July 08, 2006

I was standing aimlessly under the scorching sun outside the strange barbershop with an ancient wooden door and paint scraped from the walls. The warm wind slapped my face as the touch of summer had started. My mother had told me “Go get your hair trimmed or I shall call the gardener to do me the favour.” I was dragged here by my bossy brother. I peered through the transparent glass until; a fat man greeted me.

I was nervous because this was my first trip to this odd salon. I entered the place and waited for an hour or so. I gazed around the stinking, dirty room and saw hair spread all over the floor. I planned to leave, but the barber threw me into the chair and pulled out his sharp large scissor resembling the shears used by the gardener and certain colourful pairs of combs. As he started ruining my hair I stopped and advised him to give me a Caesar cut, he didn’t understand and went on chopping. My shouts were audible everywhere, they all thought that I was a baby. I prayed to God for mercy, and then he started slapping my face and called it a massage. I cried for help but there was no assistance. Then he mixed some cream and splashed it on to my ruined hair, which made it stickier and finally revealed his disastrous handywork to me. My first thought was that I looked no different than a crazy joker. That second my brother came and instead of arguing with the barber he exclaimed, “Now you’re looking like a man!” I refused to talk to him and hid my face in the car.

Everywhere I looked, people were staring at me. I died of shame that day and refused to go to that barbaric barber again.

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