Brave to The Bone

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Brave to The Bone Brave to the Bone podcast is a place where we explore what is asked of us to take a leap into the unknown.

The circumstances that build courage and the hands that hold ours as we face our edge. On this page we share stories of courage, hope, and access.

30/11/2025

This is called
“No Bitch, Im not Italian”

Yesterday, I had a haircut.
I sat in a chair, draped in black.
And the older white woman really wanted me to be Italian.

I only know this because she asked me 3 times if I was Italian.
She couldn’t hear the first time.
She thought I must be lying the second time.
By the third, I knew she was a lost cause.

I was reduced in her chair to explaining my Ancestry DNA results
I told her my very special breed of
Spanish, Native American and 1% Nigerian
The Nigerian gave her pause.
Of course it did.

She said “Awe hun, that’s okay, there is nothing to be done about it now.”

I was silent out of habit.
Because I’ve been really busy my whole life behaving.
It took a while to digest that she was soothing me for having the stain of Nigerian in my blood.

In truth I am so damn proud of that 1% that I thought if I closed my eyes really tight I could make that 1% be 100%
and
make the deep haunting vibration hum of a Nigerian Yoruba tribe bullroarer.
To clear her of her ignorance

But It didnt work.

I sat in silence and I let that woman cut my hair
She ran her fingers through my hair, weaving my energy with hers.

She then told me my dark skin and hair was beautiful
I said “thank you”- I meant “F**k you”.

Today I had to wash her touch from my hair
I had to promise myself I’d never let anyone cut my hair again.

I’ve never known my hair to rage… but
My hair caught fire like gasoline had been shampooed and then blowdried to crisp kindling.

Beautiful Viscous 1% Nigerian- Not fu***ng italian -strands of rage.

Once I washed the ignorance out of my mane

I felt a sacredness in each strand
A line of biting poetry rising up from every follicle

My ink dark hair holds constellations you will never see.
My tangles remember native weaves

The spanish in my hair is still stitched with bare foot wanderers, poets and rebels
Dreamers who crossed oceans
My hair is an ally
My hair is an activist
My hair is my voice
My favorite voice

Every strand is a f**k you I’ve swallowed for 43 years. A f**k you that refuses to be quiet now.

So No bitch , I’m not Italian.

02/10/2025

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