My hairstyle changed my life

FOR years I have been fascinated by the African hairstyle —the plaits, in particular.  And for years I have attempted to visit the hairdresser and get my plaits but something stopped me —the fear that I might be looked upon with scorn by the East Indian community.

An Indo-Trini told me with seething contempt: “Ah pretty Indian like you want to look like a Creole? The Creole straighten he hair to look like the Indian and you plait up yours? Yuh head need checking.” Yet each time, after getting my new hair, that I went in front the mirror I could not help admiring my new appearance. Imagine, I had “grown” long hair in one day. My hair is five times thicker than it was giving my face a fresh and youthful look. It was not the African thing I saw. It was me, looking good.

But during the five weeks I carried my afro plaits I was treated differently by people I knew. The Afro-Trinis looked at me differently. I could see more concern and care in their eyes than before. I realised that they would quicker help a “sister” and stay away from someone of a different race. All through the Carnival season I had no problems travelling at late hours after assignments. The African “brothers” were quick to accommodate me in their taxis. Calling out, and asking: “Sis, yuh ready?”

When I pulled up for gas, one pump-attendant (of African descent) looked at me and said, “family what band we playing in”. Jokingly I replied, “I have a band of children home waiting for me.” The one who could make a pass at me would say, “sexy woman”. Some went so far to say, “whey we liming tonight”. In my mind I would say “I don’t know about you but I would be sleeping comfortably in my bed.”

I have always been a girl on the go. Coming from a highly religious home where my father, Teeluck Jankie (now deceased) was a sadhu (Hindu saint). My mother Phool had 12 children of which I am the ninth. I was brought up listening to the mantras of the Vedas repeated from as early as five on mornings. I learnt how to pray and whenever I am faced with problems the mantras come to my lips naturally. This is why I believe I have so much respect for all of God’s children.

As a child I remember how much respect my father had for the Afro-Trinis. At the age of six I remember my father taking all his children and journeying to the lagoon lands in Cumuto (a village between Moruga and Barrackpore). We would get up onto the bull-cart drawn by a water buffalo and on the way there we had to pass through the Mandingo Village where the African slaves settled. There, their descendants, maybe the fifth and sixth generation now reside. While we were not allowed to look at them or talk to anyone, my father showed respect to all of them.

They referred to him as “Sadhu”. They would be quick to help if something went wrong with our bull-cart. Each house knew him and he knew them by name —Thomas, Frederick, Roso, Pellet  and other names I cannot remember. The Afro-Trinis never disrespected us as young girls. They were afraid of my father who always had a serious face. And more so, they respected the white tilak (religious mark) on his forehead. I remember, a lot of Africans would come to our home with their children to jharay (using mantras to get rid of ailments). My father would sit for two hours on evenings jharaying scores of young people who were “wheezing”. 

As a teenager I went to Cowen Hamilton Secondary School, Moruga, and most of my friends were Africans. I often shared my bodi and roti with them. I am sure many of them who would read this might be laughing now. Coming back to my hairstyle, I felt comfortable with it. When I went to my mother (who is now 80 years old) she laughed, and declared: “Yuh get plenty hair all of a sudden.” I knew she would not disapprove of my hairstyle. Many people of East Indian descent of the village of Realize/Mandingo laughed at me. But I knew who I was and the African plaits made me feel good.

My younger son looked at me in disgust and said: “I want to see how you sleeping with that hair.” My elder son didn’t care about my hair. He only wanted to know that I came home to prepare his hot food. Personally, I think I realise how the Afro-Trini women operate. I did not have to comb my hair for five weeks. I just took it up and put in a bun. I could fix my hair in seconds as compared to my normal hair when I have to use gel and clips to keep it from flying and looking messy. During the few weeks wearing the false hair, I walked to the beat of the African drum in my head enjoying every bit of it. I even remembered the drums as a child coming out of the village. It was so alive and full of expectations.

It was more than just some boys beating the drums to entertain. I heard the rhythm of a people who came to Trinidad as slaves from Africa and to me it was something great, something sacred. I grew stronger while I carried my plaits, for I didn’t really care what people thought of my appearance. It was not disrespectful in any manner.       

I also love the East Indian look. The long plait at the back with flowers all over and the bindi (head jewelry) falling on my forehead. The look from India is great. I have so many pictures where I looked like an East Indian movie star. Well, maybe prettier than them a bit. I loved to spend hours creating this look for the stage when I would do my East Indian dancing. But I had to take it off after the performance because it was not real. Within a few minutes the look would be gone and I was back to myself again. It was different when I got my afro plaits though. And there were times when I became lost in my work and in my daily chores, and I forgot I had the hairstyle.

I would only remember when I stepped outside of the office or in the road at home and people started staring again. I almost cried when my sister-in-law, Shirley, and my niece Crystal took the plaits off. I was losing the plaits one by one and I could not speak and laugh and carry on like they were doing. I just sat there watching the false hair fall to the ground. The weight had gone, the African feelings went with it. I miss my plaits and I am going to put some plaits on again soon. It might not be my entire head but I am going to get my plaits back. I promise. And I don’t care who likes it or not. I am being me — Trini to the roots.