The Hairdresser of Harare

by Tendai Huchu

  ‘You’ve come to the right place. I’ll show the lady around. You know your way around the shop — just grab whatever you like.’

  The storekeeper showed me several dresses that were all my size, each lovelier than the last. I settled on a strapless red dress with a corsage that was labelled ‘red organza rose corsage prom dress’.

  ‘You’ve made a fine choice. It came in just last week from Paris,’ the salesman told me.

  Dumi showed him the tuxedo he’d chosen and the attendant responded in a weird voice, ‘Oh, suit you, sir,’ then packed up laughing at a joke I didn’t get. The dress was put in a box and the suit packed.

  ‘I heard about Colin’s departure. I’m so sorry. We have to be extra careful, bro,’ the salesman said quietly as he wrapped the packages.

  ‘Everything happens for a reason,’ Dumi replied, looking at me.

  ‘I know, but it must be difficult for you. The two of you were close like this.’ He crossed two fingers on his right hand.

  ‘Just tell me the price.’ I thought I saw a brief flash of what may have been unease on Dumi’s face, but when I looked again, there was nothing to indicate that anything was wrong.

  I could have choked when the attendant gave us the bill. The suit and the dress cost thirty-nine times more than what each of us earned in a month. Dumi didn’t seem phased.

  ‘That’s not too bad.’

  ‘Are you going to put it on the account?’ the young man asked with an edgy smile.

  ‘Of course.’ Dumi signed a ledger that was suddenly there in front of him. We took the clothes and headed out. I couldn’t help turning back, worried that I had been drawn into some sort of con, but Dumi was his usual breezy confident self.

  When I asked how he could afford to buy us all this gear, he refused to answer, mumbling something vague about how he had an account. We bought ice-cream and sat in the shade of a palm tree by the cinema court fountain. Four bronze elephants shot jets of water through their trunks into the blue pool. People walked by with their expensive shopping. I dreamt of myself in the red dress. In a few weeks I would come to understand where Dumi got the money from.

  Nineteen

  The Ncubes had four children, three boys and a girl, the youngest. Dumisani was the third child; Patrick was the first-born. The weather was clear with wispy cirrus clouds floating in the sky. The wedding was taking place at the Catholic cathedral and I was worried that my dress would be crumpled on the commute. Despite Dumi’s desperate pleas, we let three kombis go by until we caught one that was sufficiently empty.

  Twice I had to stop him from chewing his fingernails. His eyes had a vacant stare as if he was fearful of something. I’d never seen him this agitated.

  ‘It’s going to be just fine. They’ll be happy to see you.’

  ‘I hope so. I reckon I’ll melt like a vampire when we get inside the church.’ Dumi stared through the window at the buildings as we went past. The tuxedo he’d chosen was a three-piece black singlebreasted Worcester that looked like something one only saw on television. It had a platinum coloured waistcoat and a matching tie with elegant designs. It even had a matching handkerchief in the breast pocket. While I fretted with my dress, he looked comfortable and at ease. I fancied other girls seeing me arrive with him would be envious, and that made me nervous. What if he walked away from me during the wedding; what would I do?

  ‘Promise you’ll stay beside me all day.’

  ‘You’ll be fine.’ He looked into my eyes when he said that and it made me feel better.

  When we got to the church on Fourth Street, the service had already begun. A spotty teenager with a badge labelled ‘usher’ led us to a seat in the pews. This was my first time in the Cathedral, though I had passed by it often. The stone masonry with its twin bell towers was an obvious European imitation, another inheritance of our colonial past. The interior was cool and a gentle breeze blew through the open windows.

  The priest was dressed in elaborate robes and he droned on in a pleasing voice as if this was something he’d done a thousand times before.

  ‘That’s the archbishop,’ Dumi whispered in my ear. I’d never seen an archbishop before and I expected him to be white, but he was even darker than me.

