The Girl with Dreadlocks

I was never an average child or an average woman.

My creativity, my ear for languages, my sensitive nose — which cannot tolerate even the faintest trace of an unpleasant smell — and of course my determination have brought me to where I am now.

And I do not mean financially.

I am 51.

I do not own a flat or a house.

I do not have children.

I do have a dog and a cat — so at least nobody can say I have “neither dog nor cat”.

I travel a great deal, and the experiences I have had, am having and will still have are enormously important to me.

On my way toward becoming a woman, I always stood out at school because I wanted to look different from everybody else.

I did not even do it deliberately.

For me, being different simply felt natural.

I remember one of my favourite teachers in secondary school always checking what I was wearing that day because my outfits were invariably just a little more than usual.

We are talking about the 1980s.

Instead of one belt around my waist, I might wear three.

My hair evolved from short and spiky to dyed strands, then shoulder length, then gradually into a waterfall reaching my waist.

From there, it was only one more step toward what defines me today.

I do not believe in coincidence.

I do not think we are random participants in random events.

We never meet people or objects accidentally.

There is always some reason for what happens.

I once read that certain people appear in our lives and then disappear quickly.

We learn from them and have to let them leave.

Others arrive and stay.

Those are the people worth fighting for.

I discovered reggae music as a child and fell in love with it immediately.

It is the kind of music that fills my heart and soul with peace.

I also became fascinated by dreadlocks and dreamed that one day I would have hair like that.

The idea stayed in my mind constantly.

People say that when you truly want something, you attract it into your life and eventually it arrives — but only when the time is right.

A friend once told me that when the small pieces of life finally click into the right places, order appears.

That is exactly what happened.

I adored Bob Marley and still do.

Later I began following the life and work of his son Ziggy too, and eventually the entire Marley family.

I respect the work.

The philosophy.

Even the family’s cuisine and own coffee brand interest me.

I waited around thirty years for my dream to become reality.

Once ordering online became easy, I looked at hair extensions because I simply could not understand:

How do you turn smooth, silky, straight hair into dreadlocks?

In the end, I ordered nothing.

But the desire remained very strong.

In my twenties, I saw a white man with dreadlocks in the street.

That was when I made my decision.

One way or another, I would have dreadlocks too.

I simply did not yet know who could create them for me.

Life — or fate — kept intervening.

Somehow I always worked in places where dreadlocks would never have been accepted.

And let’s be honest:

Years ago, many people reacted to this hairstyle with disgust or disapproval.

Today, perhaps fewer people misunderstand it.

If you watch contemporary films, there is often at least one character with dreadlocks.

I appreciate that enormously.

People in their fifties, forties and younger generations generally know exactly what the style is.

Not long ago, a mother standing behind me at a checkout explained it beautifully to her little daughter:

“Mum, what kind of hair does that lady have?”

“Sweetheart, those are called dreadlocks. They’re pretty, aren’t they?”

The more I move between cities, the more people stop me in the street and ask questions.

Budapest.

Munich, where I also work.

I have lived in Frankfurt and in England.

I grew up in Serbia, around Novi Sad, Zrenjanin and Mužlja.

People are curious by nature.

And I enjoy answering questions and explaining.

The most common one:

“How do you wash your hair?”

With water and shampoo.

Like everybody else.

I will not list all the other questions and answers because the list would become very long.

Over the years, I trained in hand and foot care, artificial nails, massage and reflexology.

My original professional qualification, however, is as a teacher of German language and literature.

I speak five languages and use them every day.

I am currently learning a sixth and seventh.

Around five years ago, I was doing eyelash extensions for a new client.

Although we had only just met, we immediately fell into an easy conversation.

I told the young woman — now a proud mother — that I wanted dreadlocks.

She replied that she lived with a guy who had them and knew how to make them.

Coincidence, right?

There isn’t any.

So to answer the original question:

A different woman began looking back at me from the mirror on the day I understood that I could no longer allow other people to tell me what I should look like or how I should live my life.

I was born under Aries, so perhaps I am supposed to be stubborn and repeat my mistakes.

In reality, I listen to other people.

If somebody has a better argument, I can change my mind.

And I do learn from my mistakes.

I try to choose what feels good and right.

Still, I frequently run head-first into the same wall several times before the message reaches me.

This realisation affected me so strongly that I immediately called the acquaintance my client had told me about.

We arranged the first appointment.

And I began walking the road I still follow today.

I hope I never have to leave it.

It took several months before my hair reached its present form.

It requires attention every day.

My “comb” is a crochet hook.

I genuinely feel uncomfortable if I leave it at home.

I can spend hours working on my hair.

For me, it is a form of handicraft.

Like knitting for somebody else.

It is also stress relief.

I only hope nobody now tells me that if I had children, perhaps I would find something more important to do than working on my hair.

That is another story.

Please let me be selfish for once.

Let this one be about me.

Once, I stepped into a lift with a man and a woman.

The woman kept looking at my hair.

Eventually she said she had seen many dreadlocks before, but never any that were this beautiful or this well maintained.

They have become my signature.

I cannot go to the same place twice without people remembering me.

In other words, I cannot remain invisible or disappear into the background.

And I do not want to.

Wherever I go, people photograph me.

In the street.

On buses.

It does not bother me.

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Perhaps someone else will be inspired and decide to try the hairstyle too.

I have a favourite supermarket where the cashiers refer to me simply as:

“The lady with the beautiful hair.”

I never used to have feelings like that when I looked into a mirror.

Today, I see a decisive woman who has lived through a great deal and who dared to change so she could finally become herself.

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