Kemi Bonuola: Memoirs of a bad hair day (30 Days, 30 Voices)

by Kemi Bonuola

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”So you can imagine how upsetting it is when you find yourself in a bad salon, bad in this context means ‘no ventilation, little space, and of course, unprofessional stylists’ ”

 

I have always been particular about hair. As a child, I obsessed about hair, and I loved hair so much that I used to imagine myself with long wavy hair. When describing myself I would say tall, dark with jet black hair! I still love hair which is why I get the jitters any time I go to the salon. I never go to the salon on a whim, nope, I am not that spontaneous when it comes to getting my hair done; I like to take my time and use several days to think about what salon to go to, what style to make and how much to budget for the hair.

Most of the time, I decide a week before that I would need a new hair do. Sometimes, I am pressed for cash so I stretch the hair a bit longer. Once I have made up my mind to fix a new hair, I begin to obsess about how I would look on it. I imagine the hair do in my mind’s eye and conclude that it would be the best for me.

So you can imagine how upsetting it is when you find yourself in a bad salon, bad in this context means ‘no ventilation, little space, and of course, unprofessional stylists’. Weeks before I went to this ‘bad’ saloon, I had fantasized about a short hairstyle I glimpsed in ‘Glamour’ magazine and I was eager to look glamorous!

After work on Friday, I took off the ‘old hair’ and packed my (new hair howbeit it undone) into my weekend bag and left for the country home (my father’s house) on Saturday afternoon. The weekend was fun and on my return on Sunday afternoon I was making mental notes, should I do a shoulder length style instead or maybe something with bangs? It was a serious battle and no style won!

When I alighted at my stop I called my hairdresser for short, snazzy, fab styles and … unfortunately, he was not available to attend to me that day, he said “tomorrow, tomorrow”. “I can’t make my hair tomorrow silly”, I thought; I had to be at work the next day. I considered my other options I was already having a tingly uncomfortable feeling, that feeling I feel when I know am going to (almost) have a bad day.

I boarded a tricycle to my next stop, determined to have a new hairstyle I proceeded to a (you guessed right) … “bad” salon. I’ll tell you something about this salon, I had made a passably nice hair style there once, so I was really hoping I would meet the same stylist. My entry into the salon was greeted by eight eyeballs, I could read their minds immediately, they thought I was loaded with cash. The fluorescent light was blinking off and on, a really bad sign and as I looked around the salon, I noted that the madam was out (another bad sign).

I was ready to take flight and abandon the new hair for another week, but a customer told me they would make the hair well. I was not convinced, but hoping to believe along the way, I said I wanted to wash and fix my hair. One of the pairs of eyes moved, got me a towel and proceeded to scrub my scalp to the point of tears!

After the “hair scrub”, I was led to a chair in the middle of the cramped salon, meanwhile, the light was still blinking. The clock ticked 6 pm and I didn’t have any intention of sitting outside to make my hair, I advised them to do something about the light; it must have been something in my voice because they quickly obliged. Later, I wondered what they would have done if I hadn’t spoken, of course at this point all thoughts of short, snazzy, sexy hair had flown out of my mind’s window!

The unprofessional stylist took my hair into her hands and tortured it under the humming hand dryer, I was very patient; no complaints at all. Did I add that language was a barrier? It was. I tried my very best to explain to my stylist what simple style I was condemned to fixing, she finally got the hang of it and for some minutes we were both happy. After my hair had been matted I brought out the weave and she threaded some needles. It was a balanced relationship.

Therefore, it was very startling when I saw her sewing the weave to the front of my hair, I barked at her at once “what? What are you trying to do? At least in all my years of hair fixing I have never for once seen the weave being attached from the front, you start at the back and work your way up. She said to me “aunty, wait!’’ I replied, ‘’wait? Ok, I am waiting.’’ She sewed it from the front to the back on one straight line and tried to brush my hair on top of it. I was scandalized! I said to her “I cannot allow you to make my hair like that loosen it, loosen it!’’ (I have this habit of repeating words when I am angry).

She quickly did as she was told, I advised her to start from the back and take it slowly; she dared not disobey at this point, I was ready to lash out with both my tongue and my hand.

With a grim menacing look, I watched her as she sewed on the weave, nothing eventful happened afterwards.

At the end of my day I concluded that I had had a bad hair day, even though the unprofessional stylist’s last words to me were “aunty, its fine!’’

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Kemi Bonuola is a lawyer by day and a wordsmith by night. She has three cats and two dogs and a wardrobe of books ranging between chick lit and legal thrillers. She hates cockroaches and politics. Her best thing to do in the world is reading, when she has a book all is alright with the world. She also loves writing, and has an interest in short stories, children stories and poems; of which she has a decent collection. She hopes to have a proper book someday, if law and Lagos traffic would permit. She is a free bird, a non-conformist yet a conservative being.

30 Days, 30 Voices series is an opportunity for young Nigerians from across the world to share their stories and experiences – creating a meeting point where our common humanity is explored.

Op-ed pieces and contributions are the opinions of the writers only and do not represent the opinions of Y!/YNaija

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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