The Hairdresser of Harare

by Tendai Huchu

  ‘Sorry.’ I was trying not to be distracted by the sight of his naked chiselled torso. The boy had a six-pack!

  ‘It’s all right, I wasn’t really asleep anyway. I’ve just been listening to the crickets, it was driving me insane.’

  ‘Me too,’ I laughed. ‘Don’t think I’m trying to pressure you, living under the same roof makes us virtually family, and I’m just concerned about whatever’s on your mind. You should know that you can talk to me about anything.’

  He sighed. His room was even tidier than my own. Everything was very well ordered, even though the number of his possessions should have resulted in clutter. I stood by the door until he gestured for me to come in and sit on a stool by the dressing table. I was mindful enough to keep the door wide open. There was a distant look in his eyes as if he was thinking of something profound. It was best to wait until he was ready to speak. My limited experience with men had taught me that much.

  ‘This is going to seem very silly to you.’

  ‘It’s not silly if it’s bothering you this much.’

  He took a deep breath, and looked like a fish gasping for breath in the open air. ‘My elder brother, Patrick, is getting married next Saturday.’

  ‘That’s great news.’ I was a sucker for weddings and figured he might be a bit grumpy because he was struggling with getting a present or something like that.

  ‘The thing is, I fell out with my family twelve months ago and we haven’t spoken since.’

  I know all about falling out with family so I said, ‘I take it you’re wondering whether or not you should go to the wedding.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘It’s obvious. I would be asking myself the same thing if I were in your position.’

  ‘I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘If you want my opinion, I think you should go.’ I felt a bit like an agony aunt. ‘It’s your brother, we only live once and you’ll regret not having been there on his wedding day for the rest of your life if you choose to stay away.’

  He snuggled his head into the pillow and looked at the ceiling while I stifled a yawn.

  ‘That’s just the thing, that’s what I want, but to do it is hard.’

  ‘A wise man once told me to swallow my pride,’ I said, thinking of Fungai.

  ‘It’s not a matter of pride…’

  ‘You should go.’

  ‘I will go,’ he said suddenly, with a half smile. ‘Thanks, Vimbai. I guess I just needed someone to tell me that.’

  I got up happy that I had done what I could to help him. The parallel with my own family problems was disturbing and I just prayed that things would work out better for him. Before I left I turned round and asked, ‘What was the problem between you and the family?’

  ‘It was just something stupid… Please switch off the light on your way out.’

  Seventeen

  There are people who can get anything they want through the strength of their personality. It’s a combination of having the right type of education and an upbringing that taught you how to navigate society’s mores. It was on Monday morning that Mrs Khumalo gathered us together for a special announcement. She was smiling at us, something we were unused to. This sort of meeting was not something we had ever had before so we sat down and waited in nervous anticipation.

  ‘There are going to be some new developments,’ she said. ‘Next month we’re going to shut down the salon for a time (I had a sinking feeling in my stomach at the thought of going without pay). You will be paid your full salaries, of course, (I felt better straight away) because it’s a result of all your hard work that this salon is now doing so well. There should be no doubt in anyone’s mind that we are the best in the city. So, we have decided to do some extensive renovations and expand the building. If we are Number One then we have to look the part.’

  We clapped our hands enthusiastically and congratulated each other. Mrs Khumalo reached from behind the cash desk and brought out a bottle of champagne, which she poured into seven plastic tumblers.

  ‘I also have one more very important notification.’ (Mrs Khumalo loved big words). ‘I’ve been running this place with your help, but I have many other responsibilities. This place needs a manager. It needs someone who is responsible and has experience in the industry. Agnes is my daughter but that is not a qualification in itself. There are two people I have had to choose between. Vimbai has many years of experience and is very good with our clients. They all know her and respect her, and for many years she has shouldered the responsibility of making sure the standard of our work is world class. I also know she is hardworking and loyal. The other person is Dumisani. He has less experience but he’s innovative and creative. It was a tough choice for me, and I couldn’t sleep, but my decision is … Dumisani, because he has dynamism and an X-factor that I can’t quite articulate. Raise your glasses.’

