Salon Surrender

In every way this little girl is mine. But the hair is beyond me. Sigh. I’m trying, really I am. I’ve been working and working at getting the braids right. I’m constantly asking my Tanzanian friends about the hair care products they use.

But I wanted her hair to be special for our trip to the States. I also didn’t want to have to worry about it while we are there. So I talked to a HOPAC mom whose little girl always has the cutest hair styles, and asked her where she takes her daughter to get her hair done. So she gave me the directions, and Grace and I went yesterday.

I chose the picture in the book that I liked the most, and the stylist got to work. After about thirty seconds she said, “Has her hair been washed?”

“Ndiyo. Jana usiku.” Last night.

Oh. Thirty more seconds.

She looked over at the stylist next to her. “Siyo safi,” she said. Not clean.

She parted Grace’s hair and showed me. I blushed. I was ashamed. Terrible mother I am. Can’t even get her daughter’s hair clean.

Sigh. Can you wash it for her?

So she did. And then she braided it. And it looks totally adorable. And Grace didn’t make a single peep during the entire two hours. Interesting, considering she screams bloody murder when I do her hair, claiming that I am hurting her. Ha. Caught you in your bluff, child. They were pulling much harder than I do.

And now I’ve determined that we will make regular visits to the salon. I think I thought I had to prove something by being able to style her hair myself. But if Tanzanian moms take their daughters to the salon, then so can I!

And the price? About $12. For washing, blow drying, extensions, and beading–two hours of work. Those of you who live in America and have African hair will appreciate that!