Locks, Dreads or Natty: My Journey with Locks
I was approached recently by a friend who asked me to do
her a solid, if I didn’t mind, and share my experience of growing locks. I
didn’t know what to say really because there was just so much to say. I tried
cutting to the chase and just provide her with ‘Cliff Notes’ but it became
obvious real quick that the relationship between a person and their hair is too
intimate to be condensed into steps 1-3: twist with gel or wax, hold with
plaits or scrungie for X amount of time, wash, rinse and repeat. So I guess
I’ll just go back to the beginning and start recanting my journey from there
If you had to take a casual glance at my immediate family
back home you would think is empty Rasta in there, and at times it does tend to
feel like that especially when I pay attention and take stock: Uncle Peter
(recently cut off but he still Rasta- u don’t haffi dread seen), Uncle Derrick,
Uncle Melvin (back before he met his wife and had his first child. I was told
he was a Moses reincarnated), Cousin Terry (of the Golden Locks), Uncle Peter’s
two sons Jad and Mannie, my Dad and the two recent additions: myself and my
brother on father side who just-just started. There might be others in my
family who has or had but I don’t know who they are.
Needless to say the ladies in my family weren’t too
thrilled with ‘all dem rastaman’ in the yard. My Grandmother and Auntie
Rosemund was pretty upset when Uncle Peter start ‘forcing his religion’ on
‘poor Jad’ and later Mannie. Mind you the old folks had a poor image of Rasta
since the 70’s when, as a group, I was told, they would confiscate your lands
in the ‘bush’ and beat or kill you over it.
Anyway, long history lesson aside, I won’t say I always
wanted locks (Auntie Rosemund and mama made sure that I wasn’t sympathetic to
anything revolving around dreads) but I knew I wanted to rock them when Daddy,
fresh from working off of Carnival cruise lines, started growing them. It was
around my second year at Dominica Grammar School and my religion said Christian
(or something to that effect) so I didn’t have leave to grow my crop. That was
around ’95.
Fast Forward to ’08. By then I’ve been with Best of Books
for about a year (I hope I have my dates right I’m terrible with dates) and I
must say that I probably wouldn’t have grown my locks if it wasn’t for the
bookstore, the environment was comfortable enough and it helped greatly that
everyone at Best of Books treats each other like family.
So yes, Summer of ’08, I’m on vacation still rocking my
‘fro from college days back in’0-something-or-the-other and I just got real fed
up with picking my hair (pick your afro daddy, cause its flat on one side
- Erykah Badu. My mom loves that line).
I figured I have three weeks of vacation, plus I work in a place where nobody
is going to mind terribly…it’s time to locks up!! Thing is I was a complete
virgin to locks… but everybody else was a pro at this apparently. I didn’t know
what to do, who to go to and I really didn’t want to have to go looking for
‘Wachet’ or cactus, as it is called here, to wash the slimy green goop into my
hair…I wasn’t that Dread, I’m sorry.
Let me just interrupt myself at this point to say that my
locks really and truly chronicles my journey perfectly. You can actually see
and feel all the shit that my hair went through by just examining one lock from
end to root- more on that later- back to the story now.
My neighbour took pity on me and decided to help me out (
a really nice lady to whom I am godfather to her two last daughters and her
granddaughter). She started out by twisting my hair into two-strand plaits (not
the 3 as is customary with cornrows or such. Bear with me I’m not versed in
hairstyle lingo). I guess I had a lot of hair to deal with because as she moved
from the back of my head toward the front, the plaits got bigger and bigger.
Hey I guess she wanted to finish and it was taking time. Whatever it was I’m
happy because now my locks are nice and thick, which worked out to be more to
my taste. When it was done, people (yes
neaga! you know you can’t avoid their mouth or eyes) told me how nice the style
looked and how it fit my face and all that smiley face talk until the hairstyle
stopped looking….fabulous? let’s just say when the hair start ‘settle in’.
Queue in negativity, frustration and confusion; the
comments and advice and remarks started coming in hard and fast: bwoy ah wah
happen to you head! You ah tun rasta? I don’t want no locksman in my family.
And amidst that I got: don’t wash it everyday. Plait it first. Use beeswax.
Don’t use beeswax it holds dirt. Use oil. Interlock it. Don’t interlock it it
weakens the lock and makes you bald. Use kassi. Use turkleberry. Wash every two
weeks, no every three weeks, no once a month. You do them too big. Twist it
then plait it…… and on and on and on it went.
