by Valerie Pires
In the opening scene of Jocelyn Bioh’s School Girls; Or the African Mean Girls Play, the reader encounters a familiar scene: a crew of high school girls fires away lines about popular trends. The conversation swirls around diets, boyfriends, and brands. Around a table sit Mercy, Nana, and Gifty, and in the center of what feels like a beehive is queen-bee, Paulina. The adolescent rivalry is evident in their rapid-fire conversation. What makes this high school different from most of the schools portrayed in American popular culture is the setting. It is not Beverly Hills or West Palm Beach. These “mean girls” look nothing like Lindsey Lohan or Rachael McAdams. This is Ghana’s most exclusive boarding school, where witty Black teenagers hold fast-paced conversations without missing a beat. As the play moves forward, we learn truths that lie beneath the surface, where anger, vulnerability, and gender-defined expectations play essential roles. School Girls is an entertaining comedy that addresses under-representation, colonialism, and colorism. The play takes place in Africa in 1986, but it could have well been Harlem, Brooklyn, or the Bronx today. The consequences of colonization are heard in words spoken by Bioh’s fictional Black African teens and are evidence of the self-hatred deeply embedded within their collective female consciousness. Still, the play reflects a culture of self-loathing and shame Black girls and women experience in contemporary America.
"The theater decided to produce ‘School Girls’ […] because it explored ‘the impact that beauty standards have on young women in a way that is incredibly funny and urgent’."
Jocelyn Bioh is an American writer, playwright, and actor, a native New Yorker whose parents emigrated from Ghana in 1968. She was raised in Washington Heights, a neighborhood with a large immigrant population that often lives paycheck-to-paycheck. She first discovered theatre during her years at the Milton Hershey School, a private boarding school in Pennsylvania for bright youth from low-income families. The first-generation American went on to receive a bachelor’s degree in English and Theatre at Ohio State University, and eventually found her way to Columbia University where she earned an MFA in playwriting, a degree that came with a mountain of student debt and led her to write and act in “kitchen sink dramas” (Soloski). In a profile piece published in The New York Times, journalist Alexis Soloski explored Bioh’s background: “‘School Girls’ was inspired in part by Ms. Bioh’s mother, who grew up in Ghana and was […] a (proud) mean girl when she was in boarding school.’ The MCC [Manhattan Class Company] learned of the play when Jessica Chase, the artistic producer, attended a reading at the New Black Fest.” Soloski further explains that “The theater decided to produce ‘School Girls’ […] because it explored ‘the impact that beauty standards have on young women in a way that is incredibly funny and urgent’.” On November 19, 2017, the play opened at the MCC Theatre, receiving rave reviews and widespread acclaim. Bioh's play intelligently addresses through comedy the inherited values of Western beauty that gradually permeated Ghanaian culture throughout over a century of British colonization, a perpetual trend seen in Bioh’s modern-day adolescent standards.
Located on the Gulf of Guinea in Western Africa, Ghana was on the route of transatlantic explorations. With the developing practice of intercontinental expeditions —later known as the Age of Exploration and Discovery— foreign explorers became aware of Ghana’s rich natural resources. The first European explorers to arrive in Ghana were the Portuguese in 1471, establishing a profitable enterprise of commercial trading. The Portuguese success story caught the attention of other European nations and soon British traders followed. In his book, Historical Dictionary of Ghana, Dr. David Owusu-Ansah, a History professor at James Madison University, explains that those were the years that marked an increased adoption of colonialism as a national policy in Europe. The British Crown established the Royal Trading Company in 1752 and gradually expanded its exploitation of the Ghanaian people, land, and natural resources. In 1872, Britain occupied the entirety of Ghana, and by 1901, the British had established one of its most essential colonies incorporating all of Ghana’s people and lands into a single unit. Like all of the British colonies, the Crown created new systems of infrastructure, governance, law, education, religion, medicine, and culture. After centuries of occupation and oppression, on March 6, 1957, the former colony gained independence, and the newly founded country of Ghana was established (Owusu-Ansah). As seen in other European colonies, one significant impact British colonialism had on Ghanaian society regards inherited Western-white beauty values and standards. Those standards would last many generations and, after centuries of African slavery and immigration, eventually make their way into the psyche and culture of African-American women.
