My cousin was halfway through the gate en route to a popular rastafarian in our community located a few minutes away from Linstead town. He was laughing while I was in tears begging him to come back.
It turned out to be a prank organised by my mother who was going through yet another dramatic attempt to comb my hair for school in the mornings. I was in kindergarten, but knew fully well that being a "rasta pikni" at school in the 1980s was to be cast amongst the undesirable friends. When a some of the other children at school teased "rasta piknis", I felt sorry for them. And I tried to be nice to them, especially the girl. They wore the red, gold, and green tam that mommy also told my cousin to tell the rastafarian man to bring when he was coming to lock my hair. I did not want that for myself. So even after the assurance from mommy that it was just a joke, I wasn't taking any chances. I would sit and have my hair combed.
Now, can you believe that the hair I once feared is the hair I now revere? It all began in high school when I chose rastafarianism for my Religious Studies School Based Assessment [SBA] project. The submission was a requirement for my upcoming Caribbean Examinations Council [CXC] examination. Surely, no rastafarian would have been kind enough to cut his/her hair to be used as a sample in the project. Guess who crocheted a loc using black wool? Mom! I got an A for the project, which in doing, I learned so much about the religion, Rastafarianism.
As a high school student who treasured her processed hair and would never ever go back natural, my fascination would stop there...for now. That is until my university years when I began to see ladies outside the religion wear locs stylishly. Still, my pixie cut was the bomb, and not even the urging of my friend to lock my hair after seeing me wear 'afro kinki' braids in my early 20s, would convince me to do a hairstyle that seemed so permanent. And what if people thought I'm a Rastafarian? I am a believer in Christianity, after all. Would people discriminate against me? I wondered. In a country where skin bleaching is prevalent, I proudly boast of my melanin. Dark skinned and locked...mmm. Double whammy! Perhaps I should balance things and keep my processed hair.
As the years passed, and the growing global natural hair movement influenced sisters to embrace black hair, I began to look at the locs I had been denying since I was 5 years old. The hairstyle that was too permanent to take on in my early 20s, although I wore the fake version so well, and loved my friend's locs. She had boldly taken the step while we were teenagers on the University of the West Indies [UWI] campus, a lock haven. Now she was cutting hers and making a return to processed hair, while I was entering the arena. It was the year 2017. I was ready.
Flash forward to 2024, and I am still loving my locs as they grow towards my back. The styling versatility and ease of care, make them easy to love.
In December 2023, as I read 'How to Say Babylon' by Jamaican author, Safiya Sinclair, I had memories of everything I just wrote about my experience with locs and Rastafarianism. Her account of being teased at primary school in the 1990s, reminded me of the times when the "rasta piknis" were teased at my school. It wasn't hair that she chose to have. When her mother said she would lock her hair, it was no joke. This had been life as she knew it, living under the strictures of a Rastafarian father who adhered to the most extreme form of the religion, and made it his mission to protect her, his whole family, from Babylon, even if it meant beating the daylights out of them.
They were told what to eat, what to wear, not to have friends, not to eat meat, how to shout "Jah! Rastafari!", and how to say Babylon. Then there was the instability which came with being moved from house to house each time Mr. Sinclair felt threatened by Babylon. Amidst a life of poverty, their mother used strategies at home to teach all four children who were exceptionally brilliant at school, as they shocked everyone who felt that "rasta piknis" couldn't read.
Safiya found her voice with the help of her mother who had introduced her to a range of literature including poems. When you read her memoir, you will be amazed at the true meaning behind her poem, Silver.
Still, amidst the tyranny, one may find compassion for this rastaman, rejected by his own mother when he was a young boy who decided to follow Jah.
Tragic events like the 1963 Coral Gardens Massacre in Jamaica, and the overall mistreatment and discrimination against rastas, causes one to wonder whether their experiences created by 'baldheads' in Babylon, contributes to their way of being, sometimes violently so.
I will not spoil this magnificent piece of literature for you. As much as I have mentioned, I have merely scratched the surface. But trust me...The best book I have read in a while. And the best memoir I've ever read. I'm thrilled it was written by a brilliant Jamaican woman. It was on Barack Obama's 2023 list, and I wasn't surprised. Buy it, and read it.
Thanks to my favourite Tik Toker, Cindy Allman for this recommendation. I'm looking forward to discussing it in her Book of Cinz Book Club. May I become half the reader she is. She read 100 books in 2023!
I am grateful that I got the privilege to choose this hair that I wear. And that is all there is to it...hair. Teach your children to be kind to "rasta piknis" at school, which should not be a place they call Babylon.
I am Suzette Campbell
Note: Originally published on January 29, 2024
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