Wanna Look Like A Blonde Chick

part of My Black Hair Stories by Sue-Ann Bel

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I hate my black hair. I’m eleven year old, in my bedroom, looking in the mirror. I don’t like the structure of my hair. It doesn’t look like the other girls from school. My mom promised me that when I’m twelve years old and I go to high school I'll be able to straighten my hair. A year later, I'm finally twelve and in the bathroom with my mother to do the work.

I went to the black hair shop with my mother to buy the box. I immediately recognize the box with a black girl at the front. She's smiling and her hair is everything mine doesn't look like. My mother puts the white cream in the creases between my hair. It looks like I have shaving cream on my head. It feels cold and it tingles. Slowly, I feel my scalp turning into a burning oven. Actually, I can't stand it anymore, but I want to leave the white stuff in just a little longer so that my hair is really really straight.

We rinse the chemicals out of my hair. That feels better. I take the towel off my head. It worked. This cream is magic! I look in the mirror and I can hardly believe what I see. Smooth hair is growing out of my head. It is longer and falls down with gravity. There are a few chemical burns on my forehead, it hurts, but I don’t care.

I create a hairstyle I saw on a classmate. She has blonde hair so smooth it even moves with the softest breeze. She's just a bit older than me and popular with the boys. She must be doing something right. How does she do it with her smooth and blonde hair? What gel does she use to make her hair so flat? I would love to borrow it.

I grab a jar of hair gel and brush my hair until it's very tight. Now it's starting to look like something I love to see: shiny and ironed hair. It looks good. When I shake my head, my hair flies with a slight delay. But it's still not smooth enough. I went looking for my sister's hair straightener.

Once found, I wait for the iron to get really hot. It has to steam, that's what I saw when my sister did her hair. Here we go. This requires focus. The heated iron touches my scalp, that burns! Half an hour later, I'm halfway done and my arms are heavy. I’m not that fast yet. Slowly, my hair starts to look like my blonde classmate. It´s done. That’s all I wanted.

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