Calamity Jane - The Land of Hope

Emerging from the plane seeing the sprawl of Accra before my eyes I can feel I’m at the precipice of real change. As I drive past Airport Hills (where some of the wealthiest people in the country live), Cantonments and East Lagon where the white structures (too large to actually call them homes) span acres upon acres of land, Buckingham Palace dwarfed by comparison, my mum‘s derisive call of ‘drug dealers’ does nothing to mar my overwhelming feeling of pride for the physical, social and economic change that is taking place in this country.


It’s a telling tale of the change that is taking place in this country when eight years ago the same flight would have been full to the brim of Ghanaians (using every gram of their 40kilos luggage, with six suitcases a piece), the occasional Jamaican on a journey of self exploration and the white UN aid worker. Now the demographic makeup resembles a flight to Spain or a tube journey in central London. With oil Ghana has become a desirable destination to the world of commerce and as a result Accra an incredibly cosmopolitan city. 

  

The desire for a better Ghana is palpable! It’s in the eyes of the people; always warm, and inquisitive, but of late, lustful for money and empowerment. It’s in the people’s ever growing entrepreneurship and enterprising skills, not traditionally a quality we were famous for, but as the demands of the country have changed, so has the people’s resilience and drive to profit from those changes. 

Amid all the revolutionary sentiment is a realism that plunders the soul... The economic prosperity of many Ghanaian women is inextricably bound to the transfer of sex for money. Not prostitution in the traditional sense of soliciting on the streets (although that does exist), but rather a societal norm (not accepted, but tolerated) of relationships between substantially older men and young girls, devoid of any love but predicated on an arrangement of money, power, sex and eventual domination.  These ‘relationships’ are visible within every social strata and particular among the middle classes, many of whom have lived or studied abroad. Shocking for a land that spawned my grandmother whom despite rearing ten children, would travel the breadth of Ghana making an earnest living through trade. And then my mother who is my inspiration and has raised two feisty, strong liberated women. Who is to blame for the demise of female liberation in Ghana? Let us start with MTV.....

I’m all for (to coin a Dizzee phrase) ‘fixing up and looking sharp’, but to what end?.... The streets of Accra are lined with salons, beauticians, wig and hair shops and with the cost of beatification so low (even relatively speaking), it takes a strong woman to not succumb to the pressure of looking like a P.Diddy music video hunny. It may sound familiar – Peckham? Brixton?.. Or any number of places blacks dwell, but there is a sinister element in developing countries like Ghana, for which economic empowerment in the west has meant women here, to an extent, have escaped.

A friend of mine working for a British Company in Ghana told me about her first few weeks at work. She went in dressed in the same attire she had previously worn to work in London – a smart but not pretentious pencil dress from Dorothy Perkins, flat and sensible shoes, minimal make up and relaxed hair pulled back neatly. She felt grossly underdressed and drab compared to her Ghanaian colleagues.  Even the lowly paid admin assistants were wearing designer labels, carrying Gucci and Christian Dior handbags. Discontented she turned to her mother, who surmised the issue facing young women in Ghana (and in fact the developing world) so aptly -  she reminded her that these girls sauntering around in designer suits with perfectly manicured nails and weave (many of whom were not given the opportunity to go to university and those few who did found only lowly paid administrative roles available to them upon graduation), were the same girls sleeping on mattresses on the floor of their parents’ dilapidated accommodation (with very few prospects of ever owning their own property independently – unless through marriage). They attributed undue value to wearing nice and over priced clothes that they could ill afford instead of saving their pennies, because it attracted the men who would eventually support them financially.

One evening I head out dancing with Esmeralda, my friend who moved back to Ghana (having lived in the UK for ten years) and her friends. I fashion myself on Sex and the City chic and take pride in the quirky gems many a flea market in Deptford has unearthed... The girls are set to go out and for the first time I feel frumpy, in my floral, pleated, circa 1950s dress. It may be all the rage in boho east London, but next to the two of them, boobs hiked to the hills, micro miniskirts hugging their undulating thighs I feel like the clown. I don’t recall the last time I wore something so short and tight – Indeed I do, I was 16 and my mum had to come and collect me after being rejected from a club for looking ridiculous!

