Instant dreadlocks from America

Carolyn Cooper

Once upon a time, on the continent of Africa, dreadlocks signified spiritual powers. In the Yoruba language of Nigeria, 'dada' is the word for locks. Children born with 'dada' hair are thought to have special gifts. In Senegal, members of the Muslim Sufi brotherhood, known as the Baye Fall, wear dreadlocks and smoke ganja as signs of religious devotion. The dreadlocked Mau Mau freedom fighters of Kenya remain spectacular symbols of unrelenting resistance against colonialism.

Our own Rastafari warriors, who still fight against spiritual wickedness in high and low places, adopted the locks of the fearless Mau Mau and dubbed them 'dread'. As a child, I was taught to fear the dreadlocked Rastaman, who, like the notorious 'Blackheart Man', was a very bad character in a terrifying bedtime story. You didn't know why. But, in real life, just in case, you quickly crossed the road if you saw a Rastaman approaching. You knew he represented danger. He was likely to call down judgement on you, especially if hot comb or chemicals had turned your hair against itself: Fire pon burn head!

In the early years of the Rastafari movement, dreadlocks made a revolutionary political statement. Dread meant fierce, uncompromising assertion of black power. Dread was a potent celebration of 'knotty head' in all its rebellious glory. In a society that idolised limp, 'straight' hair, deciding to dread was a supremely self-confident act. Dread was also a question of aesthetics. It was an affirmation of the beauty of 'own-way' black hair. Ironically, dread was the original 'relaxed' hair, released from all of the uptight prescriptions designed to control wayward black hair.

In Jamaica, hair has always been a troubling moral issue. We still talk about 'good' hair versus 'bad' hair: the grain, texture and length. And the moral weighting of hair reflects the problematic ranking of skin colour: 'high' colour versus 'low'. And we wonder why so many people are bleaching their skin and why women are collectively investing millions of dollars each year buying 'good' hair from India and China! Those who can't afford the expensive 'real' good hair have to settle for the relatively cheap plastic version. But it all adds up.

FEMALE FOLLY

I was recently told about a merchant in downtown Kingston who has made a fortune and built a mansion up in the hills out of hair. Packs and packs and packs of hair, real and false, have been converted into lengths of steel, textured building blocks, and waves and waves of smooth tiles flowing on and on and on. A solidly constructed building, luxuriously furnished out of the trade in seemingly insubstantial hair! I gather that this monument to female folly would put to shame the Holness garrison in Beverly Hills. And, by the way, I wish Andrew good luck in today's election. Mi spirit tek im. But it seems like a lost cause. The Big Guns appear to have lined up to execute him - metaphorically speaking, of course. Cockroach no business inna fowl fight, so mek mi lef it.

The Victoria Mutual Building Society (VMBS) has been running a brilliant series of ads based on the commonsensical principle that one less indulgence adds up to so much more value. I think VMBS should remind women who are addicted to 'tall' hair that one less pack of 'weave', and one less hour spent on installing it, will eventually add up to the down payment on a house! But it's not easy to fight the addiction. The advertising industry in Jamaica conspires with the sellers of imported hair to reinforce the prejudice that tall hair is best. If you don't believe me, just do a little survey of today's ads in the print and electronic media.

Many Jamaican men are addicted to women with tall hair, and that's the root of the problem. Not wanting to be left on the proverbial shelf, anxious females s/tress to impress. I understand the weakness of desperate women who desire improbably long 'straight' hair. They have to keep on buying the imported Chinese and Indian hair. It's the women with braided false hair who puzzle me. I've asked several of them why they don't just locks. The effect would be the same. They say that locks are too permanent. But since their hair is perpetually braided, this argument really doesn't make much sense.

These days, the dread has been straightened out of dreadlocks. There's a new brand of locks that's a very distant cousin of the tree-root dreadlocks of Rastafari ancients. These upscale locks have been tamed by beauticians - or locticians, as they prefer to call themselves. Even hard-core Rastaman going to beauty parlour to dress dem hair. And there's nothing fishy about it. This new breed of Rastaman is making an eloquent fashion statement. Who di cap fit, mek dem wear it!

NUDRED, NEW ATTITUDE

One of the issues with starting locks from scratch is having to go through the organic 'picky-picky head' stage. There's a product on the market that can give you instant dreadlocks for real. Not weaved-in locks. It's called Nudred, and it was developed in the United States by Brigitte Gopou and Bruce Boyd in 2004. I discovered it this summer in a barber shop in the UK. The basic tool is a sponge with 38 holes, each about one-third of an inch in diameter. You apply a special twisting cream, Nupotion, to natural hair and, with a circular motion you create locks. Seeing is believing, so have a look on YouTube.

In an email to me, Mr Boyd explained the Nudred vision: "The Big Chop is about inspiring people to not only remove harmful chemicals from their hair, but out of their lives too. Black Natural Hair Care is a movement to improve the community. By uplifting the community, there is a positive effect on the world. There is a beautiful message when you see one with an Afro, nappy, twisted, locked or any of the various natural styles. Simply saying I am embracing my true power - love for myself. Nurturing, Uplifting, Divinely, Rejuvenating, Evolving Daily - that's NUDRED." The company's slogan is 'NuHair, NuYou, NuLife!' For women addicted to other people's hair, it's hard to break the habit. Perhaps we need to start an FHA support group - False Hair Anonymous - for all those women in Jamaica who need to get back to roots.

Carolyn Cooper is a professor of literary and cultural studies at the University of the West Indies, Mona. Visit her bilingual blog at http://carolynjoycooper.wordpress.com. Email feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com and karokupa@gmail.com.