The continued violence and discrimination based on skin color is an age old fight that I'm not convinced America can put to bed. Despite my cynicism, I do root for her. But it is hard to imagine the event, or series of events, that would really bring about change. Perhaps they are underway now, though I sincerely believe money is at the foundation of most problems and the war that needs to be fought is one of class and poverty.
In the meantime, cultural appropriation is the buzz word of moment and articles keep popping up in my FB newsfeed that potentially point to me. I'm not sure if these two articles are the same person but they have an awful lot of similarities. They appear to be a year apart and so my ever present cynic wonders if they are even real people.
I'm not even sure I really want to get tangled up in this mess but I've been writing about enough mundande things lately that it's probably time to try something in the current events realm.
I don't actually appear to have much in common with these women except hair. Well, maybe an experience of Africa, as Shayna said she got her dreads in Ghana. Am I supposed to examine why I wanted dreads? Well, aesthetics played a big part, sure. I am drawn to the hairstyle- even now it is frequently the dreaded head that catches my eye on the street, whether male or female, black or white ( and I want to throw in other colors and ethnicities but I have never seen an Asian dreaded. I did a quick google search and turned up this guy- photos of him smiling, serious, shirtful and shirtless- all really attractive.) Fact is, it's a nice look- to me.
After my first trip to Africa, I started dreads. It was a way of taking control of my life and expressing my passion. I'd just left an incredibly (oddly surprising, though it shouldn't have been) relationship with a racist times 10. How I ever got there is beyond me (or rather, a much, much longer story) and I wanted to remind myself that I did love Africa, passionately and always had. I still had longings for said racist and this spurred me into getting a tattoo of Chiwara- an antelope dance mask from Mali signifying, among other things, agriculture and the ability to provide food for one's family and village. I was trying to prevent myself from lapsing back into that oh-so-easy state of just having a guy around who could provide material comfort- and an easy lifestyle for myself and my children. I could do this, provide for them- for us- alone if needed. It wasn't worth a compromise on my moral sensibilities.
But the hair, yeah. The hair was something for me. A way to show the world I was more than just the plain old mousey blonde. I started the dreads and then met an incredible drummer whom I fell in love with. He didn't like them and spent an afternoon lovingly combing them out. I remember that night with an odd tenderness- his careful brush strokes slowly erasing the person I'd waited so long to become.
I should have seen more in that moment. Fast forward 7 years and I found myself divorcing and living in Africa. A few things initiated my second quest for dreads. One- the unavailability of a good haircut in Africa and Two- the freedom to be ME again. A very good friend spent several evenings sectioning my hair, backcombing and twisting. He wasn't Rasta, I'm not even sure he knew what he was doing, but he followed my instructions and it was a labor of love.
The first months of dreads are no picnic and although I'd originally entered into it for ease of morning routine, they did require lots of effort and attention for the first year. But dreads are all about patience, or so I've been told, and this is another reason that I committed to the process. A committment, for years, before you achieve a solid locked-in hairstyle. Not for the faint of heart. I remembered a co-worker on my first go around who had admired my dreads and said she'd always wanted them. When I told her it was a style you couldn't really undo her face got pale and she kind of hedged away form the whole idea. Exactly my point. It's a statement you make that can't really be undone for a job interview, a hot date, or whatever else might call for some conformity. And I was looking, am forever looking, to improve my ability to have patience. To persevere in times of trouble and uncertainty with a calm faith in the future path.
I was ready to commit. I don't care what Annah says, tattoos, piercings and dreads are sure to count as a potential mark against you in a job interview. You can't take them out- but you can make them neater or bind them up in a wrap. My dreads were undone and redone by Africans. Does that count for something? Not sure.
But my experience as a dreaded white woman in Africa is probably different than one in the US. Maybe. In Africa, dreads symbolize the arts. I've encountered artists who have dreads and those who haven't. Those who haven't sometimes cite the potential discrimination having dreads would elicit. They don't want friends and family and potential employers to think they are druggies- or militants. My ex cited a moment in border crossing when his dreads caused a problem- he went through a few days of detention because they thought he was associated with militant rebels. Dreads can be scary in Africa...though I admit I am at less of a risk for being accused of militant relations. So...I should take them out because of this?
I've also encounted the artists who are drug free and they strive to express this message, all the while keeping their dreads. And this is me too. I keep them to suggest my creativity, to suggest I am more than meets the eye- a white woman in Africa- but also an artist. It is a way of immediately connecting to others like me. That's what we do as humans, right? Find ways to express ourselves so we attract others like us and form common bonds.
