Conditioned Roots

An essay by MWANABIBI SIKAMO

A dusty gust of wind whooshes past me, carrying empty crisp packets, red and yellow Styrofoam containers, and tangled up tumble-hair across the potholed asphalt. I hold down my billowing blue wrap dress and nod yes to the woman in the shop doorway who beckons me, “Sisi, mama?”

A hawker blocks my view of her before I can answer. I avert my gaze from his board of wares, not wishing to signal even a fleeting interest in his sunglasses, eyeliner, or lacy lingerie. 

“Mu samba, auntie?” the woman asks when the street vendor has passed. She is picking a comb through a mass of golden hair extensions that cascade over her arm. Next to her, another woman sews a wig onto a life-size plastic dummy. They sit on a pair of conjoined metal chairs outside a salon. 

Auntie? The bus conductors call out “Mummy” to me instead of “Sister” now, but could I really be this woman’s Auntie? Smoothing down my ruffled ego, I take in her satin green jumpsuit with a diamond-shaped cutout at the small of her waist. At least I’m not greying – yet.  

“Awé,” I respond, looking past her and into the relatively plush interior of her salon with its shiny black tiles, white faux leather seats and sparkly bits around full-length mirrors. A large pop-pink sign on the interior wall behind the waist-high grey counter shouts Jackie’s. 

“Ngenani.” She encourages me when I hesitate, wondering what happened to the dowdy shop that was always here and my regular hairdresser. I don’t come to get my hair done at Northmead Market often, but when I do, there’s only one woman I trust. Not everyone in this long row of identically sized salons can guarantee a comfortable night’s sleep after the installation of braids. The last time I ventured away from Naomi, the pounding headache had lasted at least three days. 

“Nga shop yalipano?” I ask, “Ba Naomi?”

“Aah, banaleka,” Jackie says, shouting out to one of her ladies to blow dry my hair. It’s already afternoon, and we need to get a move on if they’re going to knock off in time. 

I marvel at the shop’s transformation. Jackie has real vision. 

Niceties dispensed with, I walk in, sit down on the only empty seat, and brace myself, releasing my afro from a low puff and fluffing it out. My hair escapes into a thick dark halo, the tiny corkscrew coils cradling into each other, carpeting my scalp. The room looks across at me with rising panic at the sheer volume of strands.

“Mumanga cha?” A woman wielding a blow dryer over me like a weapon asks. 

“Ama braids ayakulu,” I say, and the room sags into a more relaxed atmosphere. Bigger braids won’t take as long, and the staff can all be out of here before sunset. 

I tense up when I see the tiny, fine-toothed red comb aimed squarely at me. Panic rises. The blow dryer roars awake. White smoke wafts towards the ceiling. I close my eyes, grateful that I’d not only conditioned my hair but also slathered it in plasticky heat protectant. The little red comb bends, ready to snap. My hairdresser takes the path of least resistance, switching to a battered black wide-toothed comb. I exhale.

As my hair stretches upwards, the customer to my left, who has the pleasure of two braiders simultaneously yanking at opposite sections of her hair, looks up from the loud stream of TikToks she’s been assailing us with and asks, “Mu sambila Medi Herb?” The question spills past her lips, past the real question, which is, “How do you get your natural hair so long and healthy?”

I consider which one to answer. 

“Awe, shampoo fye,” I say lightly. 

“Medi Herb ikulisa sisi.” My blow dryer-wielding hairdresser shouts over the din. 

I purse my lips at her reflection, nodding at the mirror in seeming assent. 

There was a time when I would have pushed against this assertion that a mass-produced commercial soap that pretends to be authentic Ghanaian African Black Soap can actually grow hair, but explaining that our afro’s need moisture and the name of a product does not prove its ingredients is enough to make anyone’s eyes glaze over. And then they’d wonder why I think I have all the answers. And then I’d have to explain the natural hair movement, my big chop – transitioning from relaxed to natural, mixing oils, herbs, creams, and sometimes food because there were literally no products for our hair type. And then they’d ask me for recommendations, and I might be tempted to give them a recipe. An authentically African recipe that is perfect for the driest months when every surface shimmers in a red film and rain is but a memory. A recipe that promises to soften and strengthen our so-called coarse nappy hair.    

