“Why do I have to?” I cried running from Mama’s switch
“It hurts...” I whined as Mama attempted to catch me, so she could wash and straighten the nappy curls from my hair. I was so tender headed, I heard Mama saying as she gave up on catching me. I ran and hid underneath the house. I crouched in one dark corner asking God why I had to get my hair straightened when he clearly made it nappy.
So in the sixties when the Afro came out, I was so relieved, and though young, experimented with my own bush to the dismay of my bougie family…By the age of sixteen, I saved up my allowance and sneaked off to the barbershop and sat in the Barber’s chair next to my Uncle Bud’s Auto Tag and Tax Office on Hunter Street,
Now Martin Luther King Drive. The barber looked at me warily, saying, “How much do you want cut off?” I said calmly, “I want it low.” He said, “Well let me see what I can do” He never took his eye off the door afraid my eldest sister or my Uncle would appear in the door any minute. He cut maybe an inch…Handed me the mirror, “How’s that?” He enquired nervously. I took a look. “Cut it low’ I repeated. He cut another inch. “How’s that?” I took a look again. “I want it low, like Nina Simone or Miriam Makeba…” He grew silent, returning to his task…he worked slowly keeping his eye on the door…I was growing impatient…”Please I want it low.” “You mean, you just want me to cut it all off?” “Yes!” I replied agitated.
He shaved my hair off reluctantly, handing me the mirror for another check.
“I want it a little closer.”
Well, see if you like this and if your Mother says its okay or if you really want some more cut off, you can come back…
I paid him and left, knowing full well he was right, what would every one say? So, I lollygagged for a while before going home. As I entered the house, everyone was home, sitting in the living, dining room or breakfast rooms of the house. As I walked through, complete silence fell upon the household…no one said a word. I walked proudly through the house smiling to myself. I had shocked them all.
“Later, my grandmother said to me, “Shani, don’t you be joining that group called, The Black Panther.”
One day shortly thereafter, I had gone into a shop, and a male white clerk had waited on me. I chose a pair of earrings and paid for them. He was eyeing me and my afro the whole time. I counted my change. “ you owe me a dollar seventy five, I said looking up at him. Why “Nigger Gal, I gave you your correct change.” He drawled. I looked him dead in the eye. “No, you did not.” I argued I gave you a ten dollar bill. Now, mind you this is in the south where plenty a Negro had never come home and no one knew what ever happened. The white clerk looked at me, up and down, pure hatred, contempt and the desire to do me harm. I stared back. He took a step towards me menacingly. I did not back down. I stared him in the eyes asking angrily for my change. He looked me up and down and then into my eyes and flinched. I don’t know what made him flinch but he did and he walked over to the cash register and got my change and threw it on the counter. I picked it up and walked out. I exhaled, once I got outside, my legs shaking as I walked slowly towards the bus stop without looking back.

Shani. Medicine Woman.Words