  My mind went blank. My hand limply raised the cup as if by some supernatural force. All my years of loyal service down the drain. Agnes gave me a satanic smile. Yolanda and Memory looked sympathetic, as if they were torn in two. Charlie Boy smiled enthusiastically.

  ‘I would like to declare a toast to the salon and to our manager, Dumisani.’

  I tipped the drink down my throat. This was the first time I’d drunk champagne. Its bubbles tingled my tongue but I downed it with a gulp, and found it unpalatable. I squeezed the cup so hard it broke with the characteristic plastic snap. The others were clapping but my hands only moved when Yolanda elbowed me. Dumisani got up and gestured for us to be still. I figured he wanted to test his new powers.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t expecting this when I came in to work this morning. Thank you, Mrs Khumalo, I am well and truly humbled. I just want to say to the rest of the team (team — what was this? Did he think we were some sort of rugby squad?) that we must work well together. I can’t do this alone; I’m going to need your help to make sure that this business continues to be a success. If there are any problems or issues, please do not hesitate to see me, my door is always open (you don’t even have a bloody office). That’s all I have to say, now let’s get to work, people.’

  The two of them left the room grinning at each other like two civet cats. No doubt they were going out to discuss his pay increase. Less than six months after he had started, he was manager. I felt like resigning on the spot. I even took a halfhearted step forward and then sank back in my chair.

  ‘Tough luck, shamwari,’ Agnes said with a contemptuous laugh.

  ‘Nxii, I didn’t want the job anyway,’ I replied.

  ‘Then why are your eyes so red? I think someone is jealous.’

  ‘Come on, that’s not nice. Leave her alone.’ Yolanda stood up for me, something I will be grateful for for the rest of my life, because if she hadn’t, Lord only knows what I would have done.

  Dazed for the rest of the day, I worked like an automaton, without an ounce of life left in me.

  ‘Are you going to wait for me while I do the cash and lock up? It will only take two minutes,’ Dumi said when, at last, the day ended.

  ‘There’s something important I need to do at home.’ I grabbed my bag and dragged my feet, which felt as if they had lead weights attached to them.

  Brakes screeched as a car came to a sudden halt in front of me.

  ‘You stupid idiot, how can you step into the middle of the road! Are you mad or something?’ The driver waved his fist, his face contorted. People were staring at me as I hurried off. The driver shouted some obscenities and drove away. I walked into Harare Gardens, the once lovely botanical masterpiece that now looked exactly how I felt. The rows of flowers were wilted and the lawn was a brown desert. On the benches lay the homeless soaking up the sun. Amidst this squalor was a blue uniformed ice-cream man ringing his bell, trying to entice people to buy a cone. A pot-bellied man who looked as if he needed a shave was going in the opposite direction when he suddenly turned around saying, ‘God must be missing an angel, because girl when I saw
you, I knew you must be one of his angels.’

  I ignored him.

  ‘You must be a hell of a thief because you stole my heart just by the way you walk.’ He was trotting, trying to catch up with me. ‘Girl, talk to me, just for a minute and I will be happy for the rest of my life… Hell, baby, you are hard to get but let me be your Romeo and I’ll treat you like the princess you are.’

  ‘Go away,’ I said, increasing my pace.

  ‘Baby, just give me a chance, I’m a great guy, I have a good job, my own house and a nice car. It’s just at the garage today, that’s why I’m walking.

  ‘I’m not interested.’

  ‘I know you’re not but I am. Tell you what, give me your phone number and I’ll call you. We can get to know each other. How about it?’