  

My final day and I chose to observe the city alone. At a wonderful little Lebanese restaurant I sat alone on the balcony watching the world go by (every real Ghanaian sitting indoors with the Air Con avoiding the 35 degree sunshine – I the token Brit am sweating outside knowing the rain that is in store upon my return). I’m drawn to the women in the big cars, chauffer driven around the city, with the house boy jumping at their every command and maids rearing their children by their side. I cannot help but wonder at what price? How many are self made women (earning money for themselves) and how many willingly ignore their husbands’ indiscretions in order to live their lives of luxury. 

CJ

Calamity Jane - Coming of Age

The concept of aging is difficult for me to accept, as most days I wake up after eight hours sleep (any less and I can’t function) a little bloated (if I’ve eaten after 7pm the night before as my digestive system can’t handle late meals), and think I’m 18.

When people refer to the ‘youth’, I categorise myself as such. So when random uncles (never the aunties as they know better) stop my mum and me in Sainsbury’s, and compliment her with some farcical story about us looking like ‘sisters’, I’m forced to smile through gritted teeth (because to do otherwise would be rude and would reflect badly on me, my mum, the family... the world!), and agree in good humour (masking my rage) that my mother really has done well and looks extremely good. By the time I get home I feel fully righteous sulking like a child. 

I am 28 years old and as much as I may feel full of youthful spirit, I am so far from a ‘youf’ it’s hard to comprehend. The irony is, the realisation is only too apparent when in the presence of an actual ‘youth’ and they do something so discombobulating I am reminded that I have nothing but disdain for most young people.

When I see the teenage girls in the morning hanging round the bus stop, doing all they can to catch the attention of the boys, I’m always in awe of the effort they’ve exerted on their hair and makeup and general presentation. Even the tom boys look way better than in my day. What a sight to behold... The 13 year old girls with their weaves down to their backside, so well coiffed you’d imagine they’d just left the salon. Bright false nails, make up perfectly applied (my cocoa butter and Vaseline combination doesn’t compare) wearing the funkiest trainers you’ve ever seen, they look like they should be on set for a music video rather than on route to school.

It’s like I blink and a lifetime has passed and I am so out of sync I am positively stone age, or ‘old school’ as my teenage cousin likes to say. Never is this realisation more prolific than when I witness my cousins in conversation with their parents.... To even be present in the room amongst adults is a privilege I rarely had. Back in the day, when my parents’ friends arrived (the nameless uncles and aunties), my sister and I hung around just long enough to conduct our duties - the cordial offering of drinks  and the answering of trite mundane questions: ‘Yes auntie, school is going well… I’m in year nine now, coming top of the class (never have, never will) preparing for GCSE’s and world domination’ (they liked that one). Then that was it. Duty done I was banished upstairs to leave the grown folks to their chatter. Now my cousins stay plonked on the sofa, flicking through the music channels at the speed of light creating their own homage to Hype Williams. They chip in to the conversation as they like, teasing the adults, raising topics they are interested in and cracking jokes at the old folk’s expense. Shocking!

 

I recall when I was about ten coyly broaching the subject of sex whilst my mum was deeply engrossed in cooking. My mother remained focused on her cooking, not even raising her head from the stove, (thus lulling me into a false sense of security) and simply asked who at school had told me. Without a moment’s hesitation, she branded my friend a whore and asked me to cease our friendship immediately.

 

The final indictment to cement my coming of age took place on Christmas at my aunt’s house where I’d spent my formative years, playing with her kids, nieces and nephews. The conversation began as it always does among middle aged women, with stories of their ‘successful’ children – which in turn reflects well on them as mothers for having successfully raised their children. There’s always an underlying element of competition in any chats between these women – an attempt to use their children to outdo one another and ultimately prove one family and one mother over the other. Entertaining as it was to watch, my aunt gloating and mother feigning indifference, it was only when my aunt strayed openly onto the topic of her sixteen year old son’s sex life that I sat up and took note. My intrigue was less about the content of the conversation and more the freeness with which it was being discussed. Auntie had the gall to joke that when my cousin was heading out clubbing she’d remind him to take his keys, his money, and would smack her back pocket (think Kerry Catona - pre crack- in the Asda advert) symbolising a condom. Mum laughed, my uncle looked proud and I cringed at the loss of my youth.

