The Hairdresser of Harare

by Tendai Huchu

  ‘If she is as good as you say then I would love that. Ring my office and we can arrange an appointment.’

  Michelle led me away without my having said a single word. ‘The first lady wants me to do her hair’ spun in my head. I was in seventh heaven, when a familiar face came up to me.

  ‘Vimbai, what on earth are you doing here?’ It was Phillip, as drunk as a fish, and bumping through the guests as he staggered towards us. ‘Hello, darling.’

  He tried to kiss me and I moved away.

  ‘Wavakuvhaira manje. It must be because you’re mixing with the great and the good.’ He spilt beer on the floor, trying to keep his balance. I swallowed hard and stared at the floor.

  ‘Hey, come on, baby, what’s the matter?’ He leaned over, unsteady on his feet, spilling beer on my brand new dress. As I tried to back away he grabbed my backside.

  ‘Let her go, you creep,’ said Michelle, trying to prise me loose. People were beginning to stare. Phillip shoved her hard and she went flying across the floor.

  ‘This is my whore, you should all know it!’ he shouted at the top of his voice. I started to cry. I had never been so humiliated in my life.

  Dumi and his brother Luke appeared from nowhere. Dumi set me loose and punched Phillip in the face. The bully landed hard on the marble floor and spat out both front teeth. A woman screamed. The two brothers yanked their victim up and bundled him out of the room, leaving a trail of blood on the floor behind them. It seemed impossible that they had defended the honour of a girl from Budiriro, when she’d been affronted by one of the wealthiest and best-connected businessmen in the country. Guests were talking and pointing at me as if I was a circus freak.

  Michelle led me out of the room and guided me back to her bedroom. She kept asking if I was all right and if I needed anything. I told her I just wanted to go home. For ten minutes she tried to convince me to stay, but I couldn’t face all those people again. A chauffeur drove me home, and I felt more like Cinderella than ever.

  Twenty one

  It should have rained for me on Monday, but it didn’t. As if to mock me the sun shone in all its glory and there was not a single cloud in the sky. I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was the sort of feeling you have when you’ve thrown up so much and there isn’t anything left in your stomach but you keep retching. I saw Chiwoniso off with a kiss and went back to bed. There was a chance I would be sacked but I didn’t care. I tossed and turned for a bit, replaying the events at the wedding for the hundredth time. Meeting all those wonderful people and then bam, Phillip came along like a bull.

  If it wasn’t for Chiwoniso, I would regret ever having met him, but she was undeniably the one good thing that had come out of it all. The man hadn’t spoken to me in months and then he puts his grimy hands around me as if I’m a piece of furniture. When I closed my eyes I saw all the guests looking and pointing at me and felt even sicker.

  I had sense enough at ten o’clock to pick up the phone and call Mrs Khumalo. If I was going to get sacked then at least I should get it over and done with.

  ‘Hello,’ she answered on a crackly line.

  ‘I’m not feeling well. I can’t come in to work today.’ I wasn’t lying, I felt horrible.

  ‘You should talk to Dumi, he’s your manager.’

  What an idea! I couldn’t bear to speak with him. He hadn’t come home on Sunday and I feared the worst.

  ‘I tried to call the salon but the phone was engaged.’

  ‘It should be all right. Take all the time you need, my dear. See you at work tomorrow.’ She hung up.

  I closed the curtains and crawled back into bed. Maidei brought me a cup of tea, which I left on the sideboard until it grew cold. I felt worse than a drug addict coming down from a high. I shut my eyes and drifted in and out of consciousness. All I needed was someone with a gun to put me out of my misery.

  My phone rang. It was a number I didn’t know so I let it ring out. It rang again and then again. I gave up and answered it.

  ‘Hello, is this Vimbai? It’s Michelle, I’m driving up and down Clyde Road like a lunatic. I’ve knocked on two wrong houses already, which one is your place?’

  ‘Number ten, that’s the one with a black gate, you can’t miss it.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She hung up.

