Growing up Black in New Zealand: Learning to love my hair and myself

It’s true when people say there’s a lot of power in hair.

As I reflect on my Blackness and experiences this Black History Month, my hair emerges as a central element in my journey of self-discovery. It stands out more than anything else when I think about how I’ve come to love my identity. While this seems like something that should be innate, embracing my hair and loving being Black have gone hand in hand.

To give you some context, I’m a mixed-race woman who grew up in Wellington, New Zealand. My mum is Jamaican-Canadian, and my dad is Pākeha, a New Zealander of European descent. While being mixed is another identity crisis in and of itself, growing up Black in New Zealand was extremely isolating. As of the 2018 census, only 0.3 per cent of the population is of African descent. To put that in perspective, that’s less than half of Queen’s student body, dispersed across the entire country.

My hair wasn’t always something I struggled with. As a child, my mother meticulously took care of it. I relished in choosing which ribbons and accessories she would attach to her neat handiwork. My favourite hairstyle consisted of four thick braids that divided my head into even squares, adorned with whatever trinkets I favoured that day.

I sat still while she did my hair, frightened by stories of her own mother smacking her with the hairbrush if she squirmed too much in the chair. We watched America’s Next Top Model together as she worked, and I was in awe of Tyra Banks. I constantly marvelled in jealousy at her long straight hair, complete with blunt-cut bangs.

Little did I know this was an expertly laid wig.

Things took a turn as I became increasingly aware of my differences from my classmates. I went to an all-girls private school that was egregiously white. Throughout my 13 years at the school, I could count the number of Black students on one hand, and for most of that time this figure rarely exceeded two.

Throughout elementary school, classmates and teachers constantly commented on how “frizzy” my hair was. They didn’t hesitate to touch it when emphasizing its difference. By age six, I knew I was different, and I didn’t like it. I was a shy kid, yet had no choice but to stand out.

When middle school rolled around, this discomfort with my hair turned into a full-blown hatred. I was now responsible for caring for my hair, and I detested putting any effort into it. I didn’t have the products, knowledge, or the desire to take good care of my hair, and saw it as one of my ugliest features, alongside my braces and acne. I threw it up into a bun every day—a hairstyle that became my signature—because I couldn’t stand it any other way.

It didn’t help that New Zealand’s stores didn’t stock any of the products I dearly treasure today. I used Pantene shampoo that stripped my hair dry, leaving it brittle and broken. I never heard of a slick-back style, and didn’t `even know what “edges” were.

Whenever there was a special occasion, I begged my mum to straighten my hair. She warned me about heat damage, and reassured me that my curly hair was beautiful, but I didn’t believe her. As part of the generation raised on chemical hair relaxers and the idea natural hair was “unprofessional,” she herself wore, and still wears, her hair straight most of the time.

With my only Black role model wearing her hair straight, I couldn’t possibly imagine my own natural hair being beautiful.

My journey toward embracing my hair began when I finally found community. For me, this started in an unlikely place: YouTube. Creators like Jasmine Brown and Daye La Soul posted videos showcasing hairstyles, tutorials, and tips for hair like mine.

I was blown away. If their hair was beautiful, then mine could be too. Suddenly it was 2020, and the Black Lives Matter movement shook up the world, including New Zealand. This collective suffering brought Black people out from all corners of the country, and we found comfort in each other to get through our pain and survive the magnifying glass we were suddenly put under by the New Zealand public. Suddenly, we became sources of knowledge for our white friends, which was incredibly exhausting, yet brought us together.

For the first time in my life, at 17, I finally knew Black people my age, and my world expanded with every new person I met.

Immersed in my new community, I began experimenting with my hair. I my first time getting box braids, in the safe hands of a friend when I was 18. I drove home instilled with a newfound confidence. I felt feminine, self-assured and, most importantly, beautiful. I’d never felt that way in my whole life.

Though my confidence in my hair grew through these protective styles, braids became a bit of a crutch. I felt my confidence dip whenever I had my natural hair out between appointments. In a flash, I felt myself regress to the self-loathing of my tween years. I didn’t feel attractive or womanly with my natural hair, and I hated the way it would shrink above my shoulders as it dried. I had braids in constantly, something that negatively affected both my hairline and bank .

But everything changed when I moved to Canada in 2021 and I learned to better embrace my hair and Blackness.

When visiting cities like Toronto and Ottawa, I was surrounded by people  who looked like me. Though Kingston’s Black population is smaller than other Ontario cities, it’s certainly more than I knew back home. Seeing myself represented in the people around me made all the difference. It was a sigh of relief not being totally isolated in every space I entered.

Even at Queen’s, a predominantly white institution, I’ve felt community in a way I’ve never felt before. The first time I walked into a beauty supply store where every product was designed for Black hair I almost cried. My Black friends and I share products, advice, and in a way I could only have imagined as a kid. I’m no longer embarrassed to wear my silk scarf and bonnet before I go to bed.  This, combined with a new sense of adulthood at 20, was a winning combination.

I can now honestly say I love my hair. I love its versatility, colour, my curl pattern, and the way it makes me, me. I also love being Black. I’m saddened to think about the way I used to wish I was white as a child. I wouldn’t change my identity for anything. I hope little girls in New Zealand no longer feel this way, but I worry we’re not quite there yet.

The biggest thing that incited this change within me was the presence of community.

Queen’s students, look around this Black History Month. If you’re Black, use this time to embrace your brothers and sisters, and ire what we’ve built, and continue to build here. If you’re not Black, show your friends some love. Appreciate them and lift them up all year round—don’t just wait until February to show them you care.

I love my hair, and I love being Black. Thanks to the beauty I’ve witnessed in my community, I can finally see it in myself.

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