Upon my arrival at my internship the women engaged in a conversation concerning the authenticity of my hair. Of course I was not included in this discussion. Amid whispers and side glances, the most curious sister, herself wearing starter locks, approached me. Calculating her steps, as if I was a lion in a cage, she asked “Is that…your hair?”, eyes squinting in criticism. When I replied affirmatively she was astonished, quickly relaying her discovery to the team of on-lookers.
-”She says it’s her hair!”
-”That’s her hair!?!”
-”Let me see..”
-”But how?..”
At first, like a newly caged animal, I bowed and strutted, excited to show off my exoticism. However, I now sympathize with the lion who attacked the hecklers at the zoo. Being on constant display is completely annoying.
Most disturbing is the fact that my African co-workers have even more limited experiences with natural hair than Americans. Although dreads, afros, and braids are fashionable for some Black Americans, others like myself, are conscious in rejecting the European standard of beauty. For us, the idea that a foriegn substance, i.e., “Dark and Lovely”, “Motions”, and “Just For Me”, are necessary to unveil our beauty is ridiculous. Literally transforming into the image of the oppressor is not only the height of assimilation, but also a bit psychotic. Arriving in Nigeria to see perms, weaves, and wigs let me know that this psychosis is international.
Ironically, the things that Black Americans embrace as being part of their African heritage are rejected by continental Africans. In Nigeria, women rarely wear their natural hair, and I have yet to see a cowrie shell or an ankh (staples of the Sankofa crowd). I slowly realized that the pictures I’ve seen of Africans who look the most “ethnic” are of rural indigenes, considered backwards by not only western standards, but their urban countrymen as well. In Lagos, many of the men and women, like my co-workers, are members of the bourgeosie. They too have assimilated into the images of their British oppressors.
I’m reminded of Dr. John Henrik Clarke’s words that a ”culturally conscious people cannot continue to be oppressed.” But what culture should we be conscious of? It seems that diaspora and continental Africans are suffering from an identity crisis. Similar to adolescents who watch too much BET, we’ve merged our innate characteristics with outside influences. This means Africans in America embrace stereotypes of what they think Africa is, and Africans in Africa reject what they know Africa to be. It’s a conglomerate of contradictions that are the result of white supremacy.
While shopping at Cherries (envision a mix between Dollar General and a Korean owned corner store) I noticed an African Pride relaxer. The paradox is obvious.
