Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

The intense smell of burnt hair mixed with Royal Crown hair dressing and some coconut concoction, I can’t quite name at the moment, all mingling together with the moans and wailing of Aretha, Mahalia, or Shirley Murdock (depending on the mood), transports me back to those Saturday mornings in the kitchen, sitting next to the stove, getting my “hair did.”

My own relationship with my hair was cultivated on these Saturday mornings and progressively matured through beads and knockers that almost took my eye out when I shook by head; braids that took a weeks worth of advil and a neck brace to live with; relaxers that when left in too long burnt me worse than I could imagine any STD ever could; and fake pony tails that flew off in the middle of cheerleading practice (winning!). With spoken commands of “Hold your ear, so I won’t burn you,” followed by burns on the knuckles of the hand that was protecting my ear, it’s no wonder that I now associate having my hair done with pay-for-play, light, S&M torture.

Nonetheless, for many black women this multi-hour process of washing, drying, and pressing is the backdrop of our hair history and at the foreground of our thoughts. In light of this convoluted bond with our hair (which is tantamount to a domestic abuse cycle of highs/lows and love/hate), I’m not even remotely surprised when the 2^nd or 3^rd question from other black women, in regards to my trip, is: “What are you going to do with your hair?!”

The answer is: I have no earthly idea.

I’ve thought about this long and hard and I would have to pack 1 perm kit, a blow dryer and a curling iron with appropriate electrical converter switches just to wear my hair straight. Unfortunately, my pack is only 65L and there’s no room in the inn for these types of luxuries. Plan B is that I wear my hair natural; but even then I would need 8 months worth of hair products (e.g. shampoo, conditioner, Miss Jessie’s Curly crème or Mixed Chicks leave in conditioner) just to feel like I have a chance of not looking like a yeti strolling around South East Asia. Staying out of every single photo taken (Plan C), is not an option and wearing a doo-rag or scarf  EVERYDAY like a modern day Harriet Tubman or Tupac (Plan D) just seems too severe. My mother suggested braids (Plan E), but 1 month in, 2 months in, then what? I’ll either roam the streets of Indonesia looking for African immigrants selling hair braiding services like they do on 125^th street in Harlem, or I finish my trip with one giant dreadlock (not winning!). I thought about cutting it off again, but I've been threatened with bodily harm by both my mother and husband; that's out of the running.

So, what’s a girl to do? No brave words of enlightenment with this post. Sorry. I’m looking for suggestions here!! Chime in.

My Suggested Reading List:

• Tenderheaded: A Comb-Bending Collection of Hair Stories by Pamela Johnson
• Hair Matters: Beauty, Power, and Black Women's Consciousness by Ingrid Banks 
• Hair Raising: Beauty, Culture, and African American Women by Noliwe M. Rooks
• Hair Story: Untangling the Roots of Black Hair in America by Ayana Byrd