 CJ

Kinky Nikz 2.0 - Black Men, Black Hair

‘Who said a black man couldn’t love a woman with natural hair?’


The quote of the day comes from a couple on a facebook group entitled ‘Black Men who Love Women with Natural Hair’.

When I started my ascent into ‘naturaldom’ I never thought about how men may perceive me or how their approach may change. I was in a new relationship with a man that seemed happy with my appearance. I was just thinking about the new experience, how good it felt to be 100% me excluding all fixtures and fittings but I couldn’t help but note how the scales tipped.

During the straight days I was often approached by men, hell, I had a good few on my checklist, on standby, waiting to be one of the chosen few (lol!) but as soon as I started growing my own hair it all changed. It reaffirmed the age old message that men are superficial creatures (as if I could forget), just as superficial as us women, they don’t see hidden depths in an appearance, they see breasts, hips and ass and if many of them are to have it there own way, long, straight hair.

You see, from what I have noted, black men are attracted to long hair (an attribute which is never associated with black women) and who can blame them? Their mothers, sisters, aunties, cousins all sport the same look and long hair is considered good hair, hair that many black women aspire to have. Now on this note, I am fully aware that many of my blog posts may be considered a generalisation, an account that makes black men seem ignorant but stereotypes are stereotypes for a reason and I guarantee that ALL of you reading this piece of editorial know a black man that puts ‘good haired’ women on a pedestal and wouldn’t spit on us nappy’s. But is that such a bad thing?


I mean yes, the majority of the kind of men that used to approach me don’t anymore but the ones that do, come with intelligent conversation and genuine comments. They are less absorbed in the flesh, blood and bones of this land and more concerned with content of your inner. Obviously, this is just my experience and I can’t speak for every natural out there but I did think that this would be a good opportunity to get a male opinion on the topic of black women with natural hair.

“Ok, so where do I begin. I suppose I should start by introducing myself… nah, on second thoughts, I think I’ll delve straight into the heart of the issue. Before I do so though; I’ve got some questions, not from the ‘black male’ perspective although I am a black male asking, ‘‘can we have some perspective here/hair please ladies’’?



Right… Why would you choose to have your hair in any other textural state than it was intended (… and that, ‘it’s easier to manage’ nonsense won’t wash)? What’s the real reason behind mercilessly ‘frying’ and chemically burning into submission your eau-naturelle strands? Is it social acceptance? Is it a negative self-image which is apparently remedied by; weave; wigs and perms? Does it in all actuality, point towards a lack of self esteem? Are the fake nails, fake eyelashes, and general ‘makeup’ indicative of some form of mental imbalance? Look, before you get upset, like I said; let’s have some perspective.


How do I view black women who go against the grain and don their natural hair?



Generally, I think it’s a ‘power move’. I think it shows strength of character and in a sense, leadership qualities. Remember, in former flourishing civilisations, females held the reigns and steered their nation onto great things for telling durations of time.

I think it demonstrates willingness to, metaphorically, detach from the masses… And Self Actualise. FYI. Self Actualisation isn’t ‘new age’ phenomenon – all it means is; you don’t ‘business’ what opinions people have of you. Not that you’re unaware of others opinions, just that you Trust and Value your own opinion more. It’s, based on a famous theorists, pinnacle of human needs, as in; your needs are generally satisfied through rationality, soul searching and/or internally. If you still don’t get it; are you comfortable with your own company?

I’ve found that when I hit the roads with my ‘missus’, be it: dinner, raving or… museums, the compliments are literally consistent. This leads me to believe that more of you females would take the bold step and go eau-naturelle if you thought you wouldn’t be marginalised, and viewed as unattractive.
I’ll close with this; if you’re curious, go for it! There’s a saying, ‘Enter Any Action With Boldness’.”


