Thursday, November 27, 2003
I do not loc my hair, instead i wear it natural. clean. bald. like the glitter of my skin, oiled and basked in the womb
of my mothers life. To me, being bald, i walk in step with the women who bathed me. Of women who sung songs of
freedom. Of wangu wamakeri. mbuyu nehanda. me katili. I step in baldness, because in the smoothness,
i am annointed in boldness of the women who have loved unfashionable and in the softness of tenderness.
You shouldn’t have to loc your hair in order to touch your ancestors. Even wimmin with weaves and relaxed hair have the right to walk wrapped in the arms of their ancestors and to feel their spirits. I’ve had every single hairstyle in the book, many of them after I came out and came into my feminism and my Black consciousness, nothing going on on top of my head ever stopped the flow of consciousness rising inside me.