I discussed that for many black ladies born with nappy hair, the kitchen is not simply a place where food is prepared but it was the location where our hair was cooked. When we were young, the kitchen was where we went to go through the unpleasant ritual of having our nappy hair corrected the alignment of with the dreaded hot comb.
If I am to stay true to my side profession I can not stop there. The kitchen has still another cultural connotation for individuals with nappy hair.
The kitchen, dear readers, is likewise the nickname for the hair that resides at the nape of our necks. It is the place where our most defiant kinks gather together. Hair that settles and grows in our cooking areas is the nappiest, curliest, kinkiest and the most resistant to alter.
We already know that in unenlightened circles, nappiness is viewed as an unacceptable hair texture and the word "nappy" is a pejorative term. In that context, you can picture just how much our nappy cooking areas are viewed with disdain. Those of us who are deeply affected with nap rejection have actually gone through fantastic lengths to obliterate that shameful area of our heads. If it took a double dose of chemicals or removal by razor to keep our kitchen areas in the closet, it deserved it.
Unfavorable perceptions regardless of, the kitchen was an effective location.
It was the area that my mom battled with a lot of throughout my hot comb rite of passage. While the hair on the rest of my head readily gave up to the smoking cigarettes hot comb, my kitchen did not quit without a fight.
I have a name of honor for my kitchen hair. My Nappy Turner hair reminds me of the brave slave Nat Turner who rebelled versus oppression.
Even the nap-savvy Afro choice has actually lost a couple of teeth throughout explorations into our kitchens. And pity our love partners of another hue who anticipated smooth cruising when they attempted to run their fingers through our hair. When they passionately navigated their method into the density of our kitchens they were all of a sudden shaken off "coarse." Similar to vanishing into deep space of the Bermuda Triangle, those probing fingers got forever lost in the kitchen kink!
Our kitchens have been such a deeply rooted institution that they have actually even commanded the regard of the Ivy League. Henry Louis Gates Jr., the esteemed Harvard professor, paid homage in his memoir, "Colored People."
" If there was ever one part of our African past that resisted assimilation, it was the kitchen," Brother Gates proclaims. "No matter how hot the iron, no matter how effective the chemical, no matter how stringent the mashed-potatoes-and-lye formula of a man's "procedure," neither God nor woman nor Sammy Davis Jr., might straighten the kitchen.
The kitchen was a long-term, irredeemable, invincible kink. Unassimilably African. No matter what you did, no matter how hard you tried, nothing might de-kink an individual's kitchen."
The kitchen, dear readers, is likewise the label for the hair that resides at the neck of our necks. Hair that takes root and grows in our kitchens is the nappiest, curliest, kinkiest and the most resistant to alter.
In that context, you can think of how much our nappy kitchen areas are seen with contempt. I have a name of honor for my kitchen hair. No matter what you did, no matter how hard you attempted, nothing could de-kink an individual's kitchen."
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The Black Woman
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