Irrespective of what anyone thinks, I have decided that the hair I was born with—this coarse, springy, dark hair that grows towards the sun—is special, not because of its length, thickness, texture, or any reason other than because it is my hair and I have decided to love it.
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Benin City, Nigeria
I was fifteen, sitting on a cushioned bench in my small school library, conversing in harsh whispers with my friend. We had wandered into discussing hair, and in the middle of our conversation, she said with awe and longing plastered on her face: ‘It’s true, white people’s hair isn’t like ours. Their hair is beautiful like weave-on; they have special hair.’ Her statement left me with a burning question that I would continue to confront even as I embarked on my hair journey: ‘What is special hair?’
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