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| LAUGH AT MY PAIN (Barber Blues) |
Traveling has become one of my many hobbies - new views, new people, new thrills, new air. There’s just this enthralling aroma that oozes out of Mother Nature’s kitchen whenever I travel. As much as I love it, moving to new places always poses new challenges like getting a favorite tailor, a preferred draper, locating a shop that has every basic thing you need, an ice cream, pizza and shawarma joint that’s close, a house you’d use in knowing if there’s light before you get home, and most importantly, a very good barber.
Yes, barbers are very important people in my life. There was a time in my life when the only haircut I knew was what we called Go to school and this was generally considered as a ‘smart’ look according to my dear mother. Back then, I had no problems getting a barber, I didn’t even care what he did up there. All I knew was that I’d see a sparse field of hair and a side walkthrough when he was done.
There was a riddle that was popular back then, “Who’s the only person that commands the king and knocks the king’s head?”. His barber. After all these years, I now understand that the knock on the head can be psychological, emotional and very heartbreaking. As much I’ve met good barbers, I’ve met more of the ones that can make you cry, literally. I think girls have it easier – bad hair, make another. For boys, bad haircut, skodo. It’s like a hard reset, the final fix to all trial and errors. At this point in my life, I’ve gotten very meticulous about what sorcery goes on while I’m seated at the barber’s mercy especially since I sport a serious beard, not like my younger brother who’s part, probably a pioneer, of a grass beard gang. Based on this, I take my haircut sessions very seriously.
But I’ve had bad days…
So, I obviously wasn’t born with beards, I groomed them when I started noticing sprouts. I believe every teenage boy can relate to the fact that, those three strands of hair on the chin are more precious than the herd on the head. I remember when I had successfully bred about seventeen strands of hair on my chin and I went to the salon to get a haircut. One thing I failed to notice all those years was that the barber was completely smooth, up and down. No hair on the head, no hair on the chin. Guys take note of what your barbers look like before embracing their seats. You can tell the wonders they will do to you just from their looks. Now, as a young fine boy, I also wanted my eyebrows carved, so I sat down, excited at my seventeen…no, eighteen strands - I think I saw one pop out. I left that salon looking like a new born rat. No hair anywhere at all. I looked like a tennis ball soaked in vegetable oil. One hot tear rolled down my cheek as I took a walk of shame home.
Okay, let’s fast forward to about four years ago when I moved to Lagos and had successfully secured a good barber in the area based on recommendation. I had given him just two tries but Ayo was quite good at this skill. One warm evening, I strolled into the salon only to find Ayo about leaving.
“Ah, customer, you don come?”
“Ah ah, AY, where you dey go na?”
“I wan travel oh but no worry, my boy dey.” He turned to the back, “Tunde, Tunde oh, omo jati jati, come here”
“Oga no dey call me my first name na, I be Freshest Swaggs Prince, FSP”
“My friend shut up. Foolish Stupid Person. Give baba here one sweet haircut the way I teach you, make I rush go Ota”
“See, Ayo, you know say I no dey like change people wey dey cut my hair. This your boy good?”
“Ah baba, no worry. My boy hand thick for the business, no be today”
“Yes oh, bros see ehn, I dey cut Baba Ijebu hair, all the senators for FCT sef dey find me, even Oga Sunday wey just nak two new tear rubber jeep, na me do am. I dey sure say na as I cut him hair, e give am confidence. I be musician too, I dey sing, I dey produce. Baba, I no be FSP for nothing oh.”
“Ayo, you sure? This boy dey talk plenty oh” I was really skeptical.
“You no get wahala. The boy mouth na tap wey don spoil but him good die”
That was it… Just like that, like a bird walking to the snare of the fowler, I handed over the life of my reputation to FSP the music producer. In the next twenty minutes, I realized how great a fool I had been. My hairline looked like it could be used as a see-saw, he carved my mustache so thin that it could pass through the eye of a needle. I wasn’t even angry, I just stood there laughing at my gross obliviousness and witlessness. Olofofo like me. And the chinch kept convincing that he just gave me the latest cut in town. That was the last day Ayo and his squid saw me. And that was also the day I became the proud owner of a brand-new face cap.
I saw my friend some time ago with a haircut that suggested the barber was either insecure or plain daft. He was so angry while he narrated his experience. He walked into the salon and was happy to be the only person there (note that, sometimes, this is a bad sign). The boy was a new face so he hesitated. Since he couldn’t wait for his barber, he opted to go ahead with the strange one. A strange one indeed, judging from the after effect. My friend was uneasy during the cut session but the barber kept assuring him that he knew what he was doing. Why do they always do that? He had finished but my friend didn’t know as he was still waiting for a haircut. He got so angry when the barber said he was done and charged him more for it. He looked like Samurai Jack gave him a haircut. And that was when he found out from his barber who showed up during the heat of the argument, that the Samurai had never given a haircut. Matter of fact, he was the cleaner. I felt my intestines rip apart in laughter. I was sorry for him but I didn’t have the capacity to express it.
Two months ago, one of my friends was about getting married and he asked me, among thirty-seven others, to be one of his groomsmen. As a single guy who wasn’t shy of the market, I was happy to oblige. On the eve of the Traditional Marriage, the best man, who was my celebrity friend, and I thought to look like marriage super subs, you know, just in case. Yes, I have celebrity friends. It was almost midnight when we waltzed into a salon of a young barber who obviously couldn’t tell the time because his sound system was acting as a Public-Address system for the world. I could barely hear my thoughts. I didn’t know him, I didn’t like him, I didn’t trust him, but for fine-boy sake… I didn’t want a cut, I asked for just a shave. He did a good job; my friend also looked ready to snatch someone’s fiancée. Little did we know that this guy had sown seeds beneath our skins. We spent the next two weeks treating the bumps under our chins.
All a proud man needs is a terrible barber to teach him humility.
The stories from barbers are endless. I met a barber who shaved off my beards because he didn’t like it. I met the one who refused to cut my hair because of the style I asked for. He said I was asking for too much. But then again, I’ve also had very awesome barbers too all around the country, Wale, Emma, Prince, Black, Musa, etc. Above all, barbers are unique people with a special art
Ps: Ladies, don’t trust any man who isn’t faithful to his barber. He can come home one day looking like a monkey that ate bitter leaf.
Pss: Guys, don’t trust any barber who has visible veins on a head shaped like a pentagon. Stick to one barber.