Hair that is hidden, kept away from sight, flattened, ironed, straightened, or pressed, transformed by any means necessary to turn the unique Afro-frizz into acceptable standards for the mainstream white majority.
One of the physical traits where culturally inherited white beauty values is clearly reflected is in how Black American women see, treat, and relate to hair. In an article published by the department of Women’s Studies at the University of Michigan, Cheryl Thompson explores the relationship between hair styling and identity for Black women: “By the time slavery was abolished in the late 19th century, the goal of grooming the hair had morphed from the elaborate and symbolic symbols of Africa into an imitation of White styles adapted to black kinks and curls” (“Black Women, Beauty, and Hair” 834). Thompson further clarifies how this cultural change came to be: “Where women, in particular, used to meticulously craft elaborate hairstyles back in Africa, once in the New World (America, the Caribbean and Canada) they took to wearing hair scarfs and handkerchiefs atop their heads, partly to shield themselves from the sun, but also to hide their unsightly, unkept hair” (“Black Women, Beauty, and Hair” 833). Hair that is hidden, kept away from sight, flattened, ironed, straightened, or pressed, transformed by any means necessary to turn the unique Afro-frizz into acceptable standards for the mainstream white majority. In “Black Women, Beauty, and Hair as a Matter of Being,” an article published in the academic journal Women’s Studies, Thompson further elaborates on what Western beauty values represent for Black women: “the [Eurocentric] standard of straight, long, and flowing hair has a sociocultural [effect] on Black women's notions of physical attractiveness, but also on courtship, self-esteem, and identity” (832). Thompson also explains how the majority of Black women engage in hair practices that are intended to align them with the dominant white beauty standard, and concludes, “It is the contemporary discourse on Black hair that reminds us that it is still a contentious issue [… and] demonstrate[s] how straight hair, which is more aligned with Western beauty ideals, continues to be privileged over natural styles—especially dreadlocks” (837). Thus, it is possible to connect the oppression African-American women suffered over two hundred years ago in the fields of the Deep South to the straightening of the Afro-frizz taking place in Harlem's hair salons today.
Manufacturers sell false promises and toxic products for women who dream of lighter shades of black and help perpetuate the stigma against dark skin.
The widespread and deeply embedded culture of physical and cultural transformation requires an industry to match. In the article “Black Women and Identity: What’s Hair Got to Do with It?,” published in the journal Michigan Feminist Studies, Thompson explains that “in the United States, the numbers are staggering. In America, black hair care (non-natural) is an estimated $1.8 billion to $15 billion industry. Market research firm Mintel reports that although blacks make up 13 percent of the population, they account for 30 percent of hair care spending” (85). One of the most harmful practices promoted by the industry of shame is skin bleaching. Manufacturers sell false promises and toxic products for women who dream of lighter shades of black and help perpetuate the stigma against dark skin. The mainstream media also contributes to promoting this practice that stems from self-discrimination. In “Skin Lightening, Bleaching, Whiting Phenomenon,” an article published in The Cupola Student Publication by Gettysburg College, author Tamiyah Miller addresses skin lightening practices around the world, including the United States. In the article, Miller assesses the unique effects of racial identity and self-esteem on African-American adolescents and speaks to the role of the media: “The media is heavily influential to the practices of skin bleaching. Through television commercials, print and digital advertisements, magazines, billboards, and the internet, the ideal skin complexion represented in the media is fair-skin tones.” The author also provides the names of celebrities who endorse skin bleaching in America and beyond: “Examples of many celebrities today include rapper Nicki Minaj, dancehall performer Vybz kartel, Mshoza […] Former Chicago Cubs slugger Sammy Sosa, and Nigerian pop star Dencia, just to name a few; all have bleached their skin for several years now. Many of these people have their own product line of skin bleaching creams, locations and more” (11). In “The Effects of Changes in Racial Identity and Self-Esteem on Changes in African American Adolescents’ Mental Health,” a study that assessed the unique effects of racial identity and self-esteem on African-American adolescents, the authors explain how skin color distinction is a hushed conversation in African American communities and how damaging the practice of skin bleaching is to the mental health of young African-American women: “The hue of one’s skin tends to have a psychological effect on the self-esteem of African-Americans.” They conclude, “having a positive image of oneself as an individual may be a particularly important resiliency factor for African-American adolescents given their exposure to environments that often devalue their worth” (Mandara et al 1661). While the practice of skin bleaching in America may seem far-fetched or a past trend, the fact is that it is an open secret in Black communities. In the case skepticism remains about these truths, a recent search for skin bleaching products on Amazon, the global digital shopping platform, proved how the industry is thriving. There, openly advertised for all, is a collection of skin bleaching products for sale. The industry of shame on full display for public view (Fig. 1).
