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| Image by Okhai Ojeikere |
Still on the subject of
neighbourhood discovery, last Friday I ventured out to Raleigh Street, which
becomes Rockey Street in the heart of Yeoville looking for a hair salon. My
old hairdresser used to be in Yeoville but she would usually do my hair after
hours at my place in Illovo. While this decision was logistically
driven, the truth is that I didn’t want to spend 7 or 8 hours in some hair
salon in Yeoville because African hair salons generally lack certain comforts
that I like. They can be trying spaces to be in.
When I used to shave my
hair clean, I would go to the Ghanain Hair Salon on the corner of Corlett Drive
and Athol Oaklands, the one with the paintings of Oprah, Alicia Keys, Chris
Rock and other African American celebrities on it. The last time I
went there was to undo my braids this time last year. The salon was
not fancy, in fact it had a lot of ghetto vibes but it is owned by old
God-fearing people and a nice woman who never spoke but smiles and always
handed out ice-cold mini bottles of water as you sat down to read the
oil-stained magazines. I liked the woman because she wasn’t intrusive. The
man of the establishment ruled it with an unbecoming zeal for the Holy
Spirit. There would always be extremely loud church sermon DVD’s in
which the out of breath Nigerian or Ghanaiain ‘’prophet preacher’’ was always
going on about the wishes of the Devil or the covenant of His Holiness.
The salon wasn’t great,
like most African salons these days, the qualities that used to determine the
art of hair styling – skill and creativity – have been replaced by nail
painting, simple braiding, relaxing and putting in weaves. The
ladies can plait or do intricate styles but you always have
either bring them a reference or direct their each and every movement if you
want to be happy. I grew up in Butterworth where my mom would take
my two sisters and I to a Ghanaian house salon (somebody’s house) down the
road. Going to the salon was an adventure. It would start out in
tears that streamed down our little faces, faces that were buried in between
the knees of Aunty so-and-so who always wore Ghanaian print kaftans as she
pulled and tightened our hair with thick black thread. Once she was
done, we would look like mini aliens with our heads covered in coils that went
in every direction. ‘’Kodwa mama sizolala njani?’’ (But mama, how
are we going to sleep?) we would ask as we left the house salon,
faces stretched to perfection. And she would say ‘’Sakhula kusithwa
suffer for beauty thina’’ (We grew up hearing you suffer for beauty). The
idea that at the end of the pain we would look ‘’beautiful’’ consoled us enough
to get used to it In all honesty, we did feel beautiful as we walked
home. The hair style would be incredibly uncomfortable to sleep with
for the first few days but the memory of the pain was drowned out by the
compliments we would get from our dad and other grown ups. The point
is there was panache in hair styling.
African (South African ones
included obviously) salons these days are very different. I’m not
talking about Le Looks or Sandton Hair, the fancy overpriced ones (Two months
ago, I paid R700 in a Parkhurst salon to trim my already short hair and colour
it) in malls who have nice amenities but a lot of them also lack in the
creativity and skills department. I haven’t enough experience in
those ones. I’m talking about everywoman’s salon. I have
obviously not been to all of them and I stand corrected on my view of them. But
I write what I see. I was going to retell some salon tales but it
would make this article too long and negative. So I’ve summed it up
into:
My Top 5 Peeves about African Salons in Joburg:
1. The
hairdressers are never skilled enough. You always have to explain to them and
then show them what you want.
2. A
lot of the times the hairdressers have way too much attitude
3. The
salon itself is usually dirty and full of hair everywhere
4. They
NEVER have the right hair products, always washing natural hair with Wella or
Soft ‘n Free shampoo. These products are not designed for kinky
African hair and it doesn’t seem to bother a lot of people that there are no
really great products for natural hair that are easily available. Don’t
tell me about Mizani, which I believed for a while until I realized that it’s
L’Oreal’s ‘’African expedition’’ experimental product that is also not that
amazing despite the great marketing. The only thing that works for
our natural hair is coconut oil, cocoa butter and some other home made
concoctions that are not readily available. This is a missed opportunity. African
Americans have products like Carol’s Daughter and we Africans with our
relentless curls have not created a product that is designed for our particular
kink. I have recently started using Moroccan Oil products and while I really do
want to use this product for life, it still has made no visible difference to
the texture and strength of my hair. Any tips?
5. The
gay stylists at the fancy salons are always too familiar.
I feel like this story has
taken on its own course and is not in fact going in the way that I had
planned. But it still needs to be told. I’m going to end
it here and tomorrow, continue with the details of what happened at the hair
salon in Yeoville where I did this hair style last Friday.
I’d love to hear your
thoughts on African hair salons, your experience of them and whether you can relate to
what I’m saying or whether you think I’m talking out of my bum.
