My redemption from the friseur.


Friday started as a normal day would. I was walking to the stage, where I would board a matatu to go to work. Halfway there, a hawk flew down and snatched a rat from the pile of garbage that was a few steps from where I was, and flew away to the sky, behind some buildings and out of sight. Okay, not so much of a normal day, is it? I take back my words on that because it is not every day you get to witness this. I wanted to put a label on this, you know? Like it might be a sign that something bad/good will happen. But such is the cycle of life, right?


That same day heading home, I needed to have my hair done. I was getting tired from combing it every morning and having to clean the house almost every day, to get rid of the fallen hair. I passed by a wholesale shop that deals with hair stuff and got myself some long brown Abuja braids, for my Ghanian lines and a hair spray too. I knew what I wanted, so I didn’t waste that much time in there.


The salon is just close to my place, a small room that fits not more than 3 customers, painted in a shouting pink, some three huge stones at the doorstep to ease access to the inside. One side covered by sacks, acting as a curtain, with photos of various hairstyles pinned to it. The other side of the improvised curtain, is someone’s house. I could hear a woman talk from there, sound of plastic cups being shuffled. With the friseur they talked of her sick daughter who had just received an eye operation, and just how fed up she was from the call she had received from the hospital to take the kid back for a checkup, only to get there and the secretary tells her that she had mistook patients. Two other ladies sat in the salon, asking each other if they could smell a dead rat, which they couldn’t see, but for sure, it was somewhere, dead and rotting and the smell was daunting, but personally, I couldn’t really smell it. Crazy the kind of stories you will pick up at salons.


After my hair was washed and was ready for plaiting, it was getting late and from the edge of my right eye, I could see a scourge of mosquitoes playing in the air, hoping I wouldn’t get savaged by them. I held my bag on my laps and the smell of the evening dust and wind drifting in my nostrils and I couldn’t wait to get done and see how my hairstyle would turn out. One thing I hate about going to get my hair done is having to hold the braids for the friseur. Like no. I’m already spending too much time sitting on this chair and all I want is to sit still here and wait for you to make me look pretty, as I wince through the occasional pulling of the hair and sitting through the, ‘why is your hair shorter on some parts’ chronicles that never cease to be brought to my attention.


I must admit I was pretty impressed by how the Ghanian lines were starting out until we got to the middle of the head and I began being a bit sceptical but I did not have the guts to ask. All along, I sat there crossing fingers that this wouldn’t have me regretting later. See, a good hairstyle can really boost your confidence or have your confidence in the gutters. Bottom of the barrel feelings if you ask me.


When I got to the house, I held a mirror up to my face for so long wondering if that is how it should be. The colour was pretty okay, brown that blended with my light skin tone, but the styling? It had me thinking she might have unknowingly done two different styles. All the while, I promised to go back Sunday in the afternoon just to confirm if this is how it should really be. I was 50/50 about the styling.


Fast forward to Sunday, I show up at the door and found her braiding another customer.
‘uhhm, hey, so I got to the house and realized that there’s two different styles, is there a way we can change so that it’s all uniform? I ask, feeling somehow embarrassed. That Is a style I put there, not a mistake really’ she said and I just stood there transfixed. ‘Therefore, we would have to undo the whole hair so that we can make it uniform If you don’t want the styling.’


‘Oh, okay’ was all I said as I started walking away. There is no way I was going to sit down again for all that. I picked up my embarrassment from the floor, swung it on my shoulders and walked away, back to the house. I really tried championing for my redemption, turns out I didn’t really have to, because everything was just fine.
Good thing is, most people I’ve met have told me the hairstyle actually looks fly. Not that the validation is what I was going for, since I already accepted the hairstyle….half-hearted though, thing is, at times we might hate some parts of us, but someone else will look at you and not find any fault. So, how about embracing self-love?

Author: wachauchegejoyce

Born on 12th February 1998,I must admit I have a keen eye for some good writing,an avid reader,and I enjoy writing too. Currently I am studying at JKUAT, Bachelors of Mass Communication,aspiring and looking forward to be an editor.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: