Hair I Am.
Braids man, its all about the braids. Or so I find. I really must try this image makeover thing a little more frequently. Now I understand Madonna a whole lot better. Still doesn’t explain the Brittany kiss, but I think I’m as close as I want to get.
But the hair man! What about this quasi-spiritual connection? Well this is what my cousin-sister-bestfriend-auntie tell me: That growing hair, and this is BLACK hair I’m talking about, due to its inherent unpredictableness, is something that teaches you a great deal about yourself. Through the process of growing your hair and learning that it just does not listen to you teaches you to accept yourself. So accepting your hair for what it is, and not what someone else has brings you just a little closer to the great spirit.
Is my hair Black hair? Many look at my mulatto-ness and think not. They say: “Chile you gat good hair!” What is “good hair” really? Generally they mean straight hair, i.e. european white caucasian hair. Well me breddrin, me gat news fah ya, for any who doubt the black in me, take you best comb and try to pass it through this hair I gat, and you’ll be singing a different tune. It may not be the impenetrable mass of some, but comb don’t go through regardless. So am I black enough yet?
That issue, of blackness or Bahamian-ness, has been the driving force of much of my recent academic writing. (ok so Im a geek.) Soon I’ll get some of my papers up here; I promise. Lets try for this week. What ya say? And next time I think I’ll tell you how my new years resolutions have been working out. See ya.