« three | HomePage | 3¼ »

Thursday, October 26, 2006

three

Haven’t posted in a long coz;

 

“…My walks, it gradually seemed to me, were in themselves indicative of some personality failure. I loved the city, was feverishly curious about it all, the lives lived in it, but moved through it alone unconnected           -Time Bends, A. Miller

 

 But, you realize-que sera, sera! You gotta stand up and make that post. So, I come back to muse about some of my fav. things. 

 

Three barbers, two up class barbers and an economy class barber. Spread out in relation to the different activities I get up to. One is in the proximity of Office, so that in the lunch hour I can strut out for a 20minute refresher.

 

 

The other is in the proximity of home. That means that when the weekend bushy feeling gets so overwhelming, I can prop my frame there and get an overhaul. That leaves the economy class barber.

 

 

 He gets to see me when the accounts are really low. He is the relief man, the man that pulls off a good job at the bidding of a few coins.  The reason I get to see the economy barber least of the three is that he doesn’t have some of the extraordinary touch up accessories the up class barbers have. Who can blame me for wanting the good stuff.

 

 

First, there is the cool shaving machines. They give you the soft soothing graze. One almost aimed at making you doze off in reverie. And part of the comfort comes in you not having to stretch your neck in such awkward positions, which would otherwise leave you choking on your own saliva. If the barber wants to shave you from a particular perpendicular view, the chair rotates, and you are angled in, that easy.

 

 

Another manoeuvre comes in the form of fumes and sprays. After washing the clipped hair bits off your head, Sweet smelling oils are rubbed onto it. When they spray disinfectant, it’s not the insecticide smelling type but a rousing aura of jasmine hangs around you. You feel the stings of heaven assailing you, beckoning, enfolding, engulfing one, you would be forgiven for drifting away. The cloud of fume actually makes the mirror view of oneself seem like a materialization of paradise. Cloudy touches around the edges of the head. An airbrushed appearance to brilliance. The perfect scent to walk with to a first date. All part of the glamour of an up class lifestyle.

 

 

Getting a good barber is a life long search. It’s a process that comes after several walks into places that leave you surly and slain, with a raped head, with parallel ruts of gnawed shapes, prongs of pain marking out the points of err, eyes bulging out of their holes to create a naked countenance, and a good case of laughing commentary for your acquaintances.

 

 

In this search, getting the beard cut is disorienting, your head is held out in the angle of a chicken readying for slaughter, eyes fixedly dilating from the bright light bulb to the glossy poster showing Shabba Ranks looking “bad attitude”. Your breath comes in starts and you have to avoid swallowing saliva since the movement of the larynx could mean the blade slicing into your throat. It’s a whole length of time, spent contemplating the gliding movements of the blade grazing along your throat in deep scratchy scrapes to wondering when it could all end so that you could swallow that blob of saliva tickling the edges of your throat.

 

 

Disinfecting the grazed area is an awakening act. The mentholated spirit used is piercing. You jump from the shock of having your skin erupting with expletives. The skin goes taut, eases a little, and goes into shock to collapse useless in a heap of folds that only get relief when the air sifts through it. Tears stream down the face, while the nose brandishes a temperament close to fury/pepper combined. And when you walk out onto the street, the sun casts suspicious shots to dig right at the heart of your boiling head. You have to go back home and wash the head, spray lots of fume to wade off the mentholated spirit that has embedded itself into the skin pores. And wear a cap till your hair grows reasonable.

 

 That’s why I can’t afford to leave my three barbers. And this will be a very long while

 

12:24 Posted in Stuff I cannot see | Permalink | Comments (8) | Email this

Comments

I like the sound of this, although I did not have the time to fully read it. Cheers, undo. The bit about propping up one's frame. Oh, by the way, I met someone in Jinja who reminded me of aspects about you.

Posted by: HipFlaskSwigger | Friday, October 27, 2006

Me, besieged by a personal barber crisis. I prefer my hair on all the time.

