My loc FAQs and common comments

Locs, dreadlocks, dreads, rasta or whatever you want to call them, I’ve found that there’s a lot of curiosity about the hairstyle. In the year and a half that I’ve had locs, friends, family and strangers alike have had no shortage of questions and comments. In this post I’ll discuss a few of the frequently asked questions (FAQs) and typical comments I receive to help shed some light on the misconceptions and address some of issues people express interest in.

So, you just stopped combing your hair?

There are many ways to start and maintain locs. In my case I used comb coils, also known as comb twists and sometimes I simply use my fingers to twist my hair. Palm rolling, backcombing, two strand twists and interlocking are some of the ways to start and maintain locs. Another way is to simply stop combing and brushing one’s hair, which will result in the formation of freeform locs. I find that most people think freeform locs are unattractive and inherently dirty. But this is not necessarily the case. Folk musician Valerie June’s freeform locs are a case in point. They’re big and a little wild and there’s a beauty to them. At least I think so.                                                                                   

Valerie June

Image credit: valeriejune.com

Getting back to the assumption that locs are dirty, one comment I’ve received often is, “Wow, your dreads are so clean!” However, locs are not inherently dirty; it all depends on how much effort the loc wearer puts into keeping them clean. In the baby or starter loc stage, contact with water typically makes the hair unravel but ultimately, dirt and excess oil slow down the locking process. At whatever stage of a loc journey, regular washes are beneficial and it’s up to the loc wearer to decide what frequency best suits their hair.

How long have you had them?

This question is less interesting than the way some people react to my answer. For instance, at 9 months one gentleman responded with, “You’re lying. There’s no way your dreadlocks can be this long after only 9 months, you must have had them for years.” This gentleman and many others seem to think that locs have to be started on super short hair. However, one’s hair doesn’t have to be of any particular length before starting locs but the shorter it is, the more difficult it is for new locs to hold. For anyone planning to start locs, there’s no need to first do a big chop. Ideally hair should at least be about two inches long before starter locs are installed.

Below is a (fuzzy) picture of me with 2-week old starter locs. I trimmed my hair before starting the locking process and have trimmed it several more times over the last year and a half but there was no need for me to cut it close to my scalp.

One of the rare images I took during my starter loc phase

Are they permanent?

Yes and no. Most people think that locs cannot be combed out but it is possible. With a lot of moisture, conditioner, time and patience, it’s doable. However, it largely depends on how long you’ve had them and the method used to create them. The more mature locs are, the harder it is to comb them out.

Locs cultivated by finger coils, comb coils or palm rolling are easier to remove than those cultivated through the interlocking method.  Size is also a factor; the smaller and more mature locs are, the more difficult it is to comb them out. Sisterlocks, a tiny form of locs created through a specialised method are a case in point.

Sisterlocks

Image credit: going-natural.com

Maintaining your hair must be expensive

Again I say, yes and no. The cheapest way to maintain locs is to do it yourself. At times I’ve simply bought locking gel as well as a few other products and for months taken charge of my loc maintenance. However, I’ve also found a hairdresser I trust, so when my schedule won’t allow me to dedicate as much time as I’d like to retwisting and styling my locs, I know where to go to save time. Obviously, getting your locs done at a high-end salon will cost more than at your local market. Maintaining locs can be easily affordable or make a real dent in your wallet depending on where and how often it’s done and the types of products used.

You must be afro-centric

I got this comment even when I had loose hair and wore an afro or two-strand twists but I hear it a little more often since I started locking my hair. Wearing a bright patterned dress and with my hair wrapped but not completely so as to reveal my locs one man looked me up and down, settled his eyes on my hair and said, “You look so natural and African, your husband must be proud.” Stunned and amused, the only words I could string together were, “I’m not married.”

While a certain level of pride in my hair prompted me to go natural and later start locking my hair, my styling choices often have a lot to do with practicality and not just a desire to honour my heritage. One thing worth remembering is that locking of hair is not a practise for black people alone. From Nazarites in biblical times to Hindu holy men and women, Aboriginal Australians to Maasai warriors, a variety of cultures and religions have adopted locked hair as part of their lifestyles. Therefore, I’m not too quick to describe my locs as particularly symbolic of my ‘Africanness’ or African pride.

