“Brothers and sisters, you can take care of your natural ethnic hair
And be who you want to be …” -Edgar Munguambe
By Edwin Adjei
A poem by Edgar Munguambe, “The Fact of Dreadlocks” based on personal experiences, enlightens readers about the political stance of having dreadlocks as it challenges the Eurocentric view that only straight hair is beautiful. Munguambe mentions some of the notions that people have of those who have dreadlocks are as drug users, vegetarians, dirty and smelly and not practicing good hygiene. This poem caught my attention based on how personal it is and its reflection of the author’s pain and sometimes dejection based on people’s ignorance about his dreadlocked hair and the negative connotations they associate with such a hairstyle.
In the poem, one realizes that no matter how well a person may keep their dreadlocks, or no matter how aesthetically appealing they may make their dreadlocks, stereotypes held about people with dreadlocks often do not change. Aesthetics are completely ignored and personal care and maintenance are not considered. All that matters to many is that these are dreadlocks, and so all the stigma that comes with locks are applied. Munguambe writes about the incredible care required to condition and maintain dreadlocks:
They were shampooed through every interlaced follicle
Conditioned to the core
Gushed with warm water to open the pores
One by one, twisted with beeswax, from root to tip
Despite all this, soon after leaving the salon, he has an encounter with an ignorant stranger:
“Shortly after, a stranger pointed at me and gasped at a friend, “Look, a rasta!”
He boxed me and my Nubian locks into a subculture without knowing other.”
Munguambe makes the effort to teach this stranger but the response from the stranger is, “Some pot perhaps?” implying that Munguambe was speaking under the influence of marijuana. Munguambe goes back to the salon to add more aesthetics to his hair to make an even bolder statement, but just when he steps out, another stranger asked him, “Why do all of you guys wear dirty-rastas?” Munguambe makes another effort to enlighten this stranger as well but as he notes concerning both strangers, they had already fallen into the abyss of ignorance, which left him crushed.
Hair continues to be a symbol of beauty and a symbol of the politics of what is considered beautiful. Dreadlocks continue to be viewed by many as the very opposite of all that is beautiful in relation to hair; thus Edgar Munguambe makes a case for dreadlocks in his poem, reprinted in full below. “The fact of dreadlocks” highlights the politics of hair, noting that all the fuss about dreadlocks and all the stigma could be just because it is “a repudiation of Eurocentric style, represented by straight hair.”
Featured Poem: The Fact of Dreadlocks
By Edgar Munguambe
Brothers and sisters, you can take care of your natural ethnic hair
And be Brothers and sisters, you can take care of your natural ethnic hair
And be who you want to be
My quest for perfection comes with zest and high maintenance
Today I made an entrance at the salon to wash my Nubian locks
They were shampooed through every interlaced follicle
Conditioned to the core
Gushed with warm water to open the pores
One by one, twisted with beeswax, from root to tip
The man said they looked good, I smiled and gave him a tip
Ready to shoot for the moon, I left the salon and took a left turn
Shortly after, a stranger pointed at me and gasped at a friend, “Look, a rasta!”
He boxed me and my Nubian locks into a subculture without knowing other
Thus I spoke, “ Brother, perhaps my hair is a repudiation of Eurocentric style, represented by straight hair, that which so many sisters wear and tear their scalps with sodium hydroxide, going outside of their budgets for impossible permanents and imported weaves, behold the deterrence.
Or perhaps my hair signifies creative self-expression, merely a construction of the psychological self. Behold I teach you the superman!’
Perplexity pained on their faces… and then the one summed a bark at me, “Some pot perhaps?”
Request or offer, it doesn’t matter, he’d already fallen into the abyss.
Alas I looked in the mirror, the statement had to be clearer.
I went back to the salon and asked for a fade, the kitchens were shed as he drew me a map at the edge of my dreads. I dotted the i’s, crossed the t’s by trimming even the tips
Groomed and confident, I gave another tip, and exited right assured that this time I’d be delight
One man stopped me and asked, “Why do all of you guys wear dirty-rastas?”, he was de-lighted
Thus I spoke, “Brother, if I were devoid of aesthetics I could be a sage, or a holy shaman, the master of fire, with a special karma relating with spirits between two worlds and ages. Why strip me of aesthetics?? See this hint of red dye? I could be a warrior of the masaai tribe, a nomadic hunting and gathering type, taking great pride in my luscious locks.
I could be Shiva! Reducing the force of the Ganges River to a shiver, locked with my flowing locks, I’m putting a full stop to the end of the living, I am!!”
“…a rasta man looking at me”, and with those words he lost my grip and slipped into the abyss
I know what the left and the right mean by rasta
Woven out of a thousand myths, anecdotes and detailed chapters,
The following words merely a page among the clutter: lack of hygiene having, dirty smelling, free forming nappy headed, reggae jamming, Ethiopia-Jamaican loving, ja worshipping, lyaric speaking, ganja smoking, vegan eating, anti-structural motherf****r!!
Despite the evidence of the senses contradicting these sentences, they feel safe sentencing Africa to a box, stacked on the surface
My cousin Sartre said it comes with the territory.
I did not want to accept this, yet I was crushed beyond measure
I walked with my tail between my legs….
Until I saw a Nubean Queen with silver highlights
Irradiating past the constant noise
And behind her more locked brothers and sisters ambling with poise
A ray, I see the fact of dreadlocks in the corner
My faith renewed, the black tomorrow cannot borrow time, it cannot dawn today
o you want to be
My quest for perfection comes with zest and high maintenance
poise
A ray, I see the fact of dreadlocks in the corner
About Edgar Munguambe
Edgar Munguambe is a Mozambican spoken word artist and aspiring writer with an international perspective. He has a Bachelor’s degree in Media, Communication & Culture from the Nelson Mandela Metropolitan University in Port Elizabeth, and an Honours degree in African Studies from the University of Cape Town.