Unapologetically Me: Hair, History, and Healing

Owning Our Hair, Owning Our Words

Every now and then, a public incident sparks a conversation that is bigger than the person at the centre of it. Recently, Enhle Mbali found herself in hot water after using the K-word to describe natural coarse hair at an event. The reaction was swift and fierce. Many felt hurt, others disappointed, and some tried to rationalise it as her personal upbringing. But beneath all the outrage lies a deeper question: how much of what we say, and how we see ourselves, is shaped by where we come from?

The Weight of Words

Language carries history. Some words are heavy with pain, trauma, and centuries of humiliation. For many South Africans, the K-word is not just a casual slip — it represents a violent past that still lingers in daily life. Even when someone uses it lightly or out of habit, it can reopen wounds for others. That’s why the audience matters. What you say among childhood friends may not land the same way in a public setting with mixed company.

At the same time, context matters. Some things hurt when they are used maliciously, with the intent to ridicule or harm. But when words were used among ourselves, often they carried a different meaning. For some, calling hair “K-hare” — which, by the way, is Afrikaans slang — was simply a way of describing coarse hair. It wasn’t necessarily about humiliation; it was just the language of the time and place. It didn’t carry significance beyond how our hair was seen. That doesn’t erase the historical weight of the word, but it does explain why people from certain backgrounds might use it without malice, even if it lands differently in broader contexts.

My Own Hair Story

When I think back to my early 20s, I realise I was also carrying the weight of other people’s perceptions of my hair. I hated weaves. Not because I didn’t think they were beautiful, but because of the stereotypes that followed them into workplaces and social circles. I can’t count how many times I sat in office lunchrooms and heard, “Wow, I like you because you’re embracing your natural look and not trying to be something you’re not.”

That wasn’t a compliment. That was a subtle jab. It was their way of putting down women who chose weaves and placing me on some pedestal I never asked to be on. And so I resisted. I stayed with natural hair for years, silently fighting the battle of proving I wasn’t ashamed of who I was.

Finding Freedom Beyond Hair

Fast forward to today, and I’ve let go of that silent fight. Somewhere along the line, I realised my hair doesn’t define me. Whether I’m rocking a weave this week, natural hair the next, or braids after that, it’s not about anyone else. It’s not about convincing people that I love myself. It’s about me enjoying the freedom of choice. I’ve stopped tying my worth to what sits on my head.

Now, I switch up my hairstyles as I please — not out of rebellion, not out of fear of stereotypes, but because I’m having fun. And you know what? That freedom is liberating. I’m not seeking approval, I’m not fighting silent battles, I’m simply being me. Because at the end of the day, I am a melanated queen who knows her worth. My hair is an accessory, not a definition.

The Bigger Lesson

Enhle Mbali’s incident is a reminder that we live in times where self-awareness matters. Loving ourselves means being mindful not only of how we speak about ourselves, but also of how our words land on others. Sometimes we say things because that’s what we grew up with. Sometimes we say them because they don’t personally hurt us. But in today’s world, awareness is part of love — love for self and love for community.

Where we come from shapes how we see the world. It colours our language, our choices, and even our hairstyles. But part of growing is recognising that our words and actions carry weight. We can honour our past without being trapped by it. We can love ourselves in a way that uplifts, rather than wounds.

Final Thoughts

My hope is that as women, as communities, we continue to create space for grace, dialogue, and growth. Hair is beautiful, versatile, and deeply personal — but it is not the sum total of who we are. And words? They can either bind us to old wounds or free us into healing. The choice, ultimately, is ours.