Swoon!!! Smart and good looking! Preach…


For me, the bottom line is live how you want but make informed decisions. Black men that tend to favour Eurocentric hair types don’t do so out of a pre-determined preference but out of instinctive ignorance - the same ignorance that almost forces black women to alter their hair texture.


Natural women ARE sexy and just to prove my point I thought I’d leave you with a little eye candy this week. Check out my natural hotties from the fore mentioned facebook page and if you have the time, log on and check out the discussion boards but beware, you may be left arguing with the screen for a few hours!

Peace, Love and Nappyness!


KN

Kinky Nikz 2.0 - Hairy Situations

You might remember me retelling my initial experience with my newly found, naturally bald head but I’m not sure if mentioned that the person that triggered the daring cut was one of my white colleagues.  You see, for some reason, they appreciated what I did not and saw the potential for an amazing new ‘do’.  But had it had not been for the encouragement in the work place (where my brown skin is a minority) i.e. my office manager telling me that i look like a ‘wonderfully, androgynous, little thing’ and praising every bit of growth and new styling technique; would I have still felt comfortable rocking my kinky head of hair in a corporate environment?

 

You see I work in PR, an area associated with the media and considered fashionable and accepting of new and innovative, daring styles, but i’m not a consumer ‘PR-ist’, it’s not glitz and glamour, it’s technology, its B2B and it's corporate, so when I am meeting clients I do tend to whip out my lip ring but tame my hair? Never! Why?  Because my working environment has taught me that it is acceptable because it is ME. I do wonder however, if I were to leave my fabulous work place to venture elsewhere and begin that dreaded interview process all over again, would my hair affect my ability to get a job?

This week’s blog is triggered by an article in Glamour Magazine, citing the same issues about African hair and the workplace. I’ve copied and pasted it below for those of you too lazy to click on the link but have a read.

 “Almost every black woman has had a ‘hair moment,’” said Farai Chideya, who went on to share hers with a roomful of women at Glamour’s Women, Race and Beauty panel last November. It was when a higher-up once commented that her braids made her look unprofessional. Judging from the heads nodding, most of the women in the diverse audience had heard something similar—or worse—about their looks. And it hurt.

The roundtable, which featured brilliant women of every ethnicity, was a high point in Glamour’s year, but it was triggered by a low point. Last summer, a former staffer made an unauthorized presentation to a group of female attorneys in which she commented that, in her view, Afros were “a Don’t” for work. Glamour management found out about her remark two months later and was floored. (Click here for our response.) We shared the outrage of hundreds of you who wrote in to voice disagreement. The idea that a woman cannot be herself and still get ahead at work runs contrary to Glamour’s message of empowerment.

Your letters made one thing clear: Many women of colour still feel judged according to racially biased beauty norms in their careers and sometimes even in personal relationships. It’s not just about hair and it’s not just about African American women, as you’ll see from the variety of testimonials on these pages. At a time when women of all shapes, sizes, colours and manner of hairstyles are increasingly seen in magazines and on TV and movie screens—and when Toni Morrison, the first African American woman to win the Nobel Prize for literature, proudly wears her dreads—multicultural beauty acceptance hasn’t pervaded our lives as much as we’d like to think. Those same dreads could cost you a promotion in some offices, noted some letter writers; one reader said reactions to her natural hair at work “made it seem like I’d entered a meeting in jeans and a T-shirt.” But going with straightened hair isn’t simple either, said panellist Lisa Price, founder of Carol’s Daughter beauty products: An African American woman who wants to experiment with extensions may be seen as a sell-out. Fear of saying the wrong thing stops most people from making the next crucial step—talking openly about these beauty standards. So Glamour brought together a group of journalists, academics and businesswomen to take that step. Listen in on their discuss

http://www.glamour.com/magazine/2008/02/race-beauty-panel

What are your thoughts and experiences in this area? Do you feel or know that you were turned down for a job because of the way looked? I had a friend who though she was never invited to interviews because her surname sounded too African...hmm interesting concept.

