To modify an old adage, man is not known by the company he keeps but by the hair he wears. 

If your hair is long , well oiled and nearly plaited you are considered a nerd. 

If your hair is short and bouncy you are considered a tomboy. 

If your hair is long and lustrous you are considered sexy. 

But what if your hair is short and curly, thick and dark and quite unruly?

I found out that such people are called Gollywogs because I was considered one. For those who don’t know , the word WOG was a derogatory acronym for Westenised Oriental Gentleman and golly of course needs no explanation. 

So here I was with my thick curly hair known as Gollywog all the years that I was growing up. 

It didn’t hep my fragile ego that my own father  used to tease me that they picked me up from Ajegule market (a local market on the outskirts of Lagos in the 60’s if my memory serves me right) . In fairness to him, this was purely in jest and I learnt to laugh it off but believe me , I used to wince when I overheard myself being referred to as “that Gollywog.” 

Luckily for me, the word itself was deemed rude and politically incorrect so I automatically graduated from being called Gollywog to “Indira Gandhi” . Of course my long nose and dour expression contributed to a large extent for this moniker. 

I hated my hair and the stereotype I was and I tried for years to tame my hair, with all kinds of remedies right from oiling it overnight to make it smooth be silky to having a hot oil massage followed by a turban of a hot steaming towel. I even tried growing it and tying it up but that caused my hair to fall. 

For a while it seemed to have worked because a neighbor who used to see me walk in the garden actually thought I looked like Demi Moore especially when I wore my dark glasses. Perhaps his perception was right because one day an established roue actually rolled down his window and asked me with a leer in his voice , to accompany him for a walk to the Race Course. The next day I began tying my hair back in a severe schoolmarmish bun. Gollywog was preferable to femme fatale. 

The funniest reponse to my hair came from a street urchin. One day, I stepped out of a roadside eatery and was approached by a hungry urchin. I gave him my um eaten sandwich and was amazed when I found that he had given it to another boy. When I asked him why he’d done such a thing, he said that he assumed it was non vegetarian . When I asked him whatever gave him that impression he replied it was my short hair and western attire that made him feel I was a non vegetarian. 

Circumstance have changed the amount of time I can spare for hair care and my hair has become thin and fly away . It looks so different now that  a person I’d known in the past actually came up to me and asked

“What happened to you? You don’t look like yourself You look so civilised ! ”

“I’m breaking stereotypes based on appearance by sharing my experience for the #IAmCapable activity at BlogAdda in association with Nihar Naturals.”