, God blessed me with it and I should not feel that it is unprofessional or too ”out there” to wear it out in it’s pure and  unadulterated afro glory. So last year I decided that I would relax my hair one more time, and that would be it for the foreseeable future..I’ve begun 2010 with a relaxer free commitment and hope to continue with this for many years..if I should go back to relaxed hair I will not feel I have failed. I am not against relaxed hair, and I certainly do not believe it is synonymous with self hate or self loathing, just as I do not believe natural hair necessarily is indicative of black pride.

However, what I am against is the unspoken yet accepted ideal that I must always hide my natural hair, that having relaxed is hair is not a style which I may or may not choose to adopt but it is obligatory. I’ve exercised my legitimate right to choose to use chemicals for the past decades; its now taken its toll on my hair, the volume and thicknes and length of my hair has reduced by about 50%, it’s still far longer than many girls but that doens’t take away from the fact that relaxer has done just that..taken away..so now I’m trying to add, to rebuild, to grow and to nuture by throwing away the chemicals for an indefinite time period. It will do all of these things to my hair,but more importantly.. to my life and to my identity as a young black woman, and hopefuly to everyone I encounter. I hope that the young black girls can look up and see at least one woman who isn’t sending the silent message that our hair must be modified and treated to be tolerated or accepted.

 Indeed I would hope that women of any race no that it’s okay the way God made them, if you’re white-that’s cool you don’t need to tan, if you’re chinese- it’s okay you don’t need to make your eyes more european, if you’re middle eastern/jewish that’s nice too please don’t alter your nose.

Nothing about our culture, or anyone’s else culture should be toned down, or hidden and swept under the proverbial carpet to be accepted. Let’s celebrate our differences, there is strength and beauty in diversity.

My favourite parts of America must be the New Jersey area, simply because unlike the “Sunshine States” it has 4 distinct and different seasons. Winter,Spring,Summer and the Fall..or Autumn as we call it here. Sometimes in Jersey, when I would get homesick I would wish for the rain.Coming from West Coast Scotland the rain was certainly something familiar and it made me feel at home. However, when I returned to Scotland, it seemed-at some points, that the rain would never stop. Now yes, it’s really drizzly and grey there, but hey it’s no big deal. I’m speaking metaphorically now, it rained on my heart, my mind felt flooded and my soul was drowning at some points. 

I had problems with my studies, finding a job, relationships,  bereavements, you name it .There was one week where I was so low when all that was going on in my life ,and to top it off I had heard some really bad news and I called a close friend of mine to pick me up the train station so that I could pour out my heart to her, and whilst I was waiting some random figure just loomed over me. He looked so spaced out, and he smiled lazily and asked if I could come stay with him. Yes, he asked if he could come stay with me. I was so stunned I made the excuse that I was living with a friend, who had a  4 yr old daughter in her care. His response? That’s okay I don’t mind. That’s okaaay! It wasn’t your safety I was concerned about Mister! To make matters worse he decided to follow me to my friend’s car, when she also denied his request he decided to open the door to the backseat and try to get in. I very calmly closed it again, jumped in the front and my friend and I sped off. On one hand it was kind of funny, but the next 6 days following this incident were not so funny. The following day, I suffered a very bad sprain to my ankle running for a train, and had to rush to A&E, I had never been in so much pain and I was even in a crutch and a cast for two days. Couple of days later, me and the same friend, were driving another friend to the airport and we broke down..in the middle of the motorway at rush hour and what was so unusual was that the car gave no warning, it didn’t splutter and chug a little then come to a halt. It  just..stopped. Just.Like.That. Car were honking and screeching round us,we were all screaming and wondering how to get to the emergency call box at the side of the motorway.  The road traffic police told us how lucky we were not to have been killed.  These events all have a comical side to them, but really that whole year was like a comedy of errors. They may be humorous in their retelling, but living through an entire year of misfortune was no comedy. Okay, enough about my bad luck week..other things happened, but..I digress..roll on to 2009, I was so full of hope and so determined to move things on, and move on things did.  Finally ran that 10k I said I was going to run and raised a modest sum for a charity.Completed my postgraduate diploma after that very unnecessary delay (thanks 2008 and thanks Dundee University). Got back in touch with some beautiful people from the pasts. My friendships with my true friends deepened and I began to get a little bit of what they call discernment. Discernment : the act or process of exhibiting keen insight and judgement.  Up until then I’d had none, nada, zilch my friends! I had often surrounded myself with snakes and fakes who didn’t seem to realise that one face is better than two. I was successful in 2 out of the 3 jobs I applied for, and in the 3rd one I wound up being the 2nd preferred candidate. I was part of an amazing small group at my church, and  I finally got the opportunity to move down to London as the 2nd interview I was successful in was based in west London. So, I have to say, that year was as good as 2008 was bad.

Good?Bad?  Perhaps, I should rephrase, does easy mean good?Does challenging mean bad? Probably not, and my experiences and emotions I underwent during the “bad year” was probably in large part due to my negative and complaining attitude. Now don’t get me wrong here, I’m no wimp. I’m pretty stoic. They don’t call me the Warrior Princess for no reason . However, I believe that a lot of the time I sullenly fought against it, and wrestled  what I viewed the tentacles of misfortune the more it  became entangled in my life and overshadowed all the sparkle in my world. I laughed just a little bit less and my smile felt more contrived and my heart lost some of it’s warmth. I had the arrogance to question God, and to ask Him and those around me why it was happening to me, whilst I was completely silent about asking why bad things that happened to other people were not happening to me. It’s funny isn’t it? We don’t wake up and say to God..It’s not fair, why are we healthy when other’s have we got cancer? Why do we have a nice house? Why aren’t we homeless? But yet, when something hard happens, we’re the first in line to shout, why me? We rarely ask the questions, or complain about inequality when we seem to be the fortunate ones.

As I grow older, I realise more and more, that there is a season for everything.I can’t always  be laughing, but the rain won’t last forever. It’s in the stormy weather that I’ve grown and developed to be someone that can comfort and encourage others who are still trudging through the mood.

If my life had been a fairytale, I don’t think I’d the person I am now. I wouldn’t be as strong, insightful or empathetic. I’d be a lot less determined and fairly indifferent to the plight of others. Right now, I’m in spring, new things are happenings, it’s bright around me, and I feel summer is approaching. However I pray that the summer won’t make me lazy or weak like the sunshine often does, but instead that joy will become my strength..the strength that will sustain when the next Winter in my life appears. Whenever that will be.

Laughter is precious, but tears are worth more.