Total Duration: Anywhere from 1 to 2 days.         

Preparation:  Up to 2 hours, depending on length and method.

You’ll need:

½ cup Mabisi

While mabisi, by virtue of its name, is more authentic than yoghurt, it’s also quite watery. You’ll need a well-elasticated plastic cap to prevent dripping. Alternatives include ripe avocado, banana, and eggs (which will scramble if you use hot water).

1 tbsp Coconut Milk

Are coconuts native to Africa? I know they grow in East Africa, but I don’t know if they came over with the Brits and the Indians or if they’ve always been here. Incidentally, I listened to a radio interview on Focus on Africa with some East African professor, currently working in America, who was going on about Swahili and saying it really wasn’t thought of as African because it’s a product of an amalgamation of different cultures and languages. I thought it was a ridiculous argument. Nothing is more African than Swahili, all sorts of Pidgin and (Afrikaans?).

1 tbsp Honey

Some hair loves honey more than others. Have you done the floating hair test? It may help you decide whether to use honey or substitute it with aloe vera juice. Don’t worry about stickiness. You’d have to use an awful lot to glue your hair up.

2 tsp Apple Cider Vinegar

This is definitely not African, but you need something acidic to help smooth the hair shaft. Use sparingly, it absolutely stinks, and a few drops can be the difference between smooth, shiny hair, and brittle tresses. 

1 tbsp Mongongo Oil

Do you remember when Oprah discovered Mongongo Oil and shared it with the rest of the world? You might be a little too young to have appreciated the furore. It was during that time when Chris Rock was helping black women to embrace their Afro’s, and Oprah had him on the show with a scientist who put a tin can into some relaxer and made all the (mostly) white women in the audience gasp. It’s funny how he went from that to shaming a woman for shaving her hair off. Well, not funny. Ironic? Anyway, it felt a little like David Livingstone discovering the Mosi–O–Tunya.

Some drops of Rosemary Essential Oil

A couple of tiny drops are all you need. I once ended up so lightheaded I nearly passed out, and it wasn’t from the heat of the hood dryer.

Set aside at least an hour for preparation before you begin. 

Depending on the method, you may need more time and a little rest in between. 

I would recommend plenty of entertainment. 

When I first discovered the Natural Hair YouTubers, they were all I watched while I detangled, washed, conditioned, and styled my hair – Black Girl Long Hair, Curly Nikki, Naturally Curly – I lined them up like a series of lectures.  This was long before the African girls came on the scene. Now that I’ve internalised every last bit of information on hair, I like to listen to audio dramas or books.  

I am currently listening to “Things the British Stole,” and if you try that and like it, you’ll probably also enjoy the Freakonomics Radio series on museum reparations. They actually spoke to some Africans. It convinced me once and for all that artefacts must be returned to their origins, and if they end up destroyed or stolen, then so be it. 

You’ll notice that this recipe calls for quite a bit of what we traditionally think of as food. If you’re going to keep your hair products, which are also food, in the fridge, be sure to place them in a separate section and label them. I used to cause my housemates untold confusion when I started experimenting with hair products. I was what they called A Mixtress in those days. Now, I would probably be labelled a militant natural, someone who thinks they are “better than the rest of us,” balya nabo (insert eye roll emoji here). But we had to learn why stuff worked in order to choose what was best for us. We had to know the science.

De-tangling

Dry Method: 

 I call this the dry method because the hair is de-tangled while dry.

Coconut Oil is perfect for this, but for authenticity, try Baobab Oil. It’s incredibly light and spreads easily. A little goes a long way. 

But oil is technically wet, you might say. Well, actually, wet is moisture, and while oil helps the hair retain moisture, it prevents more from penetrating the shaft.

