His smile radiated from the mirror as he looked at his face. The haircut and fade he had just gotten was much better than he had expected.
As the barber dabbed some rubbing alcohol into a bit of foam and wiped clean his fade. He would definitely tell his friends about her.
Mr Kyere was a local mechanic who owned a fitting shop just near the Spanner junction. He had an important event this evening and could in no way go to his regular barber as he had a busy day so he opted to try this one. He had heard good things about her so far. His boys had started cutting their hair here about a week ago and each cut looked good on everyone no matter their head size or shape. They had referred to her as “Blackie” because of her heightened melanin. Mr Kyere had not anticipated “Blackie” as a woman.
Abena set up her shop just at airport junction. It was by the roadside where the road bends to Villagio and African Regent Hotel.
She had nailed a mirror protected by an orange colored wooden structure to an aluminum roofing sheet which had formed a fence to keep encroachers away from the undeveloped property. Well, she wasn’t on the property. The mirror faced the road so that her clients could watch her do her magic while very aware of what was happening around them. It’s was like a special kind of HD television with better than surround sound. She had a long wooden bench at the left side of the mirror.She had a little table set up under the mirror where she kept her tools, a wooden hairbrush with hard bristles, a pack of Blades, a blue tail comb, rubbing alcohol, sporting waves cream and a pair of scissors.
Abena loved the satisfied look on the faces of her clients. It was what kept her going everyday. The conversations they would have about the government and empty promises, traditions which were no longer useful, young kids being given too much freedom. Each clients had something they wanted to discuss. She would listen to each one and pick their arguments apart. She would then side with them in the end as though she agreed even if she knew they were just obstinate mules. She had in a few weeks gained the hearts of her first clients who brought back more clients.
Her skill with the blade was an old and gold one. Back in the village where she came from, she had watched her father shave her brother’s hair every week. She had learned to crop hair before she had learnt to cook. The comb and blade felt easier than the cooking pot.
This was her little open air barbershop. It had been 3 weeks since she started and so far so good.
firefly 