At the age of 15, I started to delve into the world of Youtube beauty and hair channels. I started seeing many black women with flourishing curls, and I thought to myself, “my hair could never look like that”. My hair had been chemically relaxed routinely since the age of seven. I could barely remember a moment in time where my hair was not straight.

Prior to the relaxing of my tresses, every Saturday or Sunday evening, my mother would sit down and try to “do something” with my hair. Combs would break, tears would fall, screams would echo. After a countless amount of combs lost, and my resistance to getting my hair done, my mother decided that her efforts were futile and the only possible solution was to relax my hair. I was excited. My hair would finally be like all the white girls at school. Falling effortlessly on my back, flying in the wind. I thought, “yes, I can finally have bangs!”. All of this became true. My hair was just like the little girl’s on the “Just for Me” relaxer kit box, and I did get my bangs.

Over time, my hair started to break. I was always in the swimming pool or beach, brushing my hair 24/7, kids at school were constantly playing in it. My hair lost most of its length by the time I was 11, yet my mother kept relaxing it.

When I turned 14, my mother decided the breakage was too much and instructed the hairdresser to cut it off. I was devastated. I cried. I was at my lowest. The insecurity ate me alive, and the children at school only made it worse. But, of course, it grew back, and I decided to relax it again.

Fast-forward to the year 2014. I was 17 and my consciousness about a variety of things was in full force. I read a lot of historical novels and articles, and I became wholeheartedly interested in natural hair as a political statement. I asked my mother if I could cut my hair all off and go natural. She would not let me. She believed natural hair was unprofessional and untidy, and it was just not something her daughter would have. She was totally against it. She said my hair was “too thick” and not “curly enough”. There were times I cried at her statements because it made me feel as though something was inherently wrong with me. As if, the way I was born was something of a crime. An error that needed to be corrected with a relaxer. This is what my society taught me, which is ironic because I grew up in Barbados, a majority black country.

I decided to stop relaxing my hair, even if she wouldn’t let me cut it. I began to transition over a period of five months, which were saturated with her “go relax your hair” remarks.

In the summer of 2014, I got box braids to help me easily manage transitioning. When taking down the braids at the end of the summer, I saw how much new growth I had and I decided to just ignore my mothers’ orders and cut it myself. After cutting it, I instantly regretted it. I did not look like myself. I cried. I covered my hair in a head tie for about three days and did not leave the house. Obviously, I came to realize that I could not keep this up forever, so I went to my mother and showed her. She saw it and said, “get out of my face”. She was livid. Though, I am still not sure if she was mad that I cut it, or disobeyed her orders. She barely spoke to me for an entire week, which actually broke my heart.

I went out the house for a first time on a Thursday night and went clubbing in the infamous St. Lawrence Gap in Barbados. My anxiety was through the roof, but I persevered. People laughed. People came up to me and asked why I’d cut my hair. People told me plainly that I looked horrible, even my friends. Honestly, I was depressed. The immensity of the anti-natural hair rhetoric that people whom, without a relaxer, would have the same texture at me was disheartening. It is mostly disheartening because we were taught to hate our hair, and many people are oblivious to this.

I thought constantly of ways that I could relieve myself of the shame. That is until my mother’s friend came to my rescue. My mother’s friend took me to a natural hair stylist to get a cleaner and nicer cut and recommended a variety of products for me. She also introduced me to online communities, such as “Caribbean Ppl With Natural Hair”. Her advice and support got me to keep on with the natural journey, and for that, I am ever grateful.

The Natural Hair Movement throughout the Caribbean is growing and I could not be happier. However, there are still many elders who are totally against natural hair and find it impossible to decolonize their minds. Though, I do not blame them. The hatred of natural hair in the Caribbean is a colonial legacy that has lasted more than 100 years.

Returning natural was singlehandedly the best thing I have done for myself. It was liberating and I have never felt this free. Doing the big chop gave me a better appreciation for my facial features, and for myself in general. Having natural hair is my own version of self-care and connection to my ancestors. For someone of mainly African descent, my natural hair is a reminder of the resilience and history of my people.

Despite the constant negative remarks from people, especially my family members, I am confident about my hair and love it to no end. My hair is a gift. It is a blessing from the Universe. A blessing that I will forever embrace and protect.

-Kamillah Ellis

Kaiomi Inniss

Writing since April 2017 · 1 story contributed