  ‘Leave me alone you pervert!’ I shouted so loudly that all the people around us could hear. He got the message and stopped. Then the barrage I was waiting for came: ‘You slut, I was just trying to give you a chance, do you really think anyone in their right mind would want to go out with something as ugly as you…’

  I kept walking and didn’t look back. Tears ran down my cheeks, streaking my make-up. I was crying in public and I didn’t care. All I needed was to get home to be with my daughter. I passed by the Reserve Bank and stopped to look at my face in the windows. I was a puny ugly insect standing at the base of one of the tallest buildings in the city, which the likes of me could never hope to ascend.

  The city went on with its business as usual, oblivious to my pain. This is what it was to be a single mother, ugly and without prospects. I made my way to the bus stop, brushing past bodies, praying that somehow the earth would swallow me up.

  Eighteen

  It was only when I had Chiwoniso in my arms that I felt life was worth living again. Her tiny head on my bosom filled me with a strength that was like a good drug coursing through my veins. There is no way she could understand why I was holding her so close, but I was slipping and she was the only thing stopping me from going over the edge. I let her go and she went off to her bedroom to play with her toys. Smoke was coming into the house so I told Maidei to shut the kitchen door.

  It would have been nice to soak myself in the bath but the geyser was switched off and it would take time for the water to warm up. I walked to the radio and looked at the pile of CDs. I put on Joe Thomas’s ‘All That I Am’, and remembered when he’d come to Zimbabwe for a tour. I removed it when he started to go on about love. I needed something to chill me out, not some romantic crap.

  There was the sound of keys in the door and then Dumi came in. He threw himself on the sofa and said, ‘What a day, hey?’

  ‘Um hum.’ I couldn’t be assed to waste my breath.

  ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘About what?’ Why wouldn’t he just go away?

  ‘I just think we should talk about what happened at work today.’ He seemed a little timorous.

  ‘You may be the manager but that doesn’t mean we should bring work home. This is my house and don’t you forget it.’

  ‘That’s not what I was on about. I just need to know there are no hard feelings that’s all.’

  ‘Why should there be?’ I swatted a mosquito that settled on the wall next to me. It burst, leaving a bloody smudge.

  ‘I just think that you’ve worked at the salon for much longer than any of us and if I were you I would feel some sort of entitlement when this post came up.’

  ‘Maybe you should tell that to the boss.’

  ‘I’ll resign tomorrow then,’ he said, getting up, ‘Our friendship means more to me than some stupid job.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ I was stunned he considered me a friend and was willing to make this sacrifice for my happiness. ‘I think you’ll be a great manager.’

  ‘That means a lot to me. Look what I’ve got.’ He fished out two bottles of Green Valley wine.

  Forward in Faith Ministries forbade the drinking of alcohol but I thought to hell with it and drank anyway. I needed something to drown my sorrows. The sweet wine went quickly to my head. I hadn’t eaten, so I was drinking on an empty stomach.

  ‘There was something else I wanted to talk to you about,’ said Dumi.

  ‘Here we go again.’

  ‘It’s about the wedding.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind again.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do such a thing, but I have a problem. I had a date for Saturday but it turns out she has other plans, so I was wondering if you could come with me.’

  ‘What will your girlfriend think?’

  ‘She’s a girl and a friend but not my girlfriend.’

  ‘Why don’t you go with your girlfriend, whoever she is, then?’

  He shrugged and said, ‘That would be very difficult given the fact that I don’t have a girlfriend.’

  A guy like him being single was next to impossible. He should have had a girlfriend. In fact, now I thought about it, I’d never seen him make a pass at any of the girls at work or anywhere else at that. Flirting with the clients seemed like second nature to him but he always held back and kept things professional. I’d just assumed he had a girlfriend or girlfriends…

  ‘You should go with Yolanda. I think she likes you.’

  ‘There’s no way I’m taking her. Her boyfriend is massive. I’m too young to die.’

  ‘What about Memory?’

  ‘She’s a great girl but I need someone who knows how to carry themselves amongst people they don’t know.’

  ‘And you think I know how to carry myself?’ I was intrigued and flattered at the same time.

