Why I am not my hair… but it is my protest

It's Sunday afternoon and for me, like most black women, it's wash day. My hair is rustling under a plastic cap, absorbing a "pre-poo" before the real work begins. The weekend activities of black women are vastly different to those of their white counterparts. Growing up in South London, surrounded by other black children, it … Continue reading Why I am not my hair… but it is my protest