Aside from assuming I’m particularly afrocentric, many also assume I’m some kind of artist. Singer/songwriter, poet and novelists are some of the guesses people have made. It’s flattering, but all wrong. I can’t sing to save my life, nor am I a creative writer. There’s no one-size-fits-all career path for people with locs; I’ve met loc wearers who work in a variety of fields, some creative, others not.

Afro-centric, creative, artistic, my locs communicate a lot whether true or false

Are you into reggae?

Often people want to know whether I’m a reggae fan or more specifically, if I’m into Bob Marley. An old school mate I bumped into recently asked if I was a Marley fan and then answered his own question by saying, “With that hair, of course you are.” I am fan now but also in my younger days when I had bone straight relaxed hair so the locs are really a factor in my musical tastes.

Curious about locs? Drop a question in the comments section and I’ll (attempt) to answer you.

An unpleasant encounter with a street beggar

As a kid I remember seeing signs on some streets in town (the CBD area) discouraging people from giving alms to beggars and I’d often wonder why. It only made sense to help the needy. Why shouldn’t I give a homeless child a little food or give money to destitute woman who’ll most likely waste away on the spot where she begs?” I pondered. But I heeded the advice not to give handouts and to this day never have given money, food or anything else to anyone on the streets, no matter how much I empathise with them.

However, my resolve to not give handouts was tested a few days ago, while waiting for a friend at Lusaka’s South Gate Mall. A child of about 12 approached me and asked for K1 to pay for his bus ride home. I’d heard this story before, in fact I was fairly certain this same boy had asked me for one K1 a few weeks earlier as I sat on a bus in Kulima Tower Station. Just like before, I shook my head no and waited for him to leave me alone. Only, he didn’t leave me alone for about 15 to 20 minutes. He nagged me for K1 the whole time and I considered giving it to him first out of pity and then later, just so he’d leave me alone.

As I waited for my friend to show up, I sat and ignored the boy. When that didn’t work I got up and walked away but the boy followed me. Eventually I sat back down and when it once again become too much for me, I got up and walked away. At this point the boy figured no matter how many times he called me “Auntie” and put on a sad face, he wasn’t getting even a ngwee out of me. Back turned to him as I tried to get away, the boy slapped me hard before he left me alone. That came as a total shock to me. I turned around, ready to strike back and found the boy smiling broadly at me before he made a run for it. I decided not to go after him. Aside form the fact that I had no right to hit the boy, I figured he lived a difficult life and the pleasure that came from hitting me was probably the highlight of his day, maybe even his whole month. I’d have gained nothing from hitting back and despite the wide smile on the boy’s face after hitting me, he gained nothing more than a cheap thrill that would wear off in seconds.

That little incident reminded me of my younger days when I questioned why we shouldn’t give alms to needy people on the streets. I was told that one cannot be guaranteed that beggars would use the money for something beneficial like food. For all you know, they may use it for drugs and it’s possible the boy may have been searching for money to pay for his next fix. The boy said the K1 would go towards a bus ride home but I had no way of knowing if this was really the case. He may have a home or he may live on the streets, I’ll probably never know.

I was also told that handouts encourage beggars to continue relying on others rather than make solid plans to improve their lives. If begging on the streets provided the boy who harassed me in town with the means for survival, he’d have less incentive to seek other means. The boy clearly needed help but I’m glad I didn’t give him a handout even if all he was asking for was a measly K1.

The boy may have been sent to beg on the streets by a guardian, making it a form of forced labour. Forced labour that I’d be encouraging even if my intentions were good. His guardian would continue to send him out to beg so long as he came back with money from unsuspecting do-gooders. Perhaps the boy had a sense of entitlement that lead him to believe that anyone he approaches on the street should give him whatever he asks for. My giving him the money would only have strengthened this sentiment. Whichever way I look at the situation, there is no justification to giving alms to beggars. The seemingly kind act can often do more harm than good. 

The more children and adults alike receive in handouts on the streets, the more likely they are to stay there. This doesn’t mean I no longer empathise with beggars. I now empathise with them even more but I also wonder how may of them have violent streaks. I ask myself how many of them can go from humbly pleading for money and then the next second strike you with a smile on their faces. Life on the streets is rough and will harden anyone if they’re on them long enough.

