Aging Gracefully

I was sitting in front of the Ministry of Health and Sanitation last week, trying to arrange my hair into something more respectable before my meeting with the Minister. (In the April humidity, my curls generally explode into a frenetic and chaotic mop, and in Sierra Leone unruly hair is a sign of madness, destitution, or both.)

In my car vanity mirror, I noticed a smattering of grey hairs sprouting cruelly from the top of my head. Though I don't generally stress about such things -- I am almost 30 and a few laugh lines and grey hairs seem like part of the bargain -- I do usually pull them when I find them. And so I did, yanking the most obvious before combing my hair into a semblance of order.

But then I started thinking: in Sierra Leone, as in most of Africa, grey hairs are actually an asset. While America continues to worship youth, Africa reveres its elders. On this continent, with age comes respect, power, and gravitas.

So perhaps I should have left the greys. Maybe the Minister would see me in a different light if I looked a bit older. Perhaps I’d no longer be a “small girl” to most of my colleagues and acquaintances, but someone more serious and important. Perhaps people would call me Madam or Aunty instead of Sister.

Perhaps… but for now I think I’ll stick with my more American approach. Yank away, Yankee.