By Debbie Olujobi

The growth or maturity of any individual takes time. Over many years, experiences, associations and interactions, a personality and mindset slowly emerges. A backbone is not just a collection of vertebrae, its a force that is built to support convictions, emotions and beliefs! Over time when a backbone develops emotionally and spiritually, we begin to seek meaning to every decision and question old truths; we need our own conviction to accept other people’s positions.

My late mother often said my most endearing quality was obedience; I hardly ever questioned or queried orders. This didn’t make me a saint; I just was easily scared and didn’t want to be punished. I grew up believing a lot of truths that were not my own and I believe my backbone started to form in my mid-twenties. At some point it must have sunk into my mind that I was no longer a child to be pushed around and that I could decide who and what I wanted to be.

There was an emotional and a physical evolution of sorts and the most noticeable to family and friends was a demarcation of my sacred space. My mom had passed and I had taken the bold step to move out on my own. I grew up in a large family with so many people around that privacy was an alien word. I created my own space, and made it clear that entry into it was by invitation; a very limited invitation. My new found space was initially uncomfortable but I grew into it and though life has led me back into a large family with many people, that period of time was vital to my growth as an individual.

The most obvious physical change was a hair cut; I had chopped off my long hair and favoured what most of my older relatives called an affront. It was an affront to them because it was a rather drastic change from who they assumed I was. Besides my late mom was against short hair for women and most people were only echoing what they thought would be her disapproval. I doubt she would have been overjoyed but it was a choice I felt comfortable with and my backbone was at the time strong enough to ignore the criticism.

At a point my identity seemed to be my hairless head and I kind of resented it. There was no anonymity and everyone seemed to think it was a statement. It wasn’t to me. Truth was I cut my hair myself and I only knew how to cut a clean skin cut. After a little over 11 years, I started growing it. My loved ones had never liked it and I guess turning 40 must have triggered some sort of mid life crisis. The past 5 years of hair plaiting, perming, weaving and braiding have been painful and expensive. I turned 44 last week and I managed to wangle a grudging consent from my legally beloved to go back to basics; the locks of hair just had to go!! It felt like I was unfettered when the hair fell to the pruning of the clipper.

It was liberating and many bare headed showers later, very clean!!

This time its a statement, in fact many statements. Firstly I don’t want harmful chemicals frying my scalp just to straighten naturally kinky hair. Secondly the alternatives are to braid or sew on other people’s hair to add to mine and I became uncomfortable with those options. I had seen a documentary on Indian women sacrificing their hair to idols and was repulsed on many levels.

The first being that these very poor women did not receive payment and neither was their permission sought or given before the priests sold their locks. The second is spiritual; I don’t want a sacrifice on my head for any reason. Thirdly I believe hair is a very intimate part of a woman and if I wouldn’t share under wear, I certainly shouldn’t share hair. Lastly I have lately felt belittled by all the trappings of modern beauty and between the buckets of paint that is now acceptable as make up and uncomfortable contraptions that are meant to be shoes, I drew a line of minimalism.

There has been a lot of murmuring in nigerian religious circles about weave-ons and human hair. The internet is replete with all sorts of theories and so called heaven experiences condemning attached hair and as disturbing as they are, they don’t reflect holiness or even reflect righteousness. My personal belief is that people need to come to a place of personal understanding to make a conviction.

Threats of hell for wearing human hair seem ridiculous when there is genocide, unkindness, corruption and wickedness all around us. The choices we make are personal and cannot be mandated or rammed down our throats. I am a vegetarian even though I don’t have a pet; I wouldn’t even call myself an animal lover. I just don’t think any animal should die because I want to live. Its a personal choice, no one in my household is vegan. My preference for a shorn head is not an endorsement of any religious recrimination or condemnation, its a choice that works for me.

In a perfect world, many decades from now, I shall exit the world with a cap of short grey hair. Not everyone liked it the first time around and I don’t expect everyone to now. As a woman of faith, my head is covered most times anyway. I was going to title this column “The return of Gorimapa” (what people with a clean shaven head are called in Yoruba) to celebrate my return to basics (bare headed basics) and my return to the pages of Vanguard. Circumstances that were challenging and out of my control kept me away for a while but the show must go on. To quote my publisher ” writers don’t stop till they are dead”.