Getting My Hair Did...

Cathy and I spent all day in town, an exhausting, hot, and event filled day...but let me skip to the best art. We're in the dala dala headed home, and Cathy suggests we stop by the salon to get our hair washed. Having not washed my hair in at least a few days, I happily agreed to have someone else do it for me. The women in the salon were all hoots and giggles when I walked in with Cathy, and when they found out I wanted my hair washed (and as I later found out, styled too!) they turned up the thigh-slappin', laughter inducing excitement that much more. After having my head scrubbed nearly raw, I was seated in the styling chair. She started by blow drying my hair, which by the way has gotten really long, into a big puff of hair madness. This is going to be interesting, I said to myself, wondering what the heck I had gotten myself into. Once my frizzed out hair was dry, she worked a palmful of goop into my roots, making me look like a wet poodle. Cute. And then the styling began. I wanted to just get up and say that my hair looked nice the way it was, and not dig myself deeper towards the disaster I could see looming, but I didn't have the courage to disappoint. They were all having so much fun watching the production. My hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, gel was plastered to the top of my head reminiscent of the Mexican girls in high school whose hair always seemed to be permanently stuck in place, and funky lines were parted into the sides of my head. "I make your head into pineapple!" boasted Mama Zima. And that she did. She proceeded to twist and spike my hair into a horrible rendition of prom hair gone bad. But the women beamed in approval and Cathy gushed at how beautiful I looked. I smiled and pretended to love it too, secretly counting the hours until I could take it out. And more than a little horrified at the prospect of having to be seen in public like this. The second the bus tires begin to roll tomorrow, these bobby pins are coming out and I'm wrapping my overly gelled head in the security of a scarf! I think was was my first, and last visit to an African beauty salon!