  I jumped out of bed and looked for something presentable to wear. She was tooting at the gate, so I sent Maidei to open it for her. The wardrobe was full of clean clothes but none of them seemed good enough. My hair was a mess and I could hear them coming into the house.

  ‘Tisvikewo,’ Michelle said, which sounded funny in her American accent.

  ‘Just give me two minutes,’ I called out.

  ‘I’m going to tell my parents that their muroora is so lazy she sleeps until one in the afternoon.’

  I pulled on a pair of blue jeans and a white shirt and tied my hair back in a ponytail. That would have to do for the time being. I rushed out and greeted her. She rose and kissed my cheeks.

  ‘Welcome to my house. Make yourself feel at home.’

  Maidei came out with a glass of diluting juice and I sent her back to get some Coke instead.

  ‘This is a nice house you have here,’ Michelle said, looking around.

  ‘You can’t say that, you live in a palace.’ I was flattered.

  ‘Really, it is nice and cosy. I can see why Dumi moved in here.’ I remained silent. It would reflect badly on me if they thought that we were already living together as a couple, especially with the scene Phillip had caused at the party. She could tell I was uncomfortable, so she added, ‘When I was in Memphis I lived with an older guy for three months, but we broke up before I came back. He found it tough to be with me because I made him do all the cooking and cleaning. I told him in Africa we have maids, so I wasn’t used to it. He must have got scared at the prospect of a lifetime with me and so he ran.’

  I laughed, relieved she was sharing her dirty little secret with me.

  ‘What was it like in America?’

  ‘It’s alright but its nothing like home. The people there don’t wash.’ She got up, moved over to the radio and looked at my CD collection. ‘This music is sooo old.’

  ‘Those are the classics,’ I retorted.

  ‘Who listens to Tevin Campell or K-Ci and Jojo any more?’ She put the CDs neatly back in their place.

  Chiwoniso came running in and jumped on me. She was still in her uniform and her satchel dangled on her back.

  ‘Mummy, I’m hungry.’

  ‘And who do we have here?’ Michelle moved forward, offering her hand.

  ‘This is my daughter, Chiwoniso.’ My heart fluttered. They would never accept me if they knew I already had a child, and, worse, one born out of wedlock. I felt my heart sink even as I looked at my precious baby.

  ‘Oh my God, she’s so cute. Come here, come to Auntie Michelle.’ Picking her up, Michelle brought Chiwoniso over to the sofa next to me. They were smiling at each other and holding hands. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you had a daughter? I’m feeling sooo broody now. Look at her.’

  This reaction took me by surprise. If I hadn’t composed myself I would have gasped. The inevitable question followed.

  ‘Who’s the father?’

  I buried my head in my hands. ‘You don’t want to know.’

  ‘Of course I do, and if he’s single I’m getting myself a sperm donation.’ She laughed as if this was the most natural thing to say in the world.

  ‘Phillip Mabayo.’

  ‘That jackass! Hell no, I aint going there.’ We both laughed. ‘So that explains why he was being such a prick at the wedding.’

  I told her how I hadn’t seen Phillip in ages and that there’d been nothing between us for years. Michelle was a good listener and very sympathetic when she learnt that he had reneged on his responsibilities as a father. We laughed at the thought of Phillip losing his two front teeth.

  ‘Every time he speaks it will sound like th, th, th.’ Michelle said. Even
at nineteen she was of the same opinion as I was that all men were pigs. She could not take her eyes off Chiwoniso and, in my relief, I felt happy, but Michelle was just one person. What of the whole family? I wondered if they would all be so open-minded.

  ‘Dumi never came back home on Saturday.’ I was anxious to find out the extent of the damage Phillip had inflicted.

  ‘It’s not because of Phillip.’ That reassured me. ‘Patrick and Tsungai were leaving for their honeymoon in Jamaica on Sunday, so we all had to be there to see them off at the airport. He might stay over for a few more days just for us to catch up on things.’

  ‘Why did he fall out with the rest of the family? He’s such a nice guy that I find it hard to believe he would ever fall out with anyone. At least not intentionally.’