Fig. 1. “Skin bleaching.” Amazon screen shot accessed December 14, 2020.
When Bioh first introduces the schoolgirls during their high school lunchtime chat, right from the start, the reader is struck by the language the playwright has the smart African teens use towards each other. It is hard to ignore the pain behind their dreamed standards of beauty and how the girls swap harsh critical judgment disguised as compliments among themselves. In Part One of the play, Mercy, Gifty, Nana, Paulina, and Ama compliment a newly arrived student, Erika. In one exchange, Mercy asks Erika what she used on her long —straighter— hair. Nana explains she wished her hair was “easier to manage,” and Gifty says Erika is “so lucky” for having naturally less curly hair (Bioh 18). One understands the underlying message of repulsion towards their natural frizzy hair, pushing away their blackness. Not only do the girls not own it, they refute it and, without hesitation, deny their physical traits. The girls go on to mention how they must bleach their skin, a common practice for the African teens that shocks the young American immigrant:
AMA: Yeah, I want to try everything.
GIFTY: ‘Cause your stuff must be top quality!
MERCY: Clearly! Even Caro Light they have in The States must be top shelf. You don’t even have any blemishes!
ERIKA: The what?
MERCY: You know? The cream.
GIFTY: Bleaching creme.
MERCY: The ones they sell here will just burn your skin off.
GIFTY: Fire.
MERCY: And they give really bad blisters (Bioh 18).
The spoken shame represented in Bioh’s fictional Ghana of 1986 remains present in whispered words throughout the halls of American schools and reflected on the shelves of American pharmacies of today.
Bioh uses irony, sarcasm, and humor in these exchanges loaded with self-loathing and shame, and the reader turns into an uncomfortable voyeur, ready to intervene.
In another exchange, Mercy, Nana, Gifty, and Headmistress Francis discuss an upcoming beauty pageant, Miss Global Universe, an event the girls are excited about. Mercy asks the Headmistress if there would be a problem if the winner of Miss Italy had black skin, to which Gifty quickly responds, “Oh, please! You know there would be many problems with that—.” Nana and Mercy complete the thought by adding, “She probably wouldn’t even make it to the stage” and “—That is what I am saying—" (Bioh 14). Hateful words and bullying strategies —initially interpreted as uncensored teenage honesty— are introduced in the play's opening lines. In Part One, Paulina asks Nana, "Are you determined to look like a cow?" While the other girls giggle, adding they all have "a reputation to maintain," Paulina slams Nana with another heavy question: "So…do you want to be fat-fat? Or fit and popular?" (Bioh 7). Bioh uses irony, sarcasm, and humor in these exchanges loaded with self-loathing and shame, and the reader turns into an uncomfortable voyeur, ready to intervene. If the language did not have a tone of dark humor, it might become intolerable.
The evidence of shame is in the language Bioh’s women use, teens and adults, and in their behavior. Eloise, a former Miss Ghana, reminds the Headmistress that Erika is blessed for having lighter skin, and how "She is absolutely gorgeous. Ye'tall, brownish hair, lovely shape….(Eventually) Fair skinned," (Bioh 25). Throughout the play, the reader repeatedly witnesses how the African women bombard themselves with actions and expressions of discontentment for being Black. Eloise presses on, "You know…It has become clear that MGU judges are fond of girls who have a more universal and commercial look. […] that [they] are just looking for girls that fall on the other end of the African skin spectrum" (Bioh 25). The reader understands that “the other end” is fairer, lighter, whiter.