  I’d been told that Catholic masses were stale and cold with dull organ music so I was surprised when the choir broke into song. They sang in Shona, with African drums and rattles, ngoma ne hosho. The women’s voices merged with the men’s bass producing an effect that was confusing but beautiful. At Forward in Faith Ministries we only used guitars, western drums and a keyboard, because Pastor Mvumba preached against using traditional African instruments. He said that before the missionaries came, our people engaged in devil worship, so the instruments they used were the devil’s instruments. We sang in English and he preached in English too, when he was not speaking in tongues. I was a bit confused; maybe the Catholic Church was the devil’s church after all, but I couldn’t stop my foot tapping along to the music.

  The Archbishop moved on to the vows. I could not see the couple properly because there were so many heads in front of us and they stood a step below the Archbishop. From the front row I could hear a woman weeping. I didn’t know if she was the bride’s mother or the groom’s. Tears glistened in Dumi’s eyes as he heard his brother make his vows. With divorce not tolerated by the Catholics, it gave the ceremony a more solemn air than anything I’d seen before.

  The whole congregation erupted in applause and ululation once the vows had been made. Dumi took my hand in his and squeezed it and I saw tears of joy in his eyes.

  ‘That’s my brother.’ He pointed unneccessarily to the groom and his bride walking slowly down the aisle of the church. Patrick looked just like Dumi except rather more mature. The bride was stunning and her wedding dress had such a long train that it took six flowergirls to carry it, which they did with great reverence. They were followed by the best man, maid of honour, and a dozen bridesmaids and groomsmen. The bridesmaids all wore pink strapless dresses of such filigreed material, they could have been wedding dresses without trains. They carried hand-tied bouquets interlaced with Swarovski crystals and ribbons the colour of candy floss. The groomsmen wore tail tuxedos complete with top hats and tiny canes with brass knobs, which they carried with self-conscious airs. My mind was trying to work out how much the clothes alone cost, billions, trillions, when Dumi pointed, ‘There are my parents,’ but amidst all the people in the wedding party, I could not quite make out which couple he was referring to.

  It took a while for us to leave the church because the ushers conducted the guests from the front pews first. When we finally made it, the wedding party had left. They were being whisked off to Lake Chivero for their wedding photos. Shouldn’t Dumisani have been with them?

  ‘You’re going to love the reception. That’s the best bit of the wedding,’ Dumisani said cheerfully.

  A man shouted out to him, ‘Cousin Dumi, what the hell are you doing here? You missed the cars going to the photo shoot.’ They shook hands.

  We were surrounded by people greeting him and congratulating him on his brother’s wedding. Most of them were relatives and friends. He spoke with everyone in a familiar manner, like someone used to being the centre of attention. I stood behind him like a stooge not knowing what to do with myself. Some of the guests came to have their picture taken with him.

  I tugged his sleeve and he turned back.

  ‘Remember me?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Vimbai. I just want everyone to wonder who the stunner is that I’ve brought with me.’ He took my hand. ‘We need transport to the reception.’

  ‘Where’s it going to be?’ I asked.

  ‘My parents’ house. Stay here for a minute, I have to find us a lift.’

  He vanished and I was left on my own watching the guests milling about. My mouth was dry, a sure sign that I was nervous. I wasn’t used to hanging around with people that I didn’t know. I scanned the crowd trying to pick out a familiar fa
ce, but I couldn’t find one. Everyone was new to me and everyone was well dressed. The air was filled with perfumes that I’d never smelt before and I felt like going to each of the finely dressed ladies to ask them what brand they wore. Pointless. I could never afford them anyway.

  A minute later Dumisani returned. Before he reached me another man stopped him and chatted briefly before letting him go.

  ‘I thought you said you wouldn’t leave me alone.’ I was fighting to control my temper.

  ‘Sorry, I just had to try to get us a ride. All the cars are full just now but my cousin Mike will be back for us in thirty, maybe forty-five minutes.’ He looked into my eyes, making me feel like I was the only person that mattered.

  Slowly everyone melted away until we were among just a few people left waiting for our lift. My feet hurt in my high heels. I could not afford to soil my dress by sitting on a dirty bench so I just endured the pain of my pinched toes. It seemed chivalrous that Dumisani stood with me, impatiently shifting his weight from one foot to the other. There was nothing for us to do but watch the slow-moving traffic. A vendor trying his luck came up to try to sell freezits and maputi, but no one was buying.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ I said to Dumi.