  ‘All families squabble. I was in America when it happened. It was probably nothing, but Dumi is a sensitive guy. The important thing is that we are together now as a family… plus you of course. You’re going to be my best friend in the whole wide world.’

  Charm must have been a genetic trait in the Ncube family. Michelle had made me feel better from the moment I’d met her.

  We talked about a lot of things. I found myself wondering if this was real or a façade. Dumi had said I was his girlfriend but we’d never spoken about having a relationship. If it was a game how far should I play along with it? Why were we playing it in the first place? I needed answers.

  Twenty two

  Tuesday was the first day of September and I went to work with my spirits high. The cramped commute and the abusive conductor did nothing to dampen my spirits. There was a light drizzle as if the rain was teasing the earth. I passed several banks with long winding queues, feeling lucky that I was paid in cash, and so never had to endure the soul-destroying hours waiting in line for your own money.

  I looked forward to seeing Dumi, though I was a little apprehensive. The way in which Michelle had spoken to me did a lot to reassure me that everything would be all right. When I arrived Dumi was opening up. He smiled and came over to hug me.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough for coming with me to the wedding.’

  ‘That’s what friends are for,’ I said, testing him.

  ‘Yeah, right.’ He struggled with the rusty clanking lock.

  ‘So everything’s all right?’

  ‘Just perfect.’ He swung the door open.

  ‘There’s something I need to know…’ Just then, Agnes showed up with the other girls. ‘It can wait.’ I couldn’t risk speaking in front of these gossip-mongers, especially when I was still so unsure of Dumi’s intentions.

  ‘Well there’s something I need to tell you.’ He touched the tip of my nose with his index finger. My heart pounded — was he going to say what I thought he would say?

  ‘Trina is coming in at two o’clock today and we’re going to do her hair. You and me.’ It was good news, but I was deflated. There was something more urgent on my mind.

  The power went off just after ten. ZESA no longer bothered to warn anyone about their load-shedding schedule, if they had one. A noisy generator was switched on at the house next door. That always happened when the power went off, but you might have thought they would at least have waited until evening. The man who lived there worked for NOCZIM, which explained why he had petrol to burn, but it didn’t make it any less of a waste at eleven o’clock in the morning.

  ‘I guess we’ll just have to use the solar dryers,’ I said. Agnes laughed and took some chairs outside. When the power went off we had the clients sit in the sun to dry their hair a little before we styled it.

  The familiar droning of Trina’s diesel engine came up the driveway. She honked and stepped out wearing her trademark khakis. Even with a hairdressing appointment, she still had no sense of style. Dumi grinned and signalled for me to get ready. This would be the first time I’d ever done a white person’s hair so I was anxious. He winked at me and I smiled.

  ‘Makadini Madzimai,’ she said as she offloaded a box from the back of the truck. She paused briefly to glance at the two clients sitting in the sun. ‘What’s going on here?’

  ‘There’s no electricity.’

  ‘Tell Mrs Khumalo to get a generator.’

  ‘Solar is more ecofriendly,’ Dumi said with a laugh.

  She came in and put the box down. Agnes began to check that the supplies were correct. As usual they were and she went to the main house and brought out two boxes of soap. Trina counted them and shook her head, ‘Five more bars.’

  ‘But mum said…’

  ‘Five more bars.’ Agnes returned and came back with five more bars. Dumi made a low bow and gestured for Trina to sit in his chair. She handed him plastic bag full of products that I hadn’t seen before. Dumi rubbed his hands together and blew on them.

  ‘I’m not too sure about this.’ Trina seemed to be gritting her teeth.

  ‘It’s too late to turn back now, darling,’ Dumi replied.

  He asked me to pin most of her hair up, leaving a little layer at the back of the head. Then he took a tail comb and wove it in and out of the strands, and, lifting a section, he placed a foil underneath it, painting the strand with blonde highlighter. He told me to fold the foil over the strand to secure it. With quite an air, he asked me to repeat the process, occasionally making a little correction, until her whole head was covered in foil. It was easier than I thought it would be and I couldn’t help standing arms akimbo as every one in the salon looked at our foiled handiwork.

