Kigali, Rwanda – As the blades inched toward my throat, my Adam’s apple bobbed hesitantly and I resisted the urge to jerk wildly.Thankfully, the barber had a gentle touch.
In fact, he seemed to pay special attention to each remaining hair on my head and face, the clippers humming a familiar tune as he checked the mirror to ensure each side was even. I had never sat so long in a barber’s chair as I did at ‘Saloon 2020’ in Kigali yesterday afternoon. With barbers on every block, this is a competitive business in Rwanda.
Sounds of a soccer game broadcast in Kinyarwanda blasted from a cramped corner of the five-seat shop. The image was as shaky as most of the passes. People milled about, both inside and outside, and we were immediately seated in standard black office chairs draped in plastic.
The barber produced a clear plastic bag covered in Chinese characters, which contained a bright orange cape with the words ‘My baby girl’ emblazoned across it. I chuckled to myself. He proceeded to prepare the clippers with rubbing alcohol and cotton, and a little oil, which reassured me.
Right from the start, the clippers chewed at my head like a hyena, causing the embarrassed barber to hurry into the back to find a new set. And likely to lament the wily ways of muzungu hair.
At the end of 45 minutes in the chair, every angle had been examined and each hair had been tapered as much as it could be. It cost me 1,000 FRw, about two dollars.
Not being a muzungu, Jethro, of course, paid half that.
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