Why, No Matter What, You Should Never, Ever, Ever Get Your Head Braided Like A Rasta

I got my hair braided. I didn’t want to, but I promised my friend Mariama, the bride in the aforementioned wedding ceremony, that I would do it as her wedding present…

Reason Number 1 You Should Never Ever Ever Get Your Head Braided

It takes a LONG time. I went to the hair braider's compound at about 10am, thinking I would be there for a few hours. At about 2pm, they offered me lunch, but I declined, thinking surely I’ll be home before I starve, so that I can eat with my own family and not inconvenience the braider and her family.

Eight hours after I arrive, I start the walk back to my compound. That’s a BIG time commitment. Don’t ever, ever, ever do it.

Reason Number 2 You Should Never Ever Ever Get Your Head Braided

It hurts. They yank on your hair as it’s being installed, and the worst part is how TIGHT it is. You can’t yawn or smile or laugh as you used to, because either you’ll rip out hair or your face will break. Sleeping on a pillow is the hardest part – there’s literally no comfortable way to sleep unless you mash your face into your pillow and no part of your head is touching anything.

Reason Number 3 You Should Never Ever Ever Get Your Head Braided

It feels weird. You can feel wind in parts you never had before, and if I were to shave my head today, I would have the strangest tan lines EVER. It itches and it’s impossible to scratch it. I just mashed my hands onto my head and rubbed occasionally, and I know I ripped out half of my hair.

Reason Number 4 YSNEEGYHB

As a toubab, you will draw even more attention to yourself. Not encouraged.

Reason Number 5 YSNEEGYHB

It’s dirty. You can’t wash it for as long as you keep it in. I kept it in for less than two weeks, and I felt disgusting.

THE MOST IMPORTANT REASON YOU SHOULD NEVER, EVER, EVER GET YOUR HEAD BRAIDED

The extraction process. To remove the fake hair from your real hair, you need to very carefully cut the bottom of the braid, where the fake hair is tied in a knot. Inevitably, you cut some of your own locks. Then, you undo everything the hard working braider did in the first place. I tried sticking sharp objects somewhere in the braid, and just yanking down.

At this point, I began to realize just how much hair I had really lost, and how much it messed with the hair that I still had attached to my head. It’s like after an appendage has been in a cast for a while – it was frail, it was weak, it broke more easily than before, and it was strangely soft to the touch.

I started the removal process at about 2pm on Wednesday. I allotted all day for the task. After one hour, I had removed maybe 12 braids. At two hours, the pile of fake hair was growing, and I had removed maybe 30. This was still a TINY TINY portion of the braids in my head. I wish I had counted them. There were probably 300-400. And they were SMALL.

Eventually, I knew I had to enlist help. A few of my friends were at the only bar in Basse, so I showed up, wielding sharp implements. I sat on the floor of this dirty bar, surrounding by generous and helpful Brits, and spent two hours with four other people, removing braid after braid. Through the process, my attitude shifted from “Save all the hair that you can! Be very careful!” to “Please get these things off of my head.”

When people left the bar, everyone was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to finish by the time I had to leave at 5:30 that morning for the car park, so I could travel up to the capital. I remained positive.

From 10pm until 3 am, I sat and watched movies and removed braids. The power went out at 3 am, so then I just sat, watched a candle burn, and removed braids. I stopped at 5 am, because I HAD to wash my hair before I entered a car with other people. I had about 30 braids remaining.

The shower was one of the most disturbing experiences of my life. I had pulled out a lot of my hair as I removed the fake hair, but that wasn’t the end of it… oh no. As I shampooed and conditioned the remnants, GIANT clumps came out in my hands. I could’ve plugged the BP oil spill hole with this amount of hair. I could have put everyone at Locks of Love out of a job. I could've built 7 teddy bears. It was disgusting. Probably about 40% of my hair was yanked out during that shower.

And I wasn’t even done. On no sleep, in the worst seat in the seven passenger vehicle that crosses the country to the capital, I unbraided. It was more difficult because I was falling asleep, having to pull out my ID card, and there were people on either side of me so my elbows were constrained. I removed the last braid on the way over to Banjul on the ferry, at about 1pm. A full 23 hours after I had begun the horrible endeavor.

Please, please, please. No matter how cool you look, how much you sympathize with the Rasta way of life – NEVER EVER DO IT.