By Prof. Terhemba Shija

I was at the Barber’s shop in Abuja yesterday for my regular haircut, and just before I stepped in, it struck me that today would be my 64th birthday anniversary.

I thank the Almighty God for His mercies on me and my family. For every one year added to us by God, there is a corresponding decrease in our time left on earth. We the Tiv are particularly conscious of this antithesis, hence we greet each other saying “Upande vee,” meaning “have you successfully reduced your time?”
In this popular and busy Barber’s shop, I found that my regular barber was already busy with a client and two other people waiting in line. He politely welcomed me but gave me the options of either patiently waiting for my turn or accepting someone else to attend to me. In this case, a pretty female barber from a country in East Africa. I accepted the second option, more out of curiosity than expediency.
The ambience of the shop was convivial and cosy. A few other guys were just lounging around, enjoying either the sports channel or the MTV musicals that were beaming from the two giant TV screens on the opposite sides of the shop.
This particular Barber’s shop is a unisex establishment. It offers spa services like body massage, pedicure, manicure and makeup in addition to its main preoccupation of cutting or dressing hairs. As such, there were different compartments for men and women, both of whom, however, share common facilities.
On the side of ladies, I sighted a tall muscular young man, who fits the description of a gym instructor, taking charge of proceedings. He had the figure of perfect elegance, with a dark skin and even a darker mane of old fashioned afro hairstyle on his head and chin. So glossy and greasy were his looks that, he exuded a certain femininity that almost contrasted with his mancho gait. The cross-gender looks of a professional hairdresser and masseur.
For a moment, the sweet Afro-beat sound track of Flavour dancing “Waka, waka baby” to a live television audience flashed on the screen. A few female hairdressers on the other end responded with delightful twerks. On the gentlemen’s side too, a fierce live English football match raged on, stealing the attention of some youngsters. So many side attractions to lure one into a pleasurable wait.
But why not? Barber’s shops or the Hair salons all over the world are parliament of sorts. Call them gossip centers too if you want, but you cannot deny the earnestness and topicality of discussions that take place there all day long.
Our country Nigeria is put under scrutiny, dissected, reconstructed and deconstructed in Barber’s shops. The lingua franca is pidgin English and most discussions particularly on football and politics are held with an incredible sense of fondness and consensus, and perhaps with greater depth than most elite discussions on Channels, AIT or TVC.
The ladies “legislative chamber” of this shop functions like social media. Female hairdressers display a knack for stoking gossips like girls on Facebook. The politics of human or artificial hairs is often brought into focus. Content creators stretch into related areas like the latest fashion styles, nails, eyelashes, perfumes, clothing photographs, failed marriages and the infidelity of celebrity couples and so on. By the time individual participants depart, they are sufficiently empowered mentally to execute any peculiar feminist agenda of their choice.
Yesterday was indeed my very first experience with a female barber. She gingerly worked her clipper through my hair, taking care to enact a Gen-z like style on me. My regular barber quickly noticed the incipient blunder and corrected her. Middle-age or old-age comes with its unique conservative hairstyles or a lack of them. Human hairs too also go through a state of diminishing return, compulsorily dictating either low-cuts or complete pates with zero stylistic accoutrements.
At this point, I calmly announced to my accidental female barber that she needed to be careful as she was working on the greys of a professor who would turn 64 in a few hours time.
That was when the Barber’s shop spontaneously erupted into an improvised chant of “Happy birthday to you,” with about seven young men and women participating. I had to leave the Barber’s shop twenty thousand Naira poorer, in appreciation of the jolly good fellows that cheered me. Thank you very much ladies and gentlemen for ushering me into my 64th birthday anniversary.