Peace, Love and Nappyness to you all xx

Kinky Nikz 2.0 - Long hair don't care!!!

Those that know me know that I am slightly obsessed with taking care of my hair. Even with my relaxed hair I was always very interested in growing a healthy head of hair.

During my relaxed days, I was often changing hair styles and cuts and this often meant growing my hair longer to achieve the desired style. However, my hair wouldn’t grow back properly at the nape of my neck. The hair back there has always been fine and years of shaving, toxic abuse and wrapping headscarf’s around ‘barely there hair’ took its toll and the hair just wouldn’t grow back, it would always appear patchy once it grew to a certain length but it didn’t really bother me. I just would just go ahead and cut it all off again.

When I started the natural process and my short, cropped hair begun to grow back, I was curious to see whether the back of my hair would come through for me properly and to my surprise it did. It grew back finer than the rest of my coarse naps and has some of the longest hairs on my head. In fact, my hair just generally grows much quicker now and I can actually get this fro into a single ponytail (yay!) so my goals are changing. My hair idol has hair around belly button length and yes, I intend to get there too but one step at a time!

Some of you may look at these naps and think I’m crazy but my next hair goal is armpit length and I fully believe that I will get there in no time. But there are plenty of cynics out there who actually believe that if you have afro hair it won’t grow and the only way to have long hair is to pay for it, so I thought we’d delve into this a little further.

Some of you may be familiar with the concept of terminal length. Some interpret this to mean that the majority of hair on an individual’s head reaches a certain length and then that’s it. I don’t personally believe in a limit to hair growth. Furthermore, all of the hair cannot reach a terminal length at the same time, because they weren’t “born” at the same time. Hair is always growing, but it is also always falling. It is believed that the life cycle of growing hair is anywhere from 2-7 years before the hair falls out. So faster growing hair can accomplish more in this time period. This is where genetics factors in to determine the length of the growing phase and how quickly the hair grows during this time. Keep in mind that the rate of hair growth also slows with age. Some women on the hair forums describe their hair reaching a terminal length of shoulder length or arm-pit length (apl), because it always breaks off at this particular length. I think that this limitation is due to poor care practices fragile hair types that are more susceptible to damage. These include the use of chemicals, rough handling of hair, inadequate moisture and not using protective styles (although not everyone needs to use protective styles to achieve long hair but I definitely do).

Many factors come into play in determining hair length. One factor that I will not include singularly is hair type. I mention this because many black women believe to achieve long hair they must relax/straighten the hair or that they must have a looser hair texture. Yes, looser/straighter hair is usually easier to detangle and tends to knot less often (less damage=more retention), but it does not grow faster. The average rate of growth is 1/2 inch a month with some individuals averaging more or less. Because of the fragile nature of kinky hair, issues often arise with how to detangle and care for the hair properly. This leads to most never achieving their possible length potential. There is also a theory that coily hair growth may be slowed down upon exit out of a curved follicle (the follicle shape determines the strand texture). In curly-headed individuals, the hair follicle below the scalp has a hooked end. More hooks produces even curlier hair. Genetics determines the rate of hair growth, so it is sometimes helpful to look at family members experiences with hair length, but not always. For more on terminal length and genetics, read this informative article on Terminal Length and the Role of Genetics in Black Hair Care by Audrey Sivothosy.

My tips in previous blogs will help with growing your hair long but If you are interested in further information about growing your naps longer also try visiting ‘Grow Afro Hair Long’ http://www.growafrohairlong.com/index.html

Calamity Jane - The Gym

I am a member of the infamous Fitness First in Lewisham. Regarded as such not for any frivolous reason like celebrity clientele (although I did once spot someone from Eternal – not the sisters, the other one - and as discreetly as I could, made a beeline for my phone to share the news with everyone I knew), but rather for its diabolical customer service. 1990s trashy euro pop music videos on repeat (God forbid they play music that actually appeared in the UK chart), moody staff,  faulty machinery, broken air con machine; dilapidated crumbling walls, changing facilities that smell of rotting animal and a general sub standard service. Its sole reason for continued trade is its proximity to public transport, lack of viable competition, fantastic instructors (there’s nothing like spinning at 7am with Jamie or Errol; garage and grime beats blaring from the speakers and the instructor at the front like a conductor pushing forth his orchestra). The real reason it exists is because it’s located in a poor neighbourhood where people don’t feel empowered enough to write letters of complaint and report them to the Evening Standard.

