Being skilled in braiding, I used to do cornrows for my late mom. Those were precious moments.
We would sit together, chat, laugh and bond, strengthening the beautiful relationship we shared. As she grew older, we noticed she was losing her hair at the crown. The bald patch gradually grew until, eventually, she had lots of hair on the sides and at the back, but very little – and ultimately none – in the middle.
She never made a fuss about it. Instead, she simply started wearing wigs.
It was only later, when I studied cosmetology and became acquainted with the term alopecia, that I put two and two together and concluded that my mom probably had some form of alopecia. Little did I know that, when I reached roughly the same age as my mom, I would experience something remarkably similar.
Perhaps it was a good thing I didn’t know. As a proud African woman, I cherished the versatility of our hair and had tried all kinds of hairstyles – cornrows, braids, twists, the straight look, and more.
Dreadlocks came later in my life, and I absolutely loved my locks. But when I began noticing thinning and baldness at the crown, I knew that, inevitably, a decision would have to be made.
My wonderful stylist, Memory, creatively styled my locks to work around the thinning areas – and she did an amazing job.
Kudos to Memory!
Then Covid-19 came knocking on our doors. Getting to Memory became impossible. Meanwhile, my hair was breaking and thinning, not only at the crown, but in other areas as well.
I knew I had to make a decision. Wigs were never going to be an option for me. So, there was really only one choice: no hair.
I toyed with the idea for a while. I didn’t even tell my mom, because she had never been in favour of me having short hair, let alone no hair.
And then I did it.
I stepped into the world with my ‘Triple B’ look – Bold, Bald and Beautiful.
People weren’t quite sure what to make of it. Some wondered whether I was ill. Others assumed that perhaps I had lost a loved one and, as is customary in some cultures, had shaved my head.
I quickly allayed their fears: No, this is simply my look!
And what a liberating experience it has been.
Today, I sometimes forget that I don’t have hair. I don’t feel anything is missing. I feel comfortable in my own skin – quite literally.
I suspect my experience may be a combination of hereditary predisposition, alopecia, and the changes associated with menopause. I have not sought to confirm a medical diagnosis – for me, the diagnosis is less important than the journey of acceptance.
Do I miss my dreadlocks? Certainly. Sometimes.
But I have come to believe there is a season for everything. My dreadlocks belonged to one season of my life. My bald head belongs to another. And I embrace it.
As we mark Alopecia Awareness Month, I want to encourage my fellow sisters who are experiencing hair loss: Don’t allow society’s expectations of what a woman should look like to diminish you.
If you’re ready, step out boldly.
Be courageous.
Be comfortable in your own skin.
Be your authentic self.
And if you choose to – join me in sporting the Triple B look: Bold. Bald. Beautiful.
Because sometimes, losing your hair can be the beginning of finding even greater freedom.
– Hopolang Phororo is the United Nations’ resident coordinator for Namibia.