Reason, personality preservation. Back in the 80s, when break dance was the dancehall fad; I wanted to be shabadoo. So, I cut my hair to that satisfaction.

Then, I got a bombshell. "You look like a cock", my geography teacher told me. Henceforth I dreaded the barber. Then came the, American Ninja, and with it another go at the cut.

We had several choices. German Dish, marine, shaolin: remember, Jackie Chan in, The Drunken Master?

But all said, I preferfully covered scalp. Reason? A negroid feeling. New heroes, Wole Soyinka, Nelson Mandela, Desmond Tutu and them all.

But nay, I fell on saboteurs. Looks are every thing, I was told. The company dress code blah blah. And my friends, " What is happening to you?"

So every now and then, I rebel. One week a budding university professor, and those suspect looks. The other week a neatly shaven executive readying a presentation, and the plaudits.

You know UNDO I have three barbers too. One. a fellow so close to home, he gives me those looks, when my persona changes to an odd professor. Says he, "Ssebo onyumira mariini, Jangu nku ssale". Meaning, you look great in a marine style. Come for the cut.

Two. Another of the detractors. My daughter, who finds my walrus mouthache a tempting play thing; she keeps pulling at them.

Three. Aishas on Kampala road. The ladies are good and courteous. Sure to get back for another spend. Treating is good, warm head bath; hot towel cleansing; fumed fungicides; and that inevitability- the sleep while the barber does his thing. A welcome stress relief.

But if you ask me. I prefer the professor. Someone once said, it is a fixation arising from the torrid torment from my geography teacher.

I say no to that. It is a plain desire to be covered, to fill warm and good. To feel a full African. To role model.

Posted by: ARIAKA | Friday, October 27, 2006

Another reason to thank God I am a girl.

Posted by: Dee | Friday, October 27, 2006

Great post! Yes, barbers! How does one get a good one? It takes time and one has to try several to find a suitable one. I, many times prefer having a cut at one of those posted under trees; many years ago, they were my favorite. I have had hair cuts in such, from Moyo to Muhokia near Kasese, from Teboke in Lango to Iganga. And I enjoyed it.

Posted by: Basawad | Friday, October 27, 2006

HipflaskSwigger, I thought you met me! haha

Ariaka, man you are beyond, hey i can't comment on ya blog too. So do you like have the hairstyle of the professor, coz the only people that wear professor prefer the hair to hang back...clearly black or dyed with hints of grey..

Dee may think she is better off till she has to sit in a Saloon for more than 5 hours-making her hair. I don't wish to be in that situation.

Basawad, the tree chaps cut with clippers...man thats more scary

Posted by: undo | Friday, October 27, 2006

Biggie cares,

"I know how it feels to wake up fucked up
Pockets broke as hell, another rock to sell
People look at ya like use to used
Selling drugs to all the loosers mad buddha abuser
But they don't know about the stress-filled day
Baby on the way mad bills to pay
That's why you drink tangarate
So you can reminisce and wish
You wasn't living so devilish s-shit
I remember I was just like you
Smoking blunts with my crew
Flipping oldies 62's
'Cause G-E-D was it B-I-G, I got P-A-I-D
That's why my mom hates me
She was forced to kick me out, no doubt"

Everyday Struggle

Posted by: Iwaya | Tuesday, October 31, 2006

were u quoting from ur personal collection of Art Miller?
i would give a small limb to get ahold of some of his stuff.
me i chull with d many barbers coz i got tired of the blunt clippers, methylated spirit, dirty mirrors, hair on d floor, gossip abt gundi ...
now if i cant afford Farouk's 4k @ New Alternatives above Nandos, i let the hair grow. and at least dere dey gossip abt which Obsession is wearing a weave n how much Bebe Cool pays 4 his locks (mbu a lot)

Posted by: Degstar | Monday, November 06, 2006

Degster...I don't have Timebends with me but I could get it for you if you can catch me...xmikolo@yahoo.com

Posted by: undo | Sunday, November 12, 2006

Post a comment