Like many contemporary African-American adolescents may feel today, Bioh’s smart African girls never seem to be fair enough, slim enough, straight enough, non-Black enough. Paulina tells Nana, "I've decided…you can't be part of the group anymore. You're not really mixing in with our…aesthetic. Come check in with me when you've dropped about fifteen to twenty pounds, okay?" (Bioh 28). However, the bully is the one most ashamed of her Blackness and imposes upon herself the harshest of punishments —and on the reader the most disturbing observation. In a desperate attempt to change who she is, Paulina does something unbearably cruel to herself: Paulina looks around, pulls out a small container of lotion and rubs it on her face. It stings, but she continues to rub it in anyway. Nana sees Paulina putting on the cream, but makes sure she’s out of Paulina’s sight (Bioh 33).
She will do anything to erase her skin color, which is unwanted, unwelcome, and unappreciated.
The cream is poison, and the practice is skin bleaching. Paulina wants to fade her blackness, something she sees as an obstacle, a burden impossible to hide, which requires desperate measures. She will do anything to erase her skin color, which is unwanted, unwelcome, and unappreciated. Instead, the reader sadly sees Paulina erasing her identity, her soul, her being. The African girl risks erasing herself. In an article published in Theatre Journal, Jordan Ealey, from the School of Theatre, Dance & Performance Studies at the University of Maryland, states that "School Girls is attentive to the structural inheritances it dramatizes through its characters—that is, the trauma passed on to them by the colonialist renderings of the world" (233). However, Ealey sees strength and hope in their coming-of-age stories: "In fact, fantastical imagining and whimsical hopes imbue the play's final scene, in which the girls gather at the school to root for Ericka. […] [The] final stage picture of the school girls embracing one another highlights the play's focus on the kinship bonds among black girls that cannot easily be broken […] illuminating a performance of black girlhood not reliant upon trauma, but community" (233). By highlighting how Western values and beauty references are deeply embedded in post-colonial Ghanaian culture, Bioh brings up a culture of shame that many, if not most, contemporary African-American girls and women experienced in their own lives and on their own skin. Other women might dare to feel hopeful. Added to past generations of strong Black-American women that fought hard to eradicate inherited prejudice, a new generation of Black-American youth has helped magnify the feminist movement, unabashedly and proudly owning their Blackness, the inner and outer beauty, identity, and truth. No doubt, there is strength and promise in a post MeToo era, and a positive shift of white beauty values within African-American female culture is within reach.
Works Cited
Bioh, Jocelyn. School Girls, or, The African Mean Girls Play. Oberon Books, 2018. https://cuny-lg.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01CUNY_LG/q8puuk/alma990092508470106136.
Ealey, Jordan. Review of School Girls, or, the African Mean Girls Play, by Jocelyn Bioh. Theatre Journal, vol. 72 no. 2, 2020, p. 232-233.
Mandara, Gaylord-Harden. “The Effects of Changes in Racial Identity and Self-Esteem on Changes in African American Adolescents’ Mental Health.” Child Development, vol. 80, no. 6, Nov. 2009, pp. 1660–75.
Miller, Tamiyah P., "Skin Lightening, Bleaching, Whiting Phenomenon" (2018). The Cupola Student Publications. 732.
Owusu-Ansah, David. Historical Dictionary of Ghana, Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2014.
“Skin Bleaching”.
Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/s?k=skin+bleaching&ref=nb_sb_noss_1. Accessed Dec. 14, 2020.
Soloski, Alexis. “For This Playwright, Africa With Laughter, Not Tears.” The New York Times, 1 Nov. 2017.
Thompson, Cheryl. “Black Women, Beauty, and Hair as a Matter of Being.” Women’s Studies, vol. 38, no. 8, Oct. 2009, pp. 831–56.
Thompson, Cheryl. “Black Women and Identity: What’s Hair Got to Do with It?” Michigan Feminist Studies, no. 22, Fall 2009, pp. 78–90.