My twin sister is beautiful. Unlike me, she doesn’t have a big head. Unlike her, I was bullied because of my head throughout my childhood. According to my great aunt, the teasing started when I was a baby. She used to visit often and noticed how my twin was always pampered and admired because of her beauty. One day she decided to raise me herself. She told everyone, “This girl will also grow up to be beautiful.”

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I attended a government school close to our house. From Primary 1 to Class 6, I was always first or second. Competing with me always felt like an intellectual war. I think that drive came from the bullying. The boys used to tease me endlessly. They called me names like “Etikessie,” “December Head,” “Etrie,” and all the demeaning names they could use to describe my head. So I decided to prove myself through academics. I wanted to show them that my big head was not big for nothing.

In junior high (JSS), there was a boy in my class named John Kamasa who teased me terribly one day. I decided I had reached my limit. I marched straight to the staff room and reported him. The female teachers just stared, but one teacher, Mr Eben, who was known as the wicked math teacher stood up for me. He grabbed six canes and gave John a good beating, then made him weed a huge portion of the compound. He said, “You have too much time on your hands. That’s why you go around teasing others.” From that day, John never bullied me again. The entire school learned a lesson from his experience. For the first time, I felt free in school.

Home was a different story altogether. My own grandmother could say some of the most hurtful things about my head. Whenever she or my other relatives visited my great aunt and saw me, they’d make jokes that cut deep. When she passed away, I remember reading her tribute without shedding a single tear.

When I changed schools later in JSS, I made friends with a few boys with big heads. They were all among the brightest students. My friendships with them made me feel seen. There was one boy I connected with deeply because his head was even bigger than mine. He was brilliant, funny, and kind. Years later, he became a pharmacist. Sadly, he took his own life a few years ago.

My great aunt could be harsh sometimes, but she also built my confidence. She would push me to perform, to speak, to recite poems. Even when I doubted myself, she believed in me. That tough love shaped me into who I am today.

Because of her, I learned how to fight for myself. I remember when I completed my master’s degree and joined one of the security services. We had to take off our weaves and all the hairstyles that offered protection for heads like mine. Just as I feared, people started talking about my head again.

One female instructor embarrassed me during evening prayers. She called me to the front, turned me around, and asked everyone, “What do you see?” No one answered. Then she laughed and said, “Such a nice lady with a nice shape and all that, but why is your head so ugly?”

After prayers, I went straight to her room and warned her sternly, “This is the first and last time you disrespect me like that.” She was shocked that a trainee could talk to her like that, but I didn’t care. We never got along after that, and to this day, I never greet her when I see her anywhere. Even my roommates whom I helped academically, later joined in mocking me.

When it comes to my romantic relationships, I find myself drawn to men with perfect features because I want to protect my future children from what I went through. With one ex, I was deeply in love partly because he had the looks I wanted my kids to inherit.

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After him, a good man came into my life. I liked him but when I looked at his head and looked at mine, I thought, “No, I can’t do this.” We both have big heads. How can I bring another generation into this life to continue the cycle of teasing?

Even now, my kid sister’s little baby is already being teased because of his head. When I saw it, I wasn’t happy. My mother also laughed along, just like she used to when I was young. In that moment, I realised how the cycle keeps repeating.

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Unlike her, I’ve vowed that it ends with me. No one will ever bully my children. Not in my presence. I know what it feels like. I know the trauma. I know how it eats away at your confidence. If not for the strong woman who raised me, I don’t know how far the damage would have gone.

She is the reason I fight back against anyone who tries to mock my looks. Why should I be made to feel shame for something I cannot change about myself? It’s not as if I asked God for a big head when He was making mine.

—Martha

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