It’s January and the Christmas gorge (despite the recession people still have money for a feast) guilt has set in. The gym is as packed and it’s a sight to behold.

There’s the girl with the hard face who only smiles when there are men in the vicinity, whose relaxed short crop is so newly permed you can smell the chemical relaxer oozing from her pores as she sensually struts on the cross trainer (often in batty rider shorts - which she clearly customised from a once respectable pair of trousers and a circa 1990 crop top). She once proudly proclaimed that she avoided sweating to save her hair. I would say her inspiration for the gym was less the working out and more working men.

There is the beautiful girl with the funky long weave, who loves her hair as much as life itself. You can tell by her incessant stroking and touching, whipping her head at any given opportunity for the most grandiose effect. With every bounce of that hair, you can see her jubilation and heightened sense of worth. We once talked about going natural (and managing it with all the gym) and she looked me straight in the eye and without even the faintest hint of irony, proclaimed with pride that her hair was indeed natural. She mustn’t have seen her natural hair in excess of fifteen minutes every four weeks for the last ten years. That’s the time in-between weaves where she washes it, quickly covers it up in a baseball cap and runs to the salon hoping nobody will spot her on the bus.

The most interesting sight to behold is the assortment of ostentatious head gear proudly on display. In the Covent Garden Fitness First or indeed the Clapham or Purley gyms, the only head gear you may occasionally view is the sweat band of the ardent runner. In Lewisham, scarves, bandanas, do-rags, tights (flash back to your childhood when your mum made you wear them at night) are all tightly wrapped round women’s heads to contain the beast within. I’ve even witnessed a shower cap (not in the steam room, as one may reasonably assume, but on the treadmill). The woman had conditioned her locks, put on her cap and was pounded the treadmill for the ultimate deep conditioning steam.

For all the humour the women afford it is the men that are the truest of spectacle. In January it was them that attended in their droves, flexing their muscles in a wilful display of alpha masculinity.  Pumping, lifting, grunting - they exert such rigour; it’s a wonder they have any energy for other things in life.... like a job. My initial observation was that the scene that befell me, was to mask some kind of closeted homoeroticism. The touching, the grunting, the intentional rubbing of sweating pulsating bodies, precipitated one reasonable conclusion -  GAY.

As time went on I realised that their show of moronic masculinity was indeed for the benefit of one another (only occasionally did they preen over a woman as intently as they did one another) but there was no homosexual tendency. It was simply a performance, a grand opera, to assert their role as King of the castle. In the most base terms, men always believe they can impress a woman – even the run down, didn’t brush my hair, wearing yesterday’s clothes man will still have the audacity to approach a respectable woman, with nothing intelligent to say other then ‘pssst, pssssssst, sexy giarl, I like your backside. Can I take your number?’.

The end of my workout beckons and I drag myself to the mat area to endure the mandatory five minute waste of time, abs session. Full steam ahead I go. Dropping to the mat and rising again like a deranged jack in the box. Then out of nowhere, one of the goons stands directly behind me, so close my sweat surely must flick onto his legs. He gives the cursory nod to a man nearby (not sure if they even know one another or it’s some kind of unspoken code of conduct), he pays me no mind (indeed it’s as though the mat rather than the person on it is the only thing in view) and with no shame or even the hint of humour, lifts his top up, tenses his abs and gawks at his own reflection. He turns from side to side, getting a good view from every profile and after a full five minutes (which is a long time to stare at yourself in a public forum) he drops his t-shirt, gives himself a self ingratiating smile and saunters off. Displaying not even a glimpse of embarrassment.

