Angela.

Angela.

The day I did my own hair to attend May Day in Junior School, it sat differently - a tear rolled down my cheek. Stared out the window: you did the night shift and came back around 7:30AM latest. There you were poised to sink into bed & chat with relaxation. I met you at the door with a wide tooth comb and bubble hair ties. Your hands always remembered the kinks and curls of my hair easily. I wiped my tears, and my hair was just as I imagined you would style it - two pigtail braids. Beautiful.  That's when I did not know my own hair yet. You knew me and my hair since birth, I just prayed to myself that one day I would work my hair with the same memory that your hands wove life into my natural hair.

Words by Angela Tettey

Photos by Yemi Kolawole 

Symonne.

Symonne.

A Celebration of Black Hair

A Celebration of Black Hair