When my full head of frizzy hair was reduced to a pitiful bald spot in the middle after a 3rd time of defrizzing, I decided resolutely never, ever to put anything of this chemical nature on my head again. I can still remember the sad feeling. That tormented spot stared at me in the mirror, very pitifully. I just managed to suppress my tears.

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I had followed all the hairdresser’s advice; I had to switch from a lye to a no-lye relaxer and then to the mildest children’s relaxer. I also had to switch from a three-monthly touch-up to relaxing every two months and eventually it became six weeks. Six weeks! Six weeks! Every cell in my body rebelled. Those hairdressers could all go to hell!
No advice had helped. That was obvious, because the bald spot always returned after relaxing. It never occurred to any of the hairdressers to say that my hair might not be able to handle relaxers. No, a six-week touch-up would be the solution.
Well, no Polainese on my body, Chemical Ali. I would rather take the chance of being stared at, laughed at and pointed at than expose another piece of hair on my scalp to some nasty chemical compound that clearly did not have my hair's best interests at heart.
That was the beginning of my transformation. Although my mind was made up, I was literally at my wits' end. I didn't really know how to handle my hair when it wasn't straightened. It was awful, wasn't it, that my roots and I had grown so far apart? I wondered if I had ever really gotten to know them.
Yes, I could comb my hair out and make a few Pippi Longstocking-like braids, but even I didn't dare go out in public with that. The partings were "Crooked-elbow street" and they also stuck out in all directions. Now I wonder how many of you recognize this situation?
To be continued…
Also read: Braiding, quite an experience


Although I had no idea what I could do with my hair, let alone what I would do with it, my mind was made up. I would never do this to myself, my hair, or my scalp again. Enough was enough.