It was lunchtime at Jefferson Middle School, and if you looked through the dining hall, you would see Ayeesha Kesseh. She stood out. Not because she was at the top of her class or was president of the debate club. It also wasn’t because she was playing the piano in the dining hall- a skill she picked up from her musically inclined father. No, Ayeesha stood out because her grandmother was in town. But not in the way you think.
This is an all-too-familiar story, Ayeesha’s story. In the little cornerstone apartment in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn, 14-year-old Ayeesha Kesseh spent the first 4 years of her life in Accra, Ghana. On this day, she wore her hair in an intricate pattern of twists and loops in cascades that ran down her back. A style her grandmother was very good at making. Sure, it was a hairstyle, but in some ways, it was more than that. It was a symbol of ancestral pride, a connection to her African heritage filled with the stories of all the people who came before her. Certainly, before her grandmother made her this style, she had already bored the poor girl to sleep with old folklore.
Her hair has been the talk of the school the entire day. It was different, for a while her classmates adorned themselves with simple ponytails or flowing tresses, Ayeesha’s hair was dubbed “exotic,” and “weird,” and I think some admin staff said it was “distracting” to the other students. The constant scrutiny not only made Ayeesha uncomfortable but also made her question her identity. You know, that thought of “Why is this happening to ME?” that runs through the mind of any teenager who dares to be different.
Suddenly, a new dress policy emerged the following week under the guise of “professionalism” and “uniformity.” The code called for “natural hair to be kept in a conservative style.” Ayeesha was crushed under the weight of feeling like her hair, full of vibrant history and folklore that bored her to sleep, was now a target.
Ayeesha’s mother, Imani, a fierce lady who cares very little for the opinion of strangers, met with the principal. Her words were firm: “Ayeesha’s hair is as natural as the color of her skin. Asking her to change it is like asking her to erase her identity. Despite Imani’s defense, the school remained unmoved. And every time Ayeesha walked the hallway, she could almost feel people’s stares boring a hole in the back of her head.
One afternoon, feeling suffocated, Ayeesha decided to find solitude in the school library. Mrs. Greene, the librarian who had many interesting life stories, noticed Ayeesha and decided to talk to her about her own experience with defying the norms and choosing to embrace her unique beauty amidst ignorance.
Inspired by Mrs. Greene’s resilience, Imani channeled her feelings into art. She crafted a project for the school’s annual cultural fair- a vibrant display of portraits and stories about the significance of hair in different cultures around the world. On the day of the fair, students and teachers alike were drawn to Ayeesha’s display, captivated by the nature of the stories. Ayeesha stood by her exhibit, her hair styled proudly, her voice steady as she recounted the tales behind each image.
The fair became a turning point. Although the school administration’s policy did not change overnight, the minds of its students and some teachers began to open. Ayeesha’s hair remained a crown, not just of strands linked to the scalp but of tangled strands linked to her roots.
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