A History Woven in Strands

It’s difficult to remember an Africa without outside influence - without colonial borders and rule and western languages and forced labor. Said colonial rule was set on erasing our history, painting over it with new religions, new customs, new forms of work. And while this set up to braiding might seem dramatic, it is to a point – one of the lasting survivors of colonialism was culture. 

And from culture, there’s hair.

Braiding is ancient. Older than pyramids, Older than written language. The Himba people of Namibia have been braiding for hundreds of years, mixing red ochre and fat as a means of protection from the sun (Genesis Career College). In West Africa, one could tell a woman’s tribe, social status, and even her readiness for marriage based on the braids in her hair. Hair acted as a code - and if you knew the incratices of the culture, you could unlock a person’s life story.

The act of braiding wasn’t just a means to an end. It was a social act, a community ritual. Women gathered, sharing gossip, giving advice, passing down stories from fingertips to scalp. Elders braided children’s hair while telling them about the spirits that lived in the trees, about how the rivers were made. Braiding was connection. It was a way to hold onto history without ever writing a word.

Then came the erasure.

When millions of Africans were stolen from their homelands and trafficked across the Atlantic, hair braiding took on another meaning. It became an act of survival. Some women braided grains of rice into their hair before being forced onto ships, ensuring they had food when they reached the unknown (Afrocenchix). Others carved pathways into their braids—literal maps leading to freedom.

Colonialism tried to erase the culture of African hair. Europeans deemed natural hair “unkempt.” In Kenya, where hair was once a source of pride and cultural identity, colonial rule imposed European grooming standards on students and workers (Andariya). Indigenous hairstyles were labeled unprofessional. Hair, once a crown, became a burden.

But culture is stubborn. It refuses to be erased.

In the 1960s and 70s, as African nations fought for independence, natural hair and braiding became political again. The Afro became a symbol of resistance. In Kenya, young people reconnected with traditional styles, rejecting the colonial gaze. Across the diaspora, Black women wore cornrows, box braids, and bantu knots as declarations of self-love and defiance.

Today, braiding is everywhere—on runways, in boardrooms, on the streets of Nairobi, Lagos, and New York. But it’s not just a trend. It’s history woven into each strand. It’s a map back to ourselves.

Braiding is an act of resistance. It’s an act of joy. It’s proof that no matter what history tries to take from us, we will always find a way to braid it back together. At Braiding Nairobi, we’re not just connecting customers with stylists—we’re reclaiming history, economic freedom, and cultural pride. We’re building a future where braiders are valued, where storytelling and entrepreneurship go hand in hand, and where every braid carries the legacy of those who came before us.