One night in Kinshasa I remember sitting around a nighttime table talking with friends. And one new acquaintance asked what I did. The ultimate non question. What do I do? I am a million things, but always we break it down to what makes us money. I am a teacher, but I am an artist as well. He knew, he said, because of my hair. A simple thing, a nothing thing but everything.
I think my dreads show I am open. Open to hearing your story, to hearing more than just words and seeing more than just what you present. Maybe it's an easy out for me, someone of few words. Someone who is afraid you will judge me before you've had time to get to know me. My hair says....wait a minute. There's more here. Maybe.
Of course, I've met those who hate it. And in one love angst afternoon, I actually tried to uncomb them (never gonna happen at this stage.) But in the end, they are me. Because I love Africa? Because I love art? Because I love the way they look? Because in someone else's life they represent nonconformity and rebellion? Maybe they mean that for me? Does it matter?
When those women cut their hair, I'm not sure the masses will get it. I'm not sure it's enough of a statement. Better to keep them and ignite questions that will allow you to express long winded answers about Africa and enslavement and oppression.
But the race story plays out differently in Africa. I can't erase my white skin or exchange it for black. I'm still me.I don't have a chauffeur or a cook or live in a mansion. I can't fly off to Europe or America whenever I want. Even if my white skin suggests I can. And the only way I have of saying- hey- maybe I am not like all the rest- is in the way I dress, another point of contention among the cultural appropriation group.
Yep, there's even people who say I should not dress the way I do. I wear an African pagne nearly everyday. Even before I got to Africa. Difference is, in Africa, people complement me. They say, "Well dressed" and recognize my choice of clothing is a complement to their culture. They don't think I am stealing it, but they recognize me as someone who appreciates fine style.
And isn't that what we tell kids in school? Copying is the sincerest form of flattery? I dress this way because it is beautiful, it is comfortable and, as a muslim woman, it adheres to my ideals of modesty. Is that enough? Have I stolen another culture's identity?
Truth is, Black Americans in Africa are seen as American first and African second. I'm back to my original point that the fight is more about class and poverty than race. As a teacher, I strive to introduce my students to new cultures in a way that transcends food and clothing. How do we express culture? It is so much more than hairstyles and clothing and food. And what if I haven't a strong cultural background and so lean towards yours? Is that wrong? To love what I've learned about and encompass it in my own life? Isn't that how we grow as humans?
And if my dress, my hairstyle, my language invites questions from you- doesn't that give me an opportunity to share what I've learned? Breaking the silence, so to speak?
I remember moving to Miami and trying to find a good fit for our drum and dance. We'd made contacts, started a non-profit and searched out studios. We went to play-drum- for one woman who held dance classes regularly at a gym. My then husband played and I tried to dance but afterward I wondered what the hell we were doing. We tried to get our flyer posted but she said, This is what I do- I can't have you posting flyers here and taking my business. She had a point, perhaps, but her rhythms were all wrong and her dance steps were unrecognizable. I later asked my husband if he knew what she was doing. He had no idea either.
Maybe that is what cultural appropriation is- presenting someone else's culture in all the wrong way. But the point is- who's to know? I was so frustrated by what she was doing....but her students had no idea the steps she presented weren't really the steps. How could they know?
My point is- same thing for hair, I guess. There is no way to know what others present is 'real' or 'not real.' In the end, we are always left to do more research, ask questions, dig deeper on issues that are important to us. There needs to be a doorway. My dreads have not yet served as an opening point for further discussion (that I am aware of) but they could. And if anyone asks, I am ready to respond.
I'm ready to break the silence on Congo's mineral rape and child exploitation. I am ready to expel my perspective about years of enslavement and lack of education and training for the DRC youth. I am prepared to talk about child sorcerers and throw away kids. I have words about Africa's wealth and America's waste.
Was I born into it? No. Did I educate myself? Somewhat. If my dreads or my dress invite you to ask a question, I'm ready to respond.
But do I have to be? Isn't it enough that my hairstyle or my clothing choice represent years of searching for who I feel most comfortable as - as a person- and then present in all honesty? Do I need to justify it? Do we need to justify who we are- or can we discover each other through conversation and shared experiences and interesting appearances?
The whole reason I never wanted to get into this tangeld mess is because this post doesn't even represent a fraction of what I really have to say. But I guess it's enough for now. Unless I run into you on the street or a backlit bar or my living room. Then maybe we can sit down and have a real conversation. What's going on?
And finally, most of the links in those articles don't make any sense to me or- can't you always find a link that supports your cause- right or wrong? I'm keeping them. I love my dreads. Thanks Kazadi.
