There is something else… Towards the end of military training, something interesting began to happen. The rules around hair, especially for the ladies, slowly started relaxing. Not fully. The military is still the military. Nobody was suddenly allowed to walk around looking like they were auditioning for a shampoo commercial. But the instructors eased up just enough for the ladies to begin growing back some hair in preparation for pass-out parade. I think somewhere deep inside even the military understood that parents needed to recognize their children during graduation.
Have you read the previous episode by the way?: Barbers: Jarheads
Let me tell you, after months of identical uniforms, identical drills, identical shouting, identical suffering, and identical haircuts, some of us had genuinely started looking like photocopies of each other. Even our sweat was typically the same. Corned beef, pineapples and army bisquits, on a good day, grass fed beef and maize meal. So the ladies got some grace. A little growth here. A little shape there. By graduation time, at least there would be some evidence left that hair had once existed.
For us gentlemen, however, life remained aggressively static. We still had to maintain what people back in ushago used to call “box.” Officially it is known as a crew cut. A clean, short military trim with the top part with some covering. which I suspect had the responsibility of holding the beret. Simple. Efficient. Devoid of unnecessary happiness. Now at this point, I must confess something important. The humble and peaceful gentleman you see today was not exactly the same man who existed in those barracks years ago. Because somewhere between military discipline and my naturally inquisitive personality, a dangerous combination was formed: I became curious.
You see, I started noticing inconsistencies. One officer would say your hair was too much. Another would pass you without complaint. One would demand a full “Jordan”. Another would insist that too much shaving was also wrong. So now my afro-loving brain was becoming confused. What exactly did the military want from our heads? Did they want hair? Did they not want hair? Did they want the suggestion of hair? Was there an unseen gauge of measurement involved? And since I have always suffered from the condition of “wanting to understand things properly,” I began researching. I started reading military standing orders and regulations for myself. Big mistake. Huge mistake.
Because eventually, hidden somewhere inside those documents, I found it. A clause. A beautiful clause. It stated that the head was not supposed to be completely clean-shaven. The hair was to be trimmed short, yes, but not necessarily polished to the level where your scalp reflected sunlight like a freshly washed vehicle bonnet. Ladies and gentlemen, when I discovered that information, I held onto it like constitutional law. Suddenly I had evidence. I had receipts. I was no longer just another recruit getting randomly punished for hair. I was now an informed soldier. Sharp soldier defined. As for me and my hair, we shall intimidate the barracks & its dependants. Unfortunately, knowledge in the military can sometimes become a very dangerous thing when combined with confidence.
Because now I started defending myself. “Sir, according to standing orders…” My friend. Never begin a sentence like that when speaking to a warrant officer who has served in the military longer than you have been alive. What followed was warfare. Imagine a young private, fresh from training, trying to explain military regulations to a man who probably fought mosquitoes, rebels, and economic hardship all before breakfast. Technically I was correct. But military life is not always about technical correctness. Sometimes hierarchy itself is the argument. Infact, what would trigger this even more, is the fact that some of these NCOs didn’t know of such clauses.
One day I remember confronting an entire warrant officer over the issue. Looking back now, I realize the boldness I possessed was either courage or temporary insanity. Probably both. Because from their perspective, this rankless soldier was essentially saying: “Sir, respectfully… you do not fully understand the rules you are enforcing.” Technically,,, “You don’t quite understand your job sir…”
Ah!
That kind of confidence can shorten your lifespan in military environments. Honestly, that hair issue followed me for a long time. It became part of the larger tensions surrounding cleanliness, grooming, appearance, and interpretation of regulations. Because in my mind, I was obeying the rules exactly as written. But military culture also operates heavily on interpretation, tradition, and the mood of whoever is inspecting you that particular morning. Plus… plus… the intelligence level of the person you are dealing with.
Eventually we moved into military college life, and things relaxed slightly. You would now have longer breaks, longer holidays, more exposure to the outside world, and more opportunities for hair to quietly begin making a comeback. And trust me… the comeback was loading. Because somewhere beneath that disciplined military crew cut, my afro was still alive spiritually. Waiting.
Another story from a man still under construction…
Grace & Peace ✌️