i’ve been meaning to do this for a while. after being introduced to and amazed by afrobella’s blog, especially after reading her very first blog entry, i was inspired to write a similar story of my upbringing. brace yourself, it’s pretty long! click here for the full view.
i was born in khartoum, sudan, but my family moved to the states when i was only two months old. i lived in provo, utah for the majority of my childhood, so i grew influenced by my conservative, middle class surroundings. it wasn’t until my family moved to ohio that i got i glimpse of real diversity, and with this came racial and cultural tensions. i dealt with more teasing on the playground than ever before, and i noticed that most of my black and white friends ate at separate tables during lunch. i can’t remember many black classmates who had as many white friends as i did, except for one who was called an “oreo” during an altercation. but generally, the segregation wasn’t too extreme and tensions only grew at specific occasions. i got along with different types of people and enjoyed being surrounded by diverse perspectives.
however, there was something striking about the difference between my black classmates and i. the vast majority of the black girls had straightened hair, and it usually reached their jawline, or sometimes their shoulders. i always adored straight hair and would constantly ask my mom why she didn’t style my hair in that way. my mother would occasionally straighten my hair with a blow dryer and curl it slightly with a curling iron, but she never liked to do this too frequently. she knew the damage this type of style caused, and like most sudanese mothers, she styled my hair in buns and braids. i grew up on products like brylcreem, dax, and a homemade concoction that my grandmother used to make out of various oils and fats. it smelled horrible, but to this day, it is the only thing that keeps my hair moisturized in sudan’s sweltering, dry heat.
as my older sister began styling her hair on her own in junior high and high school, i noticed that she would always be straightening her hair. my sister, in particular, had a strong effect on how i viewed myself; it’s common knowledge that sisters get compared to each other like none other. her hair is much looser than mine. i would always observe her after we both had washed our hair. while my corkscrew curls would shrink , poof, and tangle, my sister’s hair was seemingly magical. her larger curls would easily flow down her back. when in sudan over vacation, i can recall one of my cousins asking my sister why my hair wasn’t “nice” like hers. i asked myself this question long before my cousin did. and no matter what i did, the answer always remained: “shiraz doesn’t know how to do her hair.”
a lot of my cousins on my mother’s side also have finer hair. the ideal beauty in khartoum (and most of sudan) is a woman with long, flowing hair and fair skin. but no matter how hard i tried, no matter how religiously i followed my sister’s, mother’s, or cousins’ hair routines, my hair was never exactly like theirs. and because similar beauty standards are held amongst black women in america, i grew up disliking my hair. any chance my mom allowed me to, i would straighten it with excitement. for the next week or so my hair would look “nice!” however, like many sudanese women, my mother objected to the use of chemical perms and instead preferred my hair slicked back in a greasy bun. regardless of the difficulties she had getting a comb through my head, and despite the monsoon of tears i shed whenever she had to detangle my hair in the bathtub, my mom adamantly refused to process my hair.
this all changed when my mom got me a children’s relaxer for my 13th birthday. my aunt recommended this specific perm, because she used it with no problems. i couldn’t wait to perm my hair, and after i did, i felt like a new person. my hair was more manageable. my curls didn’t shrink after i washed them. i could wear my hair down with less fuss. the relaxer gave me the possibility of the long, flowing hair that i always dreamed of. i got a second perm in high school, and began thermally straightening my hair regularly as well. life was good.
i never got a third perm, but i continued straightening my hair with flat irons. as time passed, i found myself straightening my hair less often. i grew weary of spending 5 hours on my hair every weekend, and one hour each morning for touch ups. i did have “beauty days” on occasions, where i would straighten my hair and give myself a facial, manicure, and pedicure. whenever i straightened my hair, i noticed that i’d get more compliments. in fact, i’d get all compliments when it was straight, whereas no one really cared for my hair when it was natural.
it really hit me harder when a friend had a horrible fake pony on, and another friend and i asked her why she was wearing it. she responded, “i can’t wear my hair out right now, it’s nappy! i’ll look like shiraz!” she laughed, while i just stared at her. “i’m kidding, it would be worse,” she said.
why does it have to be worse? i thought. why is my hair bad and anything nappier worse?
i decided to flat iron my hair for my high school graduation. deep down, i didn’t want to, but i couldn’t think of another way to wear my cap and gown. as usual, i got a flood of compliments, but i realized something crucial. those compliments, as great as they sounded, actually insulted me. i never felt better about myself after hearing that i should wear my hair like “that” more often. i was proud of myself for not completely conforming to what society viewed as beautiful, but i was dissatisfied that i had still used the flat iron that was tucked away in my closet. i didn’t feel like myself. i wasn’t myself. i was unnatural.
it was at that moment that i knew. i knew i would never straighten my hair again. i knew that the beauty standards imposed on sudanese and african american women were unrealistic, insulting, and dehumanizing. it wasn’t a matter of women choosing to look a certain way. no one is happy with toxic chemicals being slathered on her scalp; no one is happy to see a cabinet full of “lightening” skin products. this was a matter of looking in the mirror and being conditioned to be unhappy with what one sees. and while most women deal with this in various aspects, regardless of skin color, the way women of african descent have systematically responded to their supposed “flaws” is by far the most dangerous and tragic.
so i got rid of the fear, and began wearing my hair out. i was in college, and i no longer cared if this would result in people laughing at me or telling me that i need a perm. i still remember the first day i legitimately had my hair completely out and natural– not in a bun or afro puff. i was so worried about what my friends would say. what were people in the street going to say? will they point and laugh? will they stare? but i sucked it up, because deep down they didn’t matter.
surprisingly, there hasn’t been a day when someone didn’t compliment me on my hair. the first day i wore my hair out, my friend told me it looked great. she told me to keep wearing my hair like that. i did, not because of her or the other compliments. i continued to wear my hair naturally, because it truly completed me. to this day, i’ve never looked back.
