I could write a book about my hair, femininity, defiance, hijab, self-expression, sexual assault, ownership of my body, why I dyed my hair red and why now I am cutting it all off.
It’s in here
And the Buzzcut Will Be Televised
It’s in here

I dyed my hair red as a fuck you I survived expression of defiance after this
I will miss the red. It’s been my fire. My “I am not hiding. You did not kill me. I am still here.” The buzzcut will be my way of saying I survived, too.

I love this picture that @remythequill took of me at @Abantu_ in Soweto in December. It will stand as the last festival and public speaking I did with my Fuck You I Survived Red. Onward!
The picture with my arms in casts is by Peter Hapak for Time magazine
The thread connecting the aspects of Me in these pictures
is deceptively simple: I own my body. That declaration is the core of the revolution.

The reason for the buzzcut: there is no “going back to normal” after #COVID19. I want to mark that change, transition.
When I can see my wonderful colourist Alex again, I will ask her for bright sunshine yellow to celebrate being outside and feeling the sun again!
BRIGHT!
When I can see my wonderful colourist Alex again, I will ask her for bright sunshine yellow to celebrate being outside and feeling the sun again!
BRIGHT!
When I had that buzzcut at 13:
- I was on vacation in Cairo. An aunt who’d come to pick us up told the other aunts that I was so ugly that my parents would have to pay a dowry to a man (not he pay it to me) because no one would want to marry me
- I was on vacation in Cairo. An aunt who’d come to pick us up told the other aunts that I was so ugly that my parents would have to pay a dowry to a man (not he pay it to me) because no one would want to marry me
While I was out walking with another aunt, a guy in Cairo pointed at me and told his friend “That girl was a guy and they gave her a sex change.”
So yeah. Hair.
So yeah. Hair.