  ‘When you’re finished, I’ll tell you which one is the ‘Hairdresser of Harare’,’ Trina smiled.

  ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to go solar for half an hour before we do the styling,’ Dumi said, leading Trina to join the ladies in the sun. ‘You can work on your tan while you’re there.’

  ‘Look at these freckles, I’m browner than you are.’

  Trina sat out in the sun having a conversation about whether the rains would come with the other ladies outside. It seemed everyone was a farmer to some degree. There was a general consensus that the rainfall patterns had become a lot less predictable. Trina made some mention about a new strain of drought-resistant maize that had been produced by Seedco, and argued that it was dangerous for corporations to patent seed. The other ladies didn’t seem to understand this part of the argument, nevertheless they agreed with what she was saying.

  The day was going well until a black Mercedes pulled up in the driveway. I did not recall seeing her name on the appointment book but was pleased to see that Minister M___ had brought her husband with her. The chauffeur opened the door and she stepped out wearing a black version of the Robert Mugabe dress she had worn previously. Her braids were coming undone and so she’d come in to get her hair done again.

  ‘Pamberi neZanu!’ She waved a fist in the air. I was taken aback, she’d never chanted slogans before. When no one responded she shouted, ‘Ndati, Pamberi neZanu PF!’

  ‘Pamberi NeZanu.’ We replied with limp fists in the air.

  ‘That’s much better now. If I’d known that this salon catered for Rhodesians, I would have closed it down a long time ago. Zimbabwe will never be a colony again. How are you, Mrs Price? It is good to see you after such a long time.’

  Trina clenched and unclenched her fists. Her face was a tight mask. She stood up.

  ‘The tobacco you planted before you left did really well. I congratulate you on how well you trained your workers,’ Minister M___ went on. ‘Rest assured Good Hope farm is very productive.’

  ‘You already have eight farms, how many more do you need?’

  ‘You should have told that to your ancestors when they were stealing our land. Tell all your friends that we’re going to take all the land back and then we’re coming for the houses you bought in the suburbs with your ill-gotten riches. Mabhunu muchapera.’

  ‘You can’t intimidate me. And let me tell you one thing, this tyranny that you call a government is going to collapse when the masses rise up against you.’ />
  ‘If you think your MDC puppets are going to take over this country then you can just forget it…’

  Dumi stepped in between the two women.

  ‘This is my place of business. There will be no politics here.’

  Minister M___’s husband was standing on the sidelines; his eyes drooped as though he had no interest in the exchange. His roughly shaven face told the story of a man who’d seen a lot in the world and of life.

  ‘Go back to Britain, you white pig.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere. This is my home and I have as much right as you to be here.’

  ‘Minister M___, if you persist in insulting other clients I shall have to ask you to leave.’ Dumi spoke firmly, holding out his hand for Trina to stop talking. Mr M___ raised his eyebrows and stroked his chin.

  The way in which Dumisani conducted himself took the minister aback. She blinked, unused to being spoken to in this way, and then quickly regained her composure.

  ‘Young man, if the MDC is teaching you to be a dog to white people then I shall teach you a lesson you will never forget.’

  ‘This is not about the MDC, it is not about Black or White or any other kind of division. I’m telling you to respect our other clients who are here.’

  ‘Mrs Khumalo will be firing you very soon.’

  ‘That’s fine by me, madam, but as it stands this is my salon. Now if you want your hair done go inside, if not, goodbye and have a nice day.’

  Minister M___ walked inside in a huff and her husband followed her slowly with his hands in his pockets. Trina had turned red and was breathing heavily as if she was about to cry. The minister reached for her phone and made a call. I didn’t catch all of it but I heard her say, ‘Tell the war vets to come to Khumalo’s salon in the Avenues.’

  ‘It’s no longer safe for you here. You must leave,’ Dumi said to Trina.