Photographed by Lauren Ward. I was born and raised in a small town about three and a half hours from Vancouver. There was no acceptance of other ethnicities. When I was eight years old, girls tried to set alight my almost-waist-length hair. My cousin and I had come back from our gurudwara on a Sunday afternoon.
She happened to be wearing her Indian outfit, a salwar kameez. We were playing on the school playground, next to my house. These girls came after us, running with lighters. We came home running, crying that these girls were trying to burn our hair. It was a way for them to scare us, control us, and it was overt racism. Hair, and outward beauty, is a constant conversation that Sikh women are having, just like all women are.
Whether you have long hair or short hair, whether it's under a turban or a headscarf, a lot of women feel they're not good enough or that there's something wrong with them. There are some that are obviously joyful and happy with their choices, but so many are in that grey zone of not knowing where exactly they fit in.
I want Sikh women to have a space to talk about whatever they want to talk about: hair, religion, all the other conversations.
I want them to feel safe and secure. I think I'm still a student. She grew up with Rastafarian parents and decided to grow her hair in long locs when she was a child in accordance with Rastafarian tradition. I believe that Rastafari is a very personal journey. We definitely use the Bible as a reference on how to live and the things we believe and our history.
But in many ways Rastafari is self-discovery through sacramental herbs, the books we read, the way that we deal with each other, even the way that we grow our locs. With Rasta, there's an idea of staying natural. We maintain an all-natural diet and try to keep the things that we put on our body, down to the shampoo that we use, as close to nature as possible.
Part of that natural approach includes not cutting our hair. When Jamaican people, as well as people of African heritage, stop cutting our hair, it naturally forms locs. My parents never forced me or my siblings to grow locs; it was always our decision. I was probably the last one in my family to do it—I think I was about nine or 10 years old. At the time, as much as I was growing to understand the world around me, I still think that I didn't understand it fully.
Growing locs, for me, was more about identifying with my family. I felt like that was really important.
I remember at the time Rasta wasn't something that was very accepted in Jamaica. There are many boundaries and stereotypes that we had to face every day. But they won't eat shellfish.
Rasta men can let their locks flow or wear a crown, as hats are called by Rastas. They can be any hat. Men uncover their heads during religious ceremonies and women cover their heads during religious ceremonies.
Otherwise, Rasta is a very open thing. Every Rasta man I know is different and is into different things. Many people think of " Bob Marley " when they think of Rasta. Bob Marley studied the Rasta philosophy. But he popularized some things that are not Rasta at all.
Dreadlocks, the yellow and red and green caps, all of that has been commercialized. Those things do not make someone a Rasta man. Rasta who live in the hills don't live with all that. Marley started that. Facebook Twitter Email. Rasta revealed: Are hats really required? Lex Talamo Shreveport Times. Show Caption. Hide Caption. Raw Video: Rastafarian man refuses to remove hat. This page is best viewed in an up-to-date web browser with style sheets CSS enabled. While you will be able to view the content of this page in your current browser, you will not be able to get the full visual experience.
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