After a little over two and a half years, I went to the salon this week. Yes, two and a half years, no, I have not been growing one big dreadlock on my head. Okay, now that that bold declaration is out of the way, here’s a little background information. In 2011, while I was in fourth form, I decided to cut my hair. The BC. Non-naturalista folk, BC stands for ‘Big Chop’. Unlike in the religious context where BC are the years ‘Before Christ’, the years pre-enlightenment, in the world of textured hair BC is the beginning. This is the point of enlightenment after which full edges, voluminous bouncy curls and good vibes only follow. Not to sound biased against anyone with textured hair who chooses to wear their hair in any other way, but c’mon, I’m a naturalista, of course I will tell you all about the much greener grass on my side. I cut my hair on the day I finished my mock examinations. Came right home from a horrible Fasihi paper (Kiswahili…hmph!) picked up a pair of scissors and chopped it off. Loved it! A few hours later after washing my hair, shrinkage manifested. Hated it! I immediately regretted my decision, but the beauty of occasionally throwing yourself into the deep end is that you leave yourself with very few choices, two, sink or swim.