  ‘You’re classy and good looking. I need a piece of eye candy dangling off the side of my arm.’ He laughed and threw his hands wide open. ‘How about it?’

  ‘I’ll have to think about it.’

  ‘Oh, come now, the wedding is Saturday and I’m not taking no for an answer.’ That settled the matter. I might have been bitter but I’ve always loved weddings and it would be the first one this year. I wasn’t going to resist any further.

  On Friday we got off early. Dumi arranged the books so we had few clients in the shop and left Agnes in charge. The two of us made our way to Parirenyatwa hospital where we caught a kombi. It was early in the afternoon, so we actually had a whole seat to ourselves. The vehicle wove slowly along, avoiding the potholes. It was a rickety old thing and Dumi said if it hit one more pothole the suspension would give. We went past Avondale, with its antiquated charms. There was life all around us, people walking the streets as if they had jobs.

  The kombi stopped and picked up two girls wearing extra-large sunglasses who spoke in English with a nasal accent. Back in the day they would have been called manose brigade; anything that stripped you of your Africanness — whether it was the sound of your voice or the nature of your hair — was something to be admired. One day perhaps Chiwoniso would speak like these girls. Maybe it was progress, but it didn’t feel right.

  ‘Shit, when did they set that up!’ The driver slammed on his brakes for a roadblock.

  Three policemen lazily waved the cars in front of us through but stopped our kombi and told the driver to park near the pavement, where another policeman sat in the shade, a rifle placed across his lap.

  ‘Is this car registered?’ the officer asked once he had greeted the driver.

  ‘Hongu ishe.’ The driver nodded his head vigorously.

  The policeman went round the car kicking each tyre as he went. He gave me a perverted look but went past without molesting us. When he was back at the driver’s door, he whistled and shook his head. ‘This commuter omnibus is unroadworthy. The tyres have no treads, in fact they’re bald; there are no reflectors on your mudguard; and your wipers have no blades on them. This car is a death trap. I am sure if we take it down to the VID, they will find more problems. I have no choice but to impound it.’

  ‘This car is my livelihood. If you take it away my family will starve.’ The driver was clapping his hands an
d pleading with the policeman.

  ‘I feel sorry for you, but I just have no choice. Public safety is not something we can toy around with. Just last week a kombi overturned on the Harare-Masvingo road because the brake pads were worn out and the driver could not stop in time. Ask your passengers to step out of the vehicle.’

  ‘Please, I’m begging you, don’t take my car away.’

  ‘I’m just following the law,’ the officer said, folding his hands.

  ‘Please, there must be something you can do.’ The driver’s voice was cracking.

  ‘Help me to help you,’ the officer said in the quietest of voices.

  That was all the prompting the driver needed. He knew what to do. He took a large wad of banknotes and handed it to the policeman who pocketed it in a slow casual movement.

  ‘I’m only doing this as an act of kindness; you have to get the problems on your car fixed. Next time, be quick to produce the right paperwork.’ The policeman waved us through and we left, the kombi churning out copious amounts of smoke as it took off.

  This was my first time at the Westgate Shopping Centre since it opened in the late nineties. Its immaculate pinkish walls and the litter-free pavements made it feel like something from a first-world Mediterranean country. The people who shopped here also had a sophistication about them. They wore beautiful clothes and ate ice-cream. There were so many shops, all fully stocked. It was a woman’s paradise. The only thing that put me off were the prices. I couldn’t believe that people paid them, but there were plenty of customers with heaving shopping bags making their way to their flashy cars.

  ‘Over here.’ Dumi led me into a tiny boutique full of fashionable clothes that were clearly imported. Seeing us enter, the shopkeeper leapt up. ‘Hey, Dumisani. Long time, man. I thought you didn’t want to come here any more.’

  ‘How could I not? This is the best shop in the country.’

  ‘Business is slow, man.’

  ‘That’s because people don’t know quality. My brother Patrick is getting married tomorrow and the two of us need clothes.’