White People Stop Touching My Hair
Don't touch my hair, When it's the feelings I wear
Don't touch my soul, When it's the rhythm I know
Don't touch my crown They say the vision I've found (Solange Knowles)
London is the best city to live in, innit? I grew up here from the age of 10, yet my formative years were spent in a sleepy seaside town called Jaywick, in Essex. I loved the smell of the sea, but did I love being the only Black person in my primary school? Not so much, although no one really commented on my hair, except the care taker; Mr Austin who used to joke if he could have a single plait of my hair and make gestures as if to cut one of my plaits off and even sometimes gently pull on my plaits as if to take it off. I was too young to understand it.
When moved to London, I experienced a cultural shock! All the sounds and sights of the fast moving city which danced to the beat of it’s own drum. The many nationalities, which lit up its streets and sidewalks.
London became my home. A place where I attended Nigerian weddings and parties and I was able to learn slang words, which my family detested. Words like “innit”, were a staple of my vocabulary. I would see my friends on the weekends and we would go to Walthamstow market or Oxford circus and window shop as we didn’t have any money.
Yet despite of all this, I left. I wanted to experience life, I wanted adventure and I wanted to travel.
I didn’t really know what to do or how to do what I wanted to do (oxymoron I know) so at the tender age of 18 I went to Birmingham to study Criminal Justice. I then moved after my course had finished to Bristol, where I tried and failed at a psychology degree, then switched to social work. I had family friends who had gone to the university there and it seemed ok, small but ok.
Bristol is where for the last 14 years, up until recently I lived. I had a great time but also a hard time.
It’s music scenes and history can pull you in. It’s vibe was intoxicating in more ways than one and it feels like you can contribute to the city’s never ending narrative. It is multicultural but very segregated in my own opinion.
In short, Bristol is what most people would call a diverse, friendly and welcoming city.
I am a very sociable person and I like to not assume too much, so I would quickly dismiss the stares, usually from white women but at times men (although possibly for different reasons) I was the only Black person in a room many times and also the one with colourful hair. I would get the question that I would come to dread and that felt like someone had just thrown a bucket of cold water over my head.
I would feel anxious and embarrassed all at the same time yet, I’m Black, my cheeks don’t go pink/red and no one would seem to care, maybe other people were embarrassed for me, but it wasn’t easy to tell as no one said a damn thing. The silence felt like a cold chill in the air, even on a warm summer’s day.
It was a question, I had to start to prepare for, because it was being asked so frequently. Yet no amount of preparation helped, I always felt frozen and slightly tongue-tied whenever the dreaded question came up… drum roll please……dum, dum dummm…
“Is your hair real”? That question could stop me dead in my tracks.
Like people had a right to ask me such a personal question. I would go to a party and it was mainly filled with young white middle class women who decided that they wanted to ask me in front of everyone “is your hair real” the answer didn’t seem to matter, the look in their eyes did.
It was like they were actually happy that they pointed out that I was different in some way.
At the time I wore my hair in colourful weaves, braids and wigs, it made me feel good and I love expressing my personality through my hair. Yet, time and time again, I would also get asked by people on the street, or when I was at the shops. Same gender, same race, just another face.
If I said it was “none of your business” they would sometimes say sorry, but if they were really rude, they would ask again. I would need to raise my voice and say again “ it’s none of your business” or “it’s got nothing to do with you”
They would usually back down after that but it wouldn’t make me feel good.
It made me wonder?....
“Why am I being asked these questions, what is going on? Maybe I made the other women uncomfortable or jealous?” Who knows?”
It got much worse after Brexit, the constant onslaught of these microaggressions, or microinsults I should say, frequently left me slightly depressed and anxious. I had one woman who asked me very personal questions about my hair in front of people when I had gone to choir practice. I told her she didn’t have the right to ask all these questions.
Firstly she protested that she was “ a curious person”, then became more adamant that because I wore my hair the way I did (black and blue braids) that she had a right to ask me those questions. I wasn’t buying it. Finally she snootily said “I wont ask you about your hair again then!” like somehow that would hurt me?
Then there was the touching of my hair!!! Where I would angrily snap at people;
“Don’t touch my hair!”
Oh and it wasn’t just me, I had come across other Black women, friends who told me that strangers had just put hands in their hair without consent. There are books about it, just Google it.
You wouldn’t touch my boobs without consent, so why then my hair?
My so called ex- fiancé at the time had not much empathy even though he would hear people say this to me frequently. There were actually times when he defended people. There was one time where a bunch of his workmates and myself all went out for a night out, drinking and dancing. I got on well with a Chinese woman, who was always very friendly to me, she would even ask my fiancé at work if I was coming out on nights out. However one time, maybe it was the drink or something stronger, she randomly complimented me on my lipstick and my look and then without warning reached across the table and tried to yank my hair off my hair- she said “ is it real”? I was shocked! I couldn’t believe that she would do that to me!
I forcefully pushed her arm away from me, I advised her that if she touched me again that would be the end of her. She muttered a “sorry”, but didn’t think what she had done anything wrong.
What was more shocking was everyone, including me continued with the night like nothing had happened. I didn’t want it to ruin my night, but it had.
When I told my ex-fiancé because (he hadn’t seen it) he had no compassion to how I felt.
I felt like I was living in the heightened state of alert, walking down the street even or in shops people would come up to me saying “your hair is nice”, but it didn’t always stop there.
I had to be on alert for the creepy hands which could have been anywhere. I became suspicious of other people, not wanting to be near them (pre covid) because I didn’t feel safe.
I probably could do with trauma counselling just for my hair! It has experienced its own trauma.. I was scared of going out at one point, and I knew it wasn’t me. It wasn’t the only reason, but one of the reasons I moved back to London.
I wanted to be around people who looked like me and in spaces where I was not the only Black face. I also had a complex relationship with my natural hair, both scared of it and hating it at the same time. I was scared of it: of the maintenance and it not looking right. I always wanted beautiful thick afro hair, mine was fine and curly (4C) and there wasn’t much (or so I thought I could so with it) I also worried that if I let it loose, people would still comment on it or put hands in it and that I couldn’t bear.
Due to the pandemic, I wasn’t able to go the hairdressers so I needed to do something with my hair, it was damaged and breaking and so I finally decided to cut it off! I felt very liberated, something I wanted to do for years! I was scared of doing this too!! Worried I may not look “attractive”, but if there is one thing covid has taught me is to live my life and to “stay brave”.
I am now rocking a very short bleached blue hairstyle. My head and my hair has been through so much, despite the trauma. I am getting stronger everyday and my hair is getting their too! I am sorry it’s taken me a long time to embrace my natural hair and love it like it should be loved because of how other people made me feel.
Black hair has a wealth of history, ancestry and pride around it.
White people- Do not touch our hair, don’t even ask. Black people –(women and men) love your hair whichever way you rock! You deserve to wear it with your head held high, no matter what people say and do, keep doing you, boo!
Fiction and Poetry
My name is Rebecca-Oluwaseyi and I live in London. I spent many years studying and working in Bristol where I attended UWE Bristol and completed my Social Work Degree. I am a qualified social worker and freelance writer and speaker. I am very passionate about Black Foster Children as I was a care experienced child. I have been very lucky to have my written work featured in 2x books that I have contributed to; Outlanders- Hidden Narratives from Social Workers of Colour & ChickenSoupForTheSoul-I’m Speaking Now: Black Women Share Their Truth in 101 Stories of Love, Courage and Hope.