  ‘Sure thing.’

  ‘I don’t want you to take this the wrong way.’

  ‘It’s a bit difficult to take something the wrong way if you haven’t heard it.’

  ‘I just need to know why you lied to me that your parents were so poor you had to get a scholarship to get through high school.’ I was hoping he wouldn’t be offended, so I was relieved when he laughed.

  ‘Dear me, I never said my parents were poor. I only said that I went through school on a rugby scholarship.’

  I felt a bit of an idiot, but luckily cousin Mike’s Lexus pulled up. I was about to learn just how affluent Dumi’s parents really were.

  Twenty

  The electric gates swung open slowly and we drove up a long winding driveway until we reached the house atop a little hill. Cousin Mike struggled to find parking in the carport because there was an assortment of smart cars tightly packed together; Mercedes, BMWs, Escalades, Audis, all manner of 4x4’s and even a solitary Hummer. Cousin Mike found a parking spot in the bushes as if embarrassed by his car.

  Dumi got out and opened the door for me. I hesitated but he reached out his hand and I stepped out feeling like Cinderella, wondering just how much time I had before I turned into a pumpkin. Dumi could tell I was nervous.

  ‘Relax, they don’t bite.’

  ‘Can we wait for two minutes?’

  ‘Go on ahead. We’ll be with you in two minutes,’ Dumi said to cousin Mike.

  ‘Just give me a shout if you need anything.’

  When Mike left I nervously rearranged my dress.

  ‘You look lovely.’

  ‘I’ve never been so nervous in my whole life.’ I flashed an edgy smile. ‘Maybe you should’ve brought someone else with you.’

  ‘There’s no one I’d rather be with today. Remember that you and I are millionaires. Come now, let’s go inside.’

  The house was a mansion with a thatched roof, oiled beams, and built of granite and glass. The floors were tiled in marble and there was a fishpond with goldfish in the entrance hall where people were standing around sipping champagne.

  ‘Dumisani, my son! Come here!’ shouted a man who was already inebriated.

  ‘Uncle Thomas, it’s been such a long time.’ The two embraced enthusiastically.

  ‘And who is this fine young creature you have brought with you?’

  ‘This is Vimbai, we work together.’

  ‘If only I were forty years younger… Don’t tell your aunt I said that.’ He kissed both my cheeks and I could smell the whisky on his breath.

  We were grabbed by a host of people who wanted to greet us. There were cousins, friends, business associates, church members and all manner of others mingling and celebrating. I shook a hundred hands and kissed twice that number of lips, which was not the traditional way. All this time Dumi kept me firmly at his side and I felt secure. A maid in a black and white dress with a ridiculous little hat came and asked if I wanted a drink. I requested a glass of water for myself and some orange juice for Dumi.

  ‘Let’s go outside for a bit of fresh air,’ Dumi said after a while. Perhaps he was as tired as I was of listening to the lame jokes.

  We stepped out through massive French doors. The swimming pool had been hewn into the bedrock, which served as the foundation to the house. The solar powered pool engine hummed in the background.

  ‘Look how the water seems to disappear over the edge as if it were extending into the horizon. It’s called an infinity pool. Dad had engineers, architects and all sorts of people come over just to make sure it was done right. Of course it’s heated at night but no one ever seems to use it. Such a waste.’

  ‘It’s beautiful.’

  We walked down towards the edge of the pool from where there was a breathtaking view of the valley below. ‘That house over there belongs to Strive Masiyiwa, the guy who owns Econet. Maybe you should ask him for unlimited airtime when he stops by later.’ We were surrounded by trees and I could hear birds singing. I felt I was in the countryside. There was a clay tennis court just below us and I was enjoying the view when I saw two soldiers in camouflage squatting in the bushes.

  ‘What are those soldiers doing?’ My heart pumped, remembering how people had been beaten in the streets by soldiers during the last election.

