On top of that, our clothes click with tiny style mirrors embedded into the collars and hems. We all carry mirrors in our pockets, and we take them out every so often to inspect our reflection and make sure we look good. There’s no way the typical northerner would go outside without wearing his or her most civilized clothes and looking clean and nice. My mother says it forces me to hold my head up higher.Ī large part of the culture in the northern Ooni Kingdom where I live is to look civilized.” That’s northern slang for stylish. Sometimes all this hair is heavy, but I’m used to it. Also, the vines inside are thicker and dark green. Now I’m fourteen and my dada hair has grown way down my back. Of course I didn’t feel this way when I was old enough to go to school and my classmates called me names. In fact, it was a blessing, because it was a part of me, they said.

Instead they let it grow and, as I got older, made sure I understood that being dada was not a curse. As a result, my parents didn’t cut my hair, and they weren’t scared by it either. These stories said that the dada-born were destined to be wise beings, not necessarily rebels. Thankfully, when I was born, my parents were open-minded, well educated, and familiar with some of the older stories about dada people. Girls were supposed to be soft, quiet, and pleasant. That you caused things to rebel or that you would grow up to be rebellious yourself! And what made things even worse was that I was a girl, and only boys and men were supposed to be rebellious. That you could walk into a room and a mysterious wind would knock things over or clocks would automatically stop that your mere presence would cause flowers to grow underneath the soil instead of above. As if she already knows she’s dada.” To many, to be dada meant you were born with strange powers. Imagine that! To be born with vines growing in your hair! But that’s the nature of dada people, like myself. Instead, they were more like plants that had attached themselves to my hair as I grew inside my mother’s womb. Contrary to what a lot of people think, these vines didn’t sprout directly from my head. I had dadalocks, and woven inside each one of those clumps was a skinny, light green vine. She took me in her arms and gently touched one of the thick clumps of hair growing from my little head. I can see that,” my mother replied with a smile. dada,” said the doctor, looking surprised. Prologue My World When I was born, my mother took one look at me and laughed.

Zahrah the windseeker by nnedi okorafor