When the Rules Cut Deeper Than Hair

Why Are We Still Shaving Our Daughters’ Hair? The Colonial Rules That Keep Us Bound

Generations after colonial rule ended, many Ghanaian schools still enforce hair-shaving policies rooted in control, not culture. It’s time we ask — why are we still upholding rules designed to make us small?

A Viral Video That Struck a Nerve

Sometime last week, I watched video circulating online — a young girl, sitting on a stool, in tears, as her hair was being shaved before returning resuming school. Watching her cry hit something deep in me. Because like so many Ghanaian women, I went through that same ritual. The school rules required it. Everyone did it. We were told it was about discipline and uniformity.

But the question that has lingered for years remains — why are we still doing this?

“School Is Not a Beauty Contest” — But Who Said It Was?

Every now and then, this debate resurfaces. And each time, the same response is repeated — usually by men in authority. The education minister recently said, “School is not a beauty contest.”

But since when did keeping your natural hair — something that grows from your own scalp — become a beauty contest? Why is the act of learning to care and love our own hair seen as vanity rather than self-knowledge?

Shockingly, one of the justifications given was that girls with their natural hair are “too attractive,” as if their very existence invites misconduct. In fact, one teacher even went as far as to say that male teachers would need a “self-control allowance” if girls were allowed to keep their hair.

Let that sink in. Instead of holding grown men accountable for their behaviour, we are punishing children for existing in their own bodies.

Because let’s be honest — shaving girls’ heads has never stopped predatory men.

It’s not only absurd. It’s horrifying.

“Instead of protecting our children, we are protecting adults who lack control.”

Colonial Roots, Modern Chains

The rule requiring schoolchildren — especially girls — to shave their heads didn’t originate from our own cultures. It was introduced during colonial rule to separate the mixed-race children of colonisers from local children — a way to mark difference and inferiority. Hair became a political statement — and a symbol of shame.

Decades after independence, we’ve chosen to keep that colonial rule alive.

We say we are free, yet we continue practicing colonial obedience disguised as discipline.

“When you can force a child to strip away even the hair that grows naturally from their head, you’ve already taught them not to question authority.”

That same conditioning follows us into adulthood. When politicians misuse public funds or silence dissent, the people stay quiet — because from childhood, they were taught that obedience equals respect.

The Cost: Disconnection from Ourselves

This rule has shaped generations of Ghanaian women. So many of us grew up never learning how to care for our 4C hair. I was one of them.

I was forced to shave my hair in school, and when I finally grew it back, I didn’t know where to begin. I turned to chemical relaxers to make it “manageable,” not realising that I was still trying to make my hair — and myself — more acceptable.

Even now, I sometimes chemically straighten my hair because caring for it feels like starting over. And I know I’m not alone. Generations of women wear wigs or straighten their hair not only out of preference, but because we were never taught to love what naturally grows from us.

“Many of us are still unlearning the belief that our natural selves need to be corrected.”

The Double Standard: When We Police Ourselves

What’s painful is how we cry racism when we travel abroad and our natural hair, locs, or braids are called “unprofessional,” “unruly,” or “lawless.” We demand respect — and rightfully so.

But at home, we enforce the same discrimination under the banner of discipline and uniformity. The very same thing we are demonised for globally, we demonise each other for locally.

“We can’t fight against racist systems abroad while defending the same mindset at home.”

Koya Nkrumah

How can we claim pride in our Blackness while punishing our children for expressing it?

If good character were truly determined by how much hair one has, then the bald-headed politicians who loot national funds should be saints, shouldn’t they?

We have to stop confusing control with culture.

When “Rules” Become Tools of Oppression

Leadership in Sub-Saharan Africa must confront the uncomfortable truth: many of our so-called “rules” were designed to produce compliance, not character.

During the Civil Rights Movement, segregation was also a rule — a law — and yet it was abolished because it was unjust and inhumane. The world did not collapse when that rule ended; it grew more humane.

So why do we cling to rules that dehumanise our own children, behaving as though scrapping them would tear our societies apart?

“Rules are meant to serve people — not enslave them.”

Rules are not sacred. Humanity is. When a rule outlives its purpose, it must go.

Internalised Oppression: The Silent Legacy of Colonisation

When foreign students attend our schools, they’re not asked to shave their heads. The rule suddenly bends. That tells us everything we need to know — this isn’t about discipline. It’s about whose identity we value and whose we still see as inferior.

We have internalised the very oppression we claim to have overcome. We’ve inherited colonial thinking and called it culture.

“We cannot build self-respecting nations while enforcing rules rooted in self-rejection.”

It’s time to unlearn that.

Change Through Shared Experiences

This conversation isn’t just about hair — it’s about autonomy, identity, and dignity. It’s about teaching our children to question systems that don’t honour their humanity.

I believe healing begins when we name what hurts — and this hurts deeply. It’s time for us to reflect on how we’ve internalised the same systems we claim to have escaped.

So I’ll leave you with this question:

What “rules” have you outgrown but still find yourself obeying — and what would it take to let them go?

Because change doesn’t begin with rebellion. It begins with remembering who we were before obedience became survival.