I’m sure I don’t have to tell you about the spiritual significance of Baobab trees. You must know how the branches of baobab trees shade entire villages, how because they are so old, they are thought to carry our wisdom—not just stalwarts but symbols of our ancestry. Can you believe that in Kenya, these trees have been being cut down for commercial purposes? Shrines. Cut down. 

We seem to be fighting a war for ancient trees, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s somehow related to climate change. Did you see the big tree that was cut down in England and then the Ashanti one? It’s practically a massacre. 

Please exercise extreme patience when attempting the dry method. Close your eyes to limit distraction. If you encounter a particularly netty section, take a deep breath, pause, and feel your way through. Use the soft pads of your fingers, and make sure your nails aren’t jagged, or you’ll end up with snagged strands. If you like to have claws for fingernails, you might want to give this technique a miss. 

Once you are done with the de-tangling, leave the oil on the hair and cover it with a plastic cap. You can either wrap it up under a chitambala and go about your business or steam it under a hood dryer for about 30 minutes. 

There are some great headwrap styles on Pinterest. For best results, search “Black woman headwrap.” Otherwise, you will only end up with hippie scarves. 

Wet Method: 

I call it the wet method because you detangle the hair while wet. I prefer the dry method because hair is stronger when it’s dry (not unconditioned, which is brittle). Be gentle; it may seem easier at first, but you could lose more hair using this method.

This method may require you to use imported products and combs. 

A note of caution. There’s nothing inherently wrong with imported products, but remember, cosmetic companies do this for a profit, and black hair types aren’t always at the forefront of their minds. I remember a really great conditioner that we all bought in droves. It was all the hype in the natural hair community and we hoarded it. It had safe ingredients, no mineral oil, silicones or sulphates. Then, after we’d made it our staple, the company that produced it withdrew the line. We Facebooked and Tweeted to no avail. It just wasn’t integral to their marketing plan, and we had to find homegrown alternatives.

Wide-toothed combs and picks are the way to go. Don’t bother with the black-fisted version with metal teeth; it’ll have gaps in no time. I often wonder about all the wooden comb relics that have been discovered across the continent. Do you think our ancestors really used those? I did away with combs many years ago and only use them when I need to get my hair braided. Anyway, best to use combs on wet hair dripping with something slippery.

You’ll need either a conditioner or something else with viscosity. Chiswita is great for this. During the experimental phase of the movement here in Zambia, we discovered some long-forgotten indigenous methods of hair cleansing. Chiswita was one of them. It’s a leaf. Technically, it’s a weed but is often dried and eaten as a vegetable. You won’t be surprised to know that in Zambia, we eat a lot of leaves that may be considered weeds. You can buy sacks full of the stuff for next to nothing at the market.

Anyway, I digress. 

Soak the chiswita in warm water with a few drops of your favourite oil and an essential oil for fragrance. It’s a bit musty. 

Brew until the water takes on a slimy consistency. 

Strain the leaves and pour the liquid into your hair. 

Chiswita has the advantage of being a cleanser as well as a conditioner.

Chiswita is only effective as a cleanser if you’re conscientious about the rest of your routine. Don’t go coating your hair with all sorts of gunk, expecting chiswita to wash it out.

The slippage allows you to comb through with ease. 

Massage the scalp in gentle circular movements, and rinse with warm water. 

If you can’t find chiswita or another African alternative, then you can use a store-bought conditioner. Of course, you’ll need to follow with a cleanser. 

Cleansing: 

Tread carefully here. This may be your first stumbling block. It separates the purists from the not-so-pure. Remember balya nabo? This is one of those eye roll emojis, deep exasperated sigh, contentious issues. You know how shampoo becomes super sudsy? Those are sulphates. They can dry out the hair––and again, our hair needs moisture. But shampoo also cleans the hair really effectively, and there are some who say anyone who isn’t using actual shampoo isn’t really washing dirt off the hair.

If you’re using African Black Soap, I suggest dissolving shavings of it in water and then washing as you would with a shampoo. It’s much easier than attempting to rub your hair with a bar of soap and giving it another excuse to form knots.