  ‘You mean those guys, or maybe those ones, or those guys over there?’ The place was packed with them. ‘I don’t know, there must be someone important coming. Don’t worry, they’re harmless.’

  There had been soldiers in the streets and some manning the gate when we came in but I hadn’t given it any thought before now.

  The wedding party came in just after three o’clock. I could see Dumisani tense up as if the prospect of meeting his family was unbearable. We walked towards them but had to wait as they were having photos taken in the garden.

  ‘The prodigal son returns,’ said Patrick with a huge smile. ‘You’ve no idea what it means to us to see you here, bro. I didn’t think you’d come but Tsungi said you would make it and you did.’ The bride, Tsungi, gave Dumi a kiss and the three of them embraced.

  ‘I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.’

  The whole family embraced in one large group hug around Dumisani. It was as if by clinging to him they were trying to exorcise a demon that had plagued the family. The tenderness there almost moved me to tears.

  ‘What have we here?’ said a short man with a moustache and a shiny bald head.

  ‘Dad, I want you to meet my girlfriend, Vimbai,’ said Dumi. I was taken aback. He had called me his girlfriend. How was I to respond?

  ‘Your girlfriend?’ repeated his mother, a tall woman who must have been a beauty in her prime. Then she burst into tears. I thought I had done something wrong, but how could I, just by standing there? Maybe I wasn’t good enough for her son? Why should that even matter? I was not really his girlfriend. Should I correct the mistake? ‘Come here, my child,’ she said, and embraced me.

  The whole family gathered around me like I was some sort of zoological curiosity. They prodded and felt me, as if to check if I really was flesh and blood. I said, ‘Makadini henyu,’ clapped my hands, and curtsied in the traditional manner.

  ‘See that! She is well-mannered, not like these modern girls walking the streets of Harare,’ his father cried triumphantly. The bride cast me a jealous glare as if I was stealing her show. A short skinny bridesmaid wearing spectacles pushed her way to the front. She introduced herself as Michelle, Dumisani’s younger sister.

  ‘Get off her, people, you’re suffocating her. God, she must think we’re a family of weirdos.’ She grabbed my wrist. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  ‘Wait, please. Let’s get a photo taken with her,’ Dumi’s father said. If my day had ended then, wi
th me on cloud nine, it would have been a success and I would have been saved from the embarrassment of what happened later that evening.

  Michelle and I hit it off at once. She was nineteen and had very white teeth, which dazzled you when she smiled. For a skinny girl she had bumps in all the right places. She whisked me off to her bedroom, which was twice as large as my living room. Whilst there she interrogated me about how I’d met her brother, how we got on and the like. I answered the questions truthfully, we had met at the hair salon where we both worked, we got on well, etc. She didn’t delve any deeper into the relationship and so I was grateful that I didn’t have to answer any more personal questions until I had figured out just where Dumi and I were going with this.

  ‘Let’s go down. We have to meet and greet otherwise people will say we’re arrogant twats.’ Michelle had a southern twang that was the result of having done her schooling in the USA.

  There were even more people down at the party, a mixture of blacks and whites, and I heard a number of foreign accents. I got to rub shoulders with men like Nigel Chanakira, Mutumwa Mawere, Jonathan Moyo, Nicholas van Hoogstraten and a host of others from the business and the political world. Now I understood why the security was so tight.

  ‘Auntie Grace!’ squealed Michelle, running over to hug a familiar looking lady wearing a large veiled hat that looked like she was going to the races at Ascot. I racked my brain trying to remember just where I had met her before. ‘Auntie Grace, I want you to meet my muroora, Vimbai.’

  The lady shook my hand and kissed my cheeks. As she did so I gave an involuntary whimper, realising I was being kissed by the president’s wife.

  ‘How do you do my child?’

  I stammered, unable to speak.

  ‘Vimbai is the best hairdresser in the country. You should let her do your hair and maybe you’ll stop hiding it beneath those hats of yours,’ Michelle joked. I didn’t know whether to laugh and only did so when the first lady laughed.