Yesterday at our first social gathering commissioned by the mayor of The Hague, one of my Asian course mates asked about my waist length blonde braided hair. She said, "Oh, love your hair! Where did you get it from?"
Beat.
My Nigerian sisters, I'm just gonna let that sink in for a moment. Ok, has it sunk in. I'll continue.
At the time, I thought, should I tell this nice girl the synthetic hair actually has its roots from a place she knows too well, specifically Asia? Hmm...being all nice and we-are-the-world friendly I answered politely, "I got it from the store!"
She went on, "Like from the hairdresser?"
I exclaimed, "Exactly!" I give thanks to my hairdresser.
She went on, (yes, rather inquisitive, I know) "So, how do you wash it?" Probably thinking I belabor myself by having to wash these braids every morning just as she washes her own natural locks.
I obliged her by giving her the full rundown, washing process, braiding process, etc. I looked up when I was done, "You like?"
Her face flushed from that enormous amount of detail. She responded, "Yes, I like very much."
The funny part of this story to me (which may not be for you) is, how deftly honest and innocent she was in her questioning, possibly pretending not to the know the true origins of my synthetic hair considering her country has made an enormous amount of money from sale of synthetic hair alone. Regardless of her prior knowledge, she still inquired as innocently as a girl, prying for more information, oblivious to the nuisance of her query. That innocence made an out of place conversation seem almost bearable.
More bearable than the other Asian girl who remarked that my braids made me bear a close resemblance to Rachel Dolezal.
That was so hmmm...
To that I responded, "The difference is...I'm not playing black. I am black. Like for real black, the authentic kind from Africa."
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