Now I can explain the Medi Herb thing. African Black Soap and Shea Butter became very popular among African natural hair enthusiasts. We loved that it was all natural, had great ingredients, and was our own, passed down to us through generations. Its popularity endures today because it is demonstrably less drying than any shampoo. Try it. Wash your body with normal soap and then experiment with African Black Soap. Anything that is good for your skin is also good for your hair. 

If you absolutely must shampoo the hair, make sure it is sulphate-free, use sparingly, and focus on your scalp. 

Do not, under any circumstances, shampoo without detangling. 

You may think I’m being overly dramatic, but I speak from experience here. I once spent an hour finger-detangling washed and conditioned hair because a hairdresser had decided to coat it in shampoo, lathering liberally and kneading it as if it were laundry. In the end, I was so exhausted that I was picking out actual clumps. 

Finally, you may opt to co-wash. If you thought shampoo wasn’t controversial, then you’ve never spent time in an online forum for natural hair or read comments on a co-washing hair tutorial. This is one of those debates that may even be more divisive than Anthony Dickey’s hair typing system.

See comments on styling.

I won’t dive into it. Suffice it to say that co-washing means doing everything in a single step. Coat the hair with conditioner. Comb through to detangle. And rinse.

Your hair is now ready for conditioning. 

Not wading into the argument. But can you see how odd it seems to go from washing your hair with conditioner to conditioning the hair?

Directions

1. Section the hair using clamps or twists. 

2. Whisk the ingredients together and coat the hair from root to tip. 

3. Cover with a plastic cap and either tie a chitambala over it or sit under a hood dryer for about 30 minutes.

   You’ve probably had a really long day by now and can’t be bothered with having to rinse and then style the hair. I’ve been known to sleep with conditioner on and continue the next day. You may want to cover your pillow with a towel. And, heads up, this only really works if you either sleep alone or don’t have a curious partner who suddenly develops the urge to run his/her fingers in your hair.

4. Rinse with warm water, followed by cooler water to finish.

Styling: 

Conditioned roots are perfect for styling - twists, bantu knots, mukule––anything goes. 

Use Mafura, Shea Butter, or Marula Oil on damp hair to seal in the moisture. Isn’t it wonderful that we have such a variety of African oils? Shame so many come from trees that are competing with the needs of drummers, charcoal burners, and furniture makers.  

Now, don’t try to force the hair into styles that just won’t work for your type. If there’s one thing Anthony Dickey’s system is useful for, it’s determining the best style for your hair. Don’t expect Tracee Ellis Ross’s bouncy curls when you have Chimamanda’s tight coils. 

There you have it. A recipe for the perfect conditioned roots. 

I will say, I have become a little more circumspect with age. I have less time and more innate knowledge of my hair, so I’ve reduced this process to a couple of hours and two to three steps. Whatever works, you know? 

In the early days, we had to experiment. Figure out all the components in products and what was actually good for our hair based on trial and error. We felt like a bunch of scientists. It was so exciting. We held hair care conferences with tables full of ingredients and blenders for demonstrations, but gathering African ingredients became a little cumbersome over time. We had to import Shea Butter from Ghana, but to get to Zambia, it had to go to the US first. Yes. There was no direct shipping route from Ghana to Zambia. Then, we discovered Mafura. An oil indigenous to Southern Africa with amazing properties that left the hair glistening, but no one was really growing the trees, and it would take us years to have enough of them. Oils and butters were just not commercially viable.

And then some of the multinationals realised that we were a bigger market than they had thought. Trésemme created a “Naturals” line of conditioners. It had none of the harmful ingredients found in other products. A couple of us had created indigenous hair care lines, but many of these were bought out by conglomerates, and it’s just really hard to find capital to formulate and market homegrown products. Shea Moisture was ours; its story began in Ghana. Finally, we thought we were shaping the narrative. But L’Oréal swooped in and bought them. When you go mass market, you have to have ingredients that make economic sense. Many of our products were effectively watered down. 

Using these old recipes feels like some sort of last stand, but you have to wonder if it’s still worth it.