Handouts are not the answer but neither is simply ignoring the growing number of people seeking alms on our streets. The problem still exist even if we turn a blind eye. I walked away from that boy at the shopping centre satisified that I had not caved in and given him K1 and yet, I headed home feeling some guilt as I returned to my relatively comfortable middle class life.

Travelling while African

It’s long been a dream of mine to be published in print and well, it finally happened. I have two articles in the July/August edition of Proflight Zambia’s in flight magazine, Nkwazi. The glossy mag is one of the best publications the country produces and it’s great to be in it. That my first print articles are in a top tier magazine only makes me more chuffed. Better still, I’ll now be a regular contributor so there’ll be more articles to come.

So here it is, the first article I submitted to Nkwazi, Travelling While African, where I reflect on my experience of living abroad with a focus on my time in Australia and Italy.

Travelling While African

It was a warm afternoon in the Eternal City, Rome, as I walked along, heading out to see some of the popular tourist sites. A man selling cheap Roman souvenirs, the kind made in China, stared at me and screamed. I was scared for a second and wondered what horrible crime I had committed. As I looked around, trying to figure out it if it really was me the man in the too-tight grey jeans was staring at he pointed at me shouted “Naomi Campbell!” Relieved, I burst out laughing and kept walking but not before a couple of people pulled out their camera phones to take a shot of me as I walked down my cobblestone catwalk. Somewhere out there are three Italian men who mistakenly think they’ve laid eyes on one of the world’s greatest (and most ill-tempered) supermodels. This little incident happened on the streets of Rome during my good old days as a university student. Travelling and living abroad as minority you may experience incidents of subtle or overt racism but there are other experiences that are more innocent and downright funny.

In other cases of mistaken identity I’ve been mistaken for an “African princess.” One Italian man approached me and presented an “Eat, Pray, Love” type arrangement in which we would meet over coffee and I would teach him English while he taught me Italian. This man thought I must be a princess exploring Italy on a trip funded by my royal fortune. I assured him I wasn’t a princess but I’m not sure he was convinced. Similarly, while on a boat ride off the coast of Queensland, Australia an elderly Brisbanite man who was well-travelled and by no means ignorant asked me if I had royal blood. He however did not let the matter go until I mentioned being distantly related to a member of a royal establishment back home. “You can tell these things,” he insisted, “even if the relationship is distant.” Though surely, if I were a poised white girl from England he would not assume I was related to princes William and Harry. Still I laughed and took some pleasure in the fact that anyone actually viewed me as regal.

In one incident that happened during my time in Brisbane I found myself both confused and flattered. Over lunch a friend told me one of the girls she lived with was talking about me. I braced myself for the worst only to be told, “My roommate told me she thinks my Indian friend is very pretty.” I didn’t know what to make of it. On the one hand she thinks I’m pretty, the flattering part. On the other hand, she inexplicably thinks I look Indian. Surprisingly, when I told one of my black Zambian friends living in Brisbane hat someone had mistaken me for an Indian female she said the exact same thing had happened with her.

One of the most baffling encounters for me happened on my third day in Brisbane. I’d just moved into my on-campus accommodation and was chatting with two girls I shared a floor with. When I said I was from Zambia the bewildering response I got from one of the girls was, “What part of Australia is Zambia in?” Too stunned to answer, my mouth opened but no words came out. The only thing I can conclude is she thought I’m an aboriginal Australian even though I scarcely look like one. Eventually I found my words and told her Zambia is a country in Africa. She was embarrassed but glad to have learned something new

The geographical confusion did not end there, a fellow university student in Brisbane revealed that he did not know South Africa is a country. When I mentioned a trip I had taken there several years ago this Canadian master’s student said, “Oh, so South Africa’s a country. When I watched Invictus I thought there was a south African team and a north African team.” Sensing how dumbfounded and amused I was the guy tried to turn the tables on me and asked me if I could name any Canadian provinces. He was lost for words when I mentioned 6 out 8 provinces in quick succession.