Spent from fighting my way on to the machines (which the non sweat brigade used until water penetrated their weaves) and dehydrated from inhaling the pong and fumes (no air con makes for a very smelly room). I trudge home, having experienced quite the psychological workout, to eat cake and sooth my fragile nerves!

Dedicated to my father, who thinks the gym is an unproductive waste of time. And anyone who has time to go on several occasions over the course of a week needs to either get a second job or find something more intellectually changeling to occupy their time. Having watched those peacock men, strut around the gym showing off their feathers, I am inclined to agree with my dad.

CJ

Kinky Nikz 2.0 - Nappy Regime

So this week was the dreaded weekend. Why? Because it involved wash day! Yes, every three weeks (well, in the winter, probably more so in the hotter months) it rolls around and i get to do my beloved treatments and try out some new fandangle deep conditioning method. So this week I thought I would take you through my hair regime.

Below is a picture of the products I used (I forgot to include the egg and herbal tea I used).

Every month I try and henna my hair as this is my chosen protein treatment. People in South Asia, North Africa and the Middle East have been using henna for years as part of their hair regime because its conditioning properties ensure strong, shiny hair that has an instant fullness. Don’t believe me? Try it out for yourself.

Now, I mix one and a half packs of henna with green tea that has cooled, honey and one egg and let the mixture sit for one hour (the length of time depends on the type of henna).

In that hour it’s time to detangle and as you have all heard, this can prove to be a time consuming process…tip to root!

After shampooing once with my gorgeous, candy smelling Neutrogena Triple Moisture shampoo, that you can only sadly get in the US, and conditioning with Hello Hydration, I allowed my hair to air dry for 20 minutes before applying the henna mixture. I know I said that I only rarely use shampoo but my hair was full of product and greasing up my pillow so it was a must.

Now this I where it gets messy…Once the henna is mixed it looks like mud and smells like bush or forest floor or hay, so once I have applied it generously all over my hair, I wrap and seal the stench with cling film and leave it to sit for six hours…that’s right, six  minimum!

Silly me! I bought the wrong henna packet and this one had loads of twigs in it! This was a nightmare to get out. The mixture takes a good few rinses go get rid of on a good day but the twigs made things even more difficult. After rinsing and co-washing (washing with conditioner) for about 20 minutes, I left my hair to deep condition with Hello Hydration for two hours but my hair was instantly fluffy and thick.

Since I didn’t actually wake up and start the treatment process until 11am by the time I finished it was 11pm (I left my henna in for eight hours) and I was knackered. Nevertheless, my hair still needed to air dry before I could twist it. I just slapped some Elasta QP Mango Butter in my hair, finger combed and plait in small sections so it so would dry overnight and bish bash bosh, the job was done!

Henna Facts:

1. Always ask for body art quality henna and not henna for hair, it has too many chemicals in it. I get mine in a wholesale shop on Ealing Road but anywhere where there is a prominent Asian community should stock it
2. Henna does dye your hair; it is a natural colorant for hair. The original stuff will dye your hair a deep red colour (depending on your natural shade) but there are some alternatives such as Indigo/ black henna. I understand Lush also stocks henna with the same conditioning properties
3. You can use henna on natural or chemically processed hair types
4. Stronger Hair – When the lawsone (dye) molecule goes into the hair it penetrates the hair shaft some, binding with the keratin in the hair. This makes hair stronger, but also is one of the qualities that make henna removal near impossible. Henna also coats the hair and fills in rough spots on a frayed cuticle. This adds a second layer of strength, but it does not lock out moisture
5. Henna makes your hair dry so it is important to follow up with a deep moisturising conditioner or your hair can become very brittle
6. Loss or reduction in curl- The protein in the henna weighs down hair strands and this in turn elongates your curl pattern and reduces shrinkage. If your curls/coils are quite loose, it may be an idea to try an alternative like cassia or bentonite clay

Please note that all of the information presented in my blogs is based on my personal experience. Make sure that you follow the links or Google any products or treatments that you are interested in using so you are fully aware of the positive and negative aspects.

Catch up next week…

Peace, Love and Nappyness J