Like most parents, I wanted my children to have swimming lessons so that when we went on holiday I could be reassured they were safe. We were members of a health club that offered them, so we started them young. As part of those lessons, it was a requirement that children wore the club's swimming caps. My daughter Kayla, often complained about them because ‘they didn’t work’. We dutifully followed the specifications for the greater good of our daughter learning how to swim, despite knowing from experience that they were ill-fitting and would let water in.
One particular week, my elder daughter Kayla had finished her lesson, and we had returned to the changing rooms. It was the typical routine we did each week, and once again her swimming hat had let water in. I began the arduous task of washing and conditioning her hair to prevent as much damage as possible from the chlorine. As a woman of Afro-Caribbean heritage, I know too well the age-long dilemma water and chemical damage can do to our hair and hairstyles.
However, my strong-willed four-year-old daughter had other ideas and decided she wasn’t going to make it easy. ‘Mummy no, mummy no, please mummy, STOP! No, no, noooo…’ Kayla screamed uncontrollably. About 15 minutes later I got a frantic knock on the door. Kayla was still crying.
‘Who is it?’ I ask in an exasperated tone. ‘Open the door please, this is the duty manager. We’ve had reports of a child in distress. Please open the door now.’
Whilst still trying to calm Kayla down, I unlock the door of the family changing room. ‘Where is the child?’. I stand frozen, bemused, clutching a bottle of hair conditioning shampoo in one hand, a towel over my arm, and a distraught child in the other. Two ladies are staring at me, and they identify themselves as a duty manager and a child protection lead.
‘We’ve had reports of a child screaming in distress due to a possible abusive situation. What’s happening here, why was the child so upset, is she ok? Little one, are you ok?’. The questions kept being fired at me, as I stood there speechless, trying to comprehend what was happening and wondering what exactly was going through their minds.
Finally, I took a deep breath and as calmly as I could, turned to Kayla who had thankfully stopped crying and said ‘Baby, mummy needs you to please tell these lovely ladies why you were screaming’. ‘I don’t want to get my hair shampooed,' she said, crying now again. 'I don’t want to get my hair shampooed. Mummy please no!'
They looked at each other, and then one stepped forward to comfort Kayla, and I noticed the other scanning the room. I proceeded to explain to these two Caucasian ladies, holding back the tears, that Kayla had just finished her swimming lesson and I was trying to wash and condition her hair which was drenched with chlorine water from the pool. I had to explain that her swim cap had failed yet again, and despite this bringing the same stressful routine we went through week after week, it was vital to keep her hair healthy. Like most children, Kayla was super sensitive to having any water or soap around her eyes. The difference is that textured hair prolongs the ordeal, so although necessary, it was one of the worst things I could do to her or myself. I'm not exaggerating when I say that bath time and swimming lessons were nothing short of traumatising.
Thankfully, as long-standing members of the health club, we had built up a good rapport with staff. They knew us, as we attended six out of seven days. So, after some further interrogation and a caution, the ladies were satisfied having seen us interact as a family and chose to give us the benefit of the doubt. As they left the changing room, they shared some reassuring words with Kayla, unlikely to reflect on the incident again. For me though, it left a deep scar on my heart which I don’t think will ever heal.
I made Kayla a promise – to find a solution or, if needs must, invent one. And that I did, creating my now five-year-old business, Obé.
I slumped into a chair, heart racing, tears rolling down my cheeks and desperately clutching my daughter, unwilling to let her go. As I held her, I whispered - ‘Lord! There’s got to be a way, I never have to go through this again.’ The thought that my daughter could have been taken away from me by social services was dreadful. I believed I was simply trying to be a good parent and do what was best for her and I dread to think what would’ve happened if I wasn’t known to them.
That incident heralded the start of my journey to solving the age-old dilemma, and significant barrier to aquatics for billions around the world today. The issue of water and chemical damage to Black hair and hairstyles. That was the day I made Kayla a promise – to find a solution or, if needs must, invent one. And that I did, creating my now five-year-old business, Obé.
Necessity is the mother of all inventions they say, and that was the only way to find a solution for my daughter. From this journey, the plight of the African, Caribbean, and Asian communities inspired what many around the world have come to call a game-changer. Revolutionising swimming caps with a versatile, and stylish waterproof wrap. Specifically designed to keep hair dry and protected in, on and around water, whilst also hydrating, conditioning and treating hair.
It has been a tough journey, but watching Kayla enjoy such freedom with water makes it all worthwhile. For us swimming lessons, water parks, and even dancing in the rain, have become fun-filled family adventures thanks to Obé. Until that promise, I hadn’t realised just how much of life we had been missing out on and I want as many to experience that as possible.