Back in Zambia I’m often asked if I experienced racism while abroad and the simple answer is no. Not the direct kind anyway though I’d say I experienced ‘racism of lowered expectations.’ That’s the kind that might make people say, “Oh wow, your English is so good. Did you learn to speak it here or back in Africa?” However, I found that most people who enquired about my background and life back in Zambia did so out of genuine curiosity and had no intention of offending me. For many people in Rome and Brisbane especially, I was the first black person and/or African they had the chance to interact with. People had a sincere desire to learn about the place I’d come from and to hear firsthand accounts rather than just news reports. And that’s the beauty of travel, for both the traveller and the local that encounters the traveller, it offers the opportunity to learn something new and enrich our lives. It’s a mixed bag at times. Some days you’ll be mistaken for a supermodel or princess and others you’ll roll your eyes so many times because once again someone made a comment about ‘Uncle Bob’ aka Robert Mugabe after you said you’re from Zambia. The sights, sounds and tastes we experience when we travel enrich our lives but the most enriching experience is part when we interact with the people that create them.

Zambian Namwali Serpell wins Caine Prize, shakes things up

She has it in the bag, or should I say in the sack. Namwali Serpell was yesterday awarded the Caine Prize for African Writing for her short story, The Sack. (Silly pun intended.) Namwali is the first Zambian to win the prize and in another first, she announced that she’ll share her prize money with the other four finalists: Masanade Ntshanga, FT Kola, Elnathan John and Segun Afolabi. 

The win is great for Namwali but also other Zambian writers. Zambia doesn’t exactly have the most vibrant of writing scenes (although things are looking up) so to see a compatriot nominated for a prestigious writing award is encouraging.  As every other Oscar winner seems to say, "it’s an honour just being nominated.” I first heard of Namwali when she was nominated for the Caine Prize (for her short story Muzungu) in 2010. I didn’t know who on earth she was but it was reassuring to hear of a notable Zambian writer, even if she was based in the US.

From left to right: Masanade Ntshanga, FT Kola, Elnathan John, Namwali Serpell and Segun Afolabi 

Image credit: CNN

As for Namwali’s decision to share her prize money, this is how she explained it:

 “It was an act of mutiny for me. I wanted to change the structure of the prize because I felt that for the writers its very awkward to be placed in this position of competition with other writers that you respect immensely in this American Idol or race horse situation when actually you want to support each other.”

There certainly is a competitive element to writing. If I gain an opportunity, I’m ‘taking it away’ from someone else. With seemingly few opportunities for writers in Zambia, it’s easy for us to become overly competitive or become so overwhelmed by the competitive aspect that we stop trying. The latter is more my experience. I believe that as much as we should fight for opportunities, it’s also important for writers to support each other. I have a few writer friends who can share in the frustrations of trying get a career off the ground. Some of these friends are talented but for a number of reasons will not even put there writing out there. Namwali’s win is not just for her; a lot of Zambian writers will be spurred on by her nomination and win and that’s a wonderful thing.

Anyone can learn from Namwali's act of mutiny though, not just writers. We're conditioned to compete from an early age. We're encouraged to be the best in class and on the sports field and that pressure continues throughout life. However, no matter how hard we try, there will always be someone smarter, better looking, with a better job and seemingly, an overall better life. Often we're better off sharing in our successes rather than obsessively competing to get to the top and stay there. 

Upon hearing that Namwali would share her prize money and her reason for sharing it, I recalled a Tedx Talk, titled Trust Your Struggle, by CNN International anchor Zain Asher. During the talk Zain tells her audience how she got her dream job, and it wasn't through ruthless competition. In fact, she even spoke of how she helped out a lady who was interviewing for the very same anchor job she was after. As she wraps up, Zain says:

"I don't believe in competing for what I want, I believe in creating what I want. In order to be successful I don't need to take anything away from anyone else…Having a competitive spirit, having that need for one-upmanship and comparing yourself to other people again and again can actually bring out fears and insecurities that end up holding you back."

Competition has its place and its advantages but we sometimes benefit from doing away with it. That a Zambia won Africa's most prestigious literary prize is great. That she chose to recognise her 'competitors' and share her prize money with them is even better.

Zed Hair guest post - I featured

I'm happy (and kinda proud) to say an article of mine has been featured on Zed Hair. The sight is hugely and is Zambia's number one natural hair blog. I wrote the article with Zed Hair in mind and I'm so happy it was accepted. In the article I reflect on my first year of having locks (dreads) and all that I've gone through in that time. My locks are really more than just a hairstyle. To understand what I mean, read on.