Let Me Explain: The Barber
I am a very lonely person. With that said, I’m definitely not throwing shade on the small circle of friends I have. If they are actually ‘friends’. Most of the times we hang out at the same place, which is where I met most of them. The barbershop, kwaBla Tino! Its our ‘clubhouse’, beer hall and base rolled up in one hairy, and shabby looking shack. If you have ever been to the high density suburbs, you will know that the hair chopping enterprises don’t look as nice as those in the CBD or Avondale, yet they are less expensive. Dhora pakufamba. I feel at home there, very safe in fact because the drug-squad tends to overlook the activities we engage in there.
There are a lot of characters found at these places. From your bench warmers who don’t seem to love spending time at their houses and the jazz man’s who are constantly on the move because of the heat on them. It’s a melting pot of personalities which what makes it fun to hang around there. However some certain developments have occurred since I got a job. I have not been able to hang around with the guys over for the past week. Lo and behold, I got there yesterday and the barber has changed. Now let me explain to you why this is very concerning.
The barber is to me, what a trusted family doctor is to you uptownians. I trust this person with my looks which cement my reputation and street cred. I trust this guy with a machine that can literally shave my scalp off. He is like a captain of this base. He sells the good stuff, knows which new good-looking girls have moved into the hood. Finding out that he has been replaced sent me into panic mode. I don’t even know the new guy. Does he sell kush? Is he a good haircut technician? Does he know all the latest ZimDancehall releases? (nobody wants to listen to whack music whilst getting a part of them chopped off, circumcision doctors you hear!) All this questions troubled me as I took a seat in front of the mirror. Apparently feeling like I was about to sacrifice my hair to this new guy. Since I arrived no word had been spoken between us. I just pointed to the chart of hairstyles and said, “Iripa corner pazasi apo.”
Just then I heard my mother calling. It was all a dream folks! Did it not sound unreal enough? If you really love your head you will really know that you just don’t change barbers the way ladies change men when Valentine’s draws near. Your barber is your friend, Bla Tino is like my father. A drug addict version of my father rather! My hair is still unkempt. Dollar harisikubatika. Moral of this bunch of confusion, hair cuts in the ghetto are really cheap. Especially at Bla Tino’s!