The story began during an artist residency in Morocco, but it quickly became more than travel notes.

I didn’t expect my hair to guide me through the country—but it did. From the alleys of Fès el-Bali to a vibrant salon in Essaouira, my Nigerian braids sparked curiosity, laughter, and moments of unexpected kinship. I was called Rasta, puzzled over by barbers, and scolded with love by stylists who felt like family.

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But this isn’t just about hair.

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It’s about carrying culture—on your head, across borders—and how beauty rituals can spark connection, courage, and belonging. In a sleepy Atlantic town, surrounded by women of the Francophone African diaspora, I was reminded: community can be braided together, anywhere.

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