February is Black History Month. I never self identified as a black person. The word black in Egypt is very offensive. I was called blackie in the streets and in school.
I always denied my Nubian roots because that’s the black part of Egypt and being dark skinned is shameful. People around me never believed I was not Nubian as I was too dark to be pure Egyptian (aka African and even though Africa is mostly black).
I spent approximately the first five years of my life in Alabama. As far as I remember, I was described there as a cute and pretty girl. But things changed when I moved to Egypt. I was always harassed because of my dark skin, curly hair and thick lips. I never saw myself as a pretty individual. I remember the days I used to cry on my mom’s shoulders because classmates or people in the street made fun of the way I looked. My mom always reassured me (and still does) that I was beautiful inside and out. This struggle with my physical appearance lasted until high school. Throughout those years, I tried my best to have a clearer skin by using fairness cream and avoiding going to the beach. I even got my hair straightened on regular basis; and even that didn’t save me from the harassment because of course with a hair like mine, it would take longer time to get it that straight.
As a consequence, this was one of the many reasons I wanted to leave the country. I thought people in the West would accept and appreciate my skin colour and curly hair.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t always the case. In every country I’ve been to whenever I went to a hair salon, I always got comments like “your hair is complicated”, “Can I touch it?”, “Wow! Look how curly that girl’s hair is”…etc.
I absolutely despise my hair. When my roots come out, my self-esteem drops drastically. I spend lots of time using flat iron before going out with friends or even before heading to a fitness class.
In Vancouver, it is quite challenging to find a hair salon that deals with Afro hair which might be due to the lack of black community. If they do, I have to apologize for making them spend more time on my hair or I get treated badly. Last week, I was calling some hair salons to see if they straighten Afro Hair. I stressed that my hair is Afro and the lady over the phone just bluntly asked me what type of hair I had and if it was Asian or Caucasian?
I completely understand that it might not be their intention to be mean to me but comments like this are very hurtful. So, as a result, when I get my hair straightened, I take off my glasses and look on the floor to avoid seeing myself in the mirror.
To honest, I am very grateful that at least in Canada I am not perceived as an ugly blackie nor harassed in the streets. I hope one day I will be brave enough to embrace my curly hair and let it grow without adding any more chemicals to it
I know it is contradicting to be that insecure as a feminist who always encourages self identified women to be proud of who they are. But this is a reminder that nobody is perfect and we all have our insecurities.