6 hours 23 minutes and some seconds…
This is not the time I took on some podium showcasing my God given talent to some bunch of experts. It is not the time I took revising for my advanced financial reporting paper either. Roughly, it is half the time Mayweather took to beat Pacquiao and take home around $100 worth of money in the recent boxing match that made history, if I had spent it there I would be unapologetically rich now. Time is money people, time is money. Word!!
This was the amount of time I spent in the salon getting my hair done a while back.
B.R.A.I.D.S.
I can’t even tell you how many times this happens in one lifetime;
When they say God is fair, believe it. I am one blessed human, with countless things, but hair isn’t one of them, like at all. It isn’t long enough for me to walk around in a ponytail seeing as it hardly ever grows. it has a condition called stunted growth. It is not a lot either, just enough to not make me look bald (at least!). Just enough to convince me something actually covers my head. It isn’t black; I can’t exactly tell you what colour it is either. They say I would be blonde or a red head if I was white. I think they mean well, except in what world would that ever happen? I am grateful they try to make me feel better anyway.
If you have hair struggles you must know a thing or two about my status.
Do not get it twisted, I like my hair, as a matter of fact I embraced this flaw a long time ago the only way I know how. Amen to whoever said “your flaws are perfect for the heart that’s meant to love you.” LET IT BE SO…
B.R.A.I.D.S.
6 hours, 23 minutes and some seconds…
Salons are interesting places;
Women never stop talking if you get into a salon. You want relentless celebrity gossip; this place will provide you with that. And when I say relentless I mean relentless!! They have a sharp eye for detail. They can sniff out the neighborhood scandals and conspiracy. It is a platform where random women come together, rant over their problems; more like a support group. You will hear about whose husband cheated and with who, who doesn’t dress well (eye for detail, remember?), who’s broke (you wonder how that is even common knowledge!)… You name it, all here. It is like high school all over again except these are thirty something years old women.
The charmingly incompetent they say;
So I enter my usual salon, new faces, again!!(They never stay in one salon for longer than two months, either they were caught bad mouthing their boss or they stole something and got fired…) I know this because my parents owned a salon once.
This woman is making small talk and somehow we are in a moment. “Ah, you are in Moi University? You know Keziah? Just joined first year, short, light, skinny with tweezed eyebrows… (Stop right there; tweezed eyebrows?!! am supposed to notice that in a school of over 7000 students?) I cunningly say, ‘ooh Keziah…eeh…that Keziah. Who doesn’t know Keziah? (I don’t)” she smiles… her whoever is a big shot in campus, everyone knows her. She imagines. They start giving me advice on how I should save, invest, date bla (did I mention they know everything) theoretically…
It’s all good for a moment, until you hear about some ridiculous statement. Ati one of them was told by her pastor if she takes 15000 to church occasionally she will stop being poor in 30 days. I mean, what religion is this, voodoo? It is either that or I’m the one with little faith, even so, lemme look at it realistically, how? aje? I mean, even Oprah took years to be rich YEAR!! So unless she MIRACULOUSLY stumbles upon a very wealthy man, dates for 3 weeks and get married the fourth week (to make it a month) I don’t see how. Do enlighten me I beg, I could be the one who is extremely wrong on this.
***
I love when they wash my hair. The feel of someone slowly massaging my head and making my hair clean. It is exhilarating. For a second there I feel like I am in the Bahamas,(scratch that) make it Hawaii, yo!! Just enjoying the scene and feeling the breeze and life, life is awesome.
And then the nightmare begins; when they actually begin doing your braids waaa…kwanza when they are 2 or 3 at it and all of them are pulling your head in different directions; left, right, center. This is not a chair for Pete’s sake.
You have one sensitive scalp and they’ve got painful hands…TEARS! No lie. Excruciating pain baby, then there is a way you should position your head, either face the floor or the ceiling for like hours. Man, sema neck pains! And you still have to help them undo the stuff as you give them. So your hands are busy, you can barely even see, you know, with the balancing tears and all. One of them notices and they will be like ‘’ sorry, did that hurt?” and in your head you will be like, ‘more than you will ever no’ but you will say it didn’t hurt that much and then she will say “urembo ni kuvumilia!!” the irony is her head is shaved clean, talk of drinking wine and preaching water…
And they will laugh simultaneously and then continue with their heated fierce debate about what they read on true love on what makes men cheat. Even if you wanted to, you cannot laugh or least of all show you are enjoying the conversation because what are you? 12? What could you possibly know about anything anyway? So you just shush, enjoy the conversation silently, tell your soul to be still as you wait for the painful storm to pass for another three hours …let the countdown begin…
You remember how when you were a kid you were taken to the salon, lured with goodies and told to sit and get plaited. The woman would put your head between her thighs, it would make you uncomfortable, you would scream, but you would eventually calm down and endure the pain; suck at your lollipop like it was your only salvation. When you disturbed, the hairdresser would pinch you or threaten you to be calm…so you put your eye on the price; cookies, you couldn’t fathom what the pulling of hair was about though, why would someone even do that to a kid? You figured they were just teaching you a lesson.
15 years down the line, still doing the same thing;
This shit is real,
When it is done you can only hope you do not look like a clown. In a salon you brace yourself for anything, even after you are done it hurts so bad, you can’t even laugh…for the rest of the night you will sleep with your face, your head MUST not be in contact with the pillow…
When girls dish out generous compliments you smile and know it was worth it; the guy will hardly notice you did something to your head;
You are just a boy…you don’t understand…
Till next time salon, good riddance.
Each Step 