A Tale Of Two Afros; Chapter Roxy

So, my hair journey has a lot of loops and turns and twists and shifts, but THANK THE LORD for every single one because it brought me to where I am today.  First of all, let me explain my ethnicity.  My father is Haitian and French, and my mother is Native Venezuelan, Spaniard, and a teeny bit Middle Eastern. So, I’m a big mix. I’m light skinned like my French grandma, I have natural curly/afro hair like my dad and grandpa, but I have facial features like my mommy. Not only was I mixed, I lived in Venezuela where it’s so uncommon to know a hairstylist with black nappy natural hair knowledge. All they knew was putting crazy chemicals and applying heat—almost like a bomb process of lighting up Uranium or something.  They put so much crap on it, petroleum probably was the best deep conditioning available to deal with the level of damage they would put on your scalp (I'm talking petroleum that makes gasoline, not petroleum jelly).  That being said, my safest and smartest choice of a hairstylist was my mommy because she saw me as a little girl and not an atom bomb. 

Anywho, since the moment my mommy found out she was pregnant, she always prayed that I would have an afro. And for the longest time I would whine to my mom for those prayers because it only made my life difficult. But that was a LIE from hell. My natural hair that my mommy prayed for is the most beautiful thing about me and I wouldn’t trade it for anything on this earth.  For twelve years I put myself through torture of trying to defy my DNA and change my hair to something it was not.  Finally at the age of 16 everything began to look like it was falling apart, but instead—everything was falling perfectly into place. 

Let me be completely blunt right away and say my process of transitioning was because of two boys and Brittany. Yes, sounds so pathetic, but hey! Adele has made millions and fame from past relationships, why can’t I?? ;) I started dating this one kid, let’s call him Mr. M. Well I had a dumb crush on Mr. M and I was willing to change myself to please him. Now, I didn’t realize how stupid I was. He was into gothic Asian girls with the perfectly straight asian black hair—there was NO WAY I could transform into that. Yet, I accepted the challenge of mission impossible.  I died my hair black, did stupid crap with make up, but the worst and BEST of all was that I straightened my hair so vigorously that I damaged it to the extent that it began to break from the root, and if I passed the straightening ironer one more time, I would have hair that was 1-inch long.  One: I STILL didn’t look like a gothic Asian; Two: we broke up; Three: I was one step from being bald. The only thing I could do was to avoid all heat of any kind, just wash it and go.

And so it began; the hair growth process. As I was growing my hair, I was all sad and depressed and bitter because I wasn’t able to change myself (duh!). During that time, Brittany started telling me to go natural and the fact she was doing it too gave me the motivation I needed. So, I rebelled and decided to be natural. When my hair had grown for about two inches, I met another boy! Regardless of the relationship, or him (Let's call him Mr. X), or I or whatever, he was my cheerleader through the whole process and made me believe I was beautiful every single step of the way. My afro and where I am today I wouldn’t have been able to reach without him. He was my cheerleader throughout, and if you want to go natural, a cheerleader will make the ride so much smoother. Let me show you how horrific I really looked back then-- and I thought I looked cute too! The horror! *shivers*

I started to do different styles with my hair as it was growing.  Everything from braids, to big twists to just blowing it out after washing it and calling myself mufasa :D My confidence began to build as I was transitioning, instead of my confidence building when I already had the all-natural-afro.  Best blessing ever! Because when I reached my afro I was already happy and confident, not all doubtful and stuff.  Woohoo!

Two years and some months after me dying my hair black and burning the already dead hair, HERE I AM! Strong, beautiful, happy, proud, and IN LOVE with the way God made me. 

Muah!

Roxy