Hey love. I miss us.
I went to the barber last Saturday. You see, I have an excellent barber who is based all the way in Hurlingham, but I was too tired to drive all the way there so I decided to walk across the road and get a quick haircut. This , as you will see shortly, is the worst idea of the month!
I walked into the shop and was sternly summoned to sit and wait to be attended to. The woman who told me to sit was short. Way shorter than the average human being. Her face was darker than the rest of her skin, which was a bit weird. I did not know skin bleaching had a reverse. Her behind was confident… Tight! You know the kind that would twitch if she winked. Her braids were loose and scattered and looked like nothing that should be on a hairdresser’s head.
It was not long before a barber called me to his seat. He was young. His pants hung below the bottom fold of his buttocks. His baseball hat sat delicately on his head and his neck was riddled with thick aluminium chains. Everything he wore was black. I thought to myself that this must be a hip kid who would know how to style hair. I trusted in the work of this boy’s hands and left the rest to Jesus Christ my Lord and Saviour.
Before he started, I warned him that my hair is not normal… First, I told him that I have 3 of those spirally points and not one like normal humans. I also told him I was born with a kombo hairline that I have made worse over the years because I scratch my head a lot… He said he understood.
“Nimenyoa wasee miaka mob. Usijali!” He said as he took off my glasses. I was confident he would not let me down!
The boy stepped on something on the seat that sent the back rest back and lowered the seat! I could not see myself on the mirror because I was now facing the roof! Not that looking at the mirror would help seeing I am blind.
He was done in a few minutes and asked me to check in the mirror if that was the level I wanted my hair. I touched my head and nodded in approval. He stepped on that thing on the seat again and the back-rest sprung up.
“Niweke line?” He asked. I nodded in approval once more. He stepped back from the seat and put the palms of his hands together like we were taught to do when praying in Sunday school. Our eyes met in the mirror. He swung slowly from side to side trying to understand my hairline. Once he was sure, he kicked the thing on the seat again and I was facing the roof.
I knew something was wrong when he was taking longer than he was supposed to to fix my hairline… I could feel him going deeper and deeper into my hairline. I could not see myself in the mirror so I told him to stop so I could look at myself in the mirror to check how he was doing… When I looked into the mirror, and I am not lying, I thought I was looking at a stranger. My hairline was so off it looked like I was looking sideways!
He called another barber and together they tried to fix it! My hairline ended up going in even deeper, thoroughly exposing my forehead! He then slapped spirit on my head, which stung so much seeing how much he had cut my head trying to rectify things.
After he was done, he wiped my head with a warm towel and asked me to pay 150/- to the short woman from before. I asked him if my head was going to be washed like I am used to. He said I would have to talk to the ladies at the salon… To wash my hair would cost one hundred bob extra.
I sat at the sink and the short lady from before asked another lady to wash my hair.
She was shy and did not make eye contact at any point. I could however tell that she had not done this before because not long after she started, the short lady from before barked at her for washing my hair using hair conditioner instead of shampoo. With grace, the lady reached for the shampoo and put back the conditioner and continued washing my hair! I could feel the fear in her hands, it is like she was scared to wash hair.
All this time, there’s was a man seated on my right… he was just short off 40. He had pale skin like he had spent the night in a tub full Jik! He was having his nails done. All his 10 fingernails were painted in different colours. For a minute it looked like a joke until he raised his hands in the air to check his nails out from a distance. He then blew them, like women do. I could not stop staring!
The man then ordered the woman doing his nails to start on his toes and follow the same colour sequence on his fingers. The woman took his shoes off one by one and put them on the side. His shoes smelled and he knew it, so he asked the woman to take them outside in the sun.
I was so distracted that I did not notice that the woman who was washing my hair was oiling my face using Venus Hair Food!
Lesson: The wages of sin is death!