Last weekend I took Mohamed to get his hair cut. We didn't go to that barber, underneath the tree. Our barber actually had a door to walk through and 2 chairs for clients, as well as a row for those waiting. There was even a small T.V. in the corner showing a futbol match.One of my students had come to school sporting the 'fancy' cut Mohamed loves. The kind where they shave designs in your hair. I managed to find the scoop and we set out in search of a lightning bolt or shooting flame. (Mohamed has become adept at drawing sports cars lately and he adds a symbol of speed and power to each.)
We were accompanied on our trip, mostly because I needed directions, and I was quite self-conscious as we left the gate. Big brother is watching? Back to the gossip ring. I felt a strange need to explain where I was going and why. It was fairly easy to dim the light that shone on that particular aspect of campus life. It's much nicer to live in ignorant bliss. But I was slightly disturbed at having to acknowledge it at all. Sacrifice comes with the garden of eden? Sometimes it just feels like one big glass fishbowl.
We made it first to one barber, only to be turned away because Mohamed's hair required clippers and the electricity was not strong enough there. A second shop supplied electricity, parking, and a huge baobab for shade. Underneath the tree was a kaleidoscope of life. One woman sat selling bananas from an umbrella covered table. Another was bagging burnt wood? charcoal? for sale. Closer to the road, a group of young men played Foosball. Some were sitting on benches watching, some were napping. The parking area doubled as a car wash/ repair spot and so men wandered back and forth scrubbing, washing and drying- themselves and the shiny new SUV's that seemed so out of place. A few sat inside an abandoned car, napping or simply enjoying a soft seat.
Children and chickens played all around. Naturally, they became interested in Nabih and tried to get him to play but he wasn't interested. He was busy keeping a fearful eye on the chickens and hiding behind his hat. One bold little beauty came up and tried grabbing him out to play but he refused all her attempts to entice him.
I thought several times about taking photos but didn't want to stand out as a tourist. I realized the complete futility of this statement even as I thought it. As if I could be anything but. I enjoyed watching the sights as much as they all enjoyed watching me, each foreign to the other. I had the chance, standing under the tree, to comprehend the powerlessness and vulnerability that comes from being unable to control the color of your skin.
I may learn the language and the customs. I may learn to bargain as good as any Congolese and I may even learn to read between the lines and comprehend the humor. I may appreciate the dress and the art. I may even move among the streets with confidence and ease. But I will never be mistaken for a local.
Mohamed was pretty happy with his hair cut. I think he ended up with something more like a firecracker than a death defying flame. He's got plans for next time, however. And maybe I'll bring my camera and get a shot of that outdoor arcade. Nabih and I can even take turns posing with the chickens and the charcoal and the children.
