The Barber

I don't ever cut my hair unless Kunle is around. I drink coffee before leaving the house for the barbershop. Strong black coffee. I also carry a cap with me. My wife teases me about these rituals all the time. I smile but the smile doesn't quite reach my eyes. The memory of that day is still too fresh for me to laugh about. I also wonder if that day has any effect lurking around the corner, waiting to catch me unawares with sharp teeth and claws.

It was the year before I started dating Sandra. I worked at a well-known advertising firm. For weeks, I had been working on a campaign for one of our biggest clients and the next day was to be my final presentation. The C.E.O of my company was going to be present along with the Senior Marketing Manager of the client's company. If I handled it right, I had a shot at a promotion.

Impressions matter. That's why I had already sent and collected my best suit from the dry cleaner. I had just cut my hair the previous week but I just had to go back to sharpen the edges. The moment I had a break from work, I decided to go see Kunle my barber. I discovered him after many fruitless experiments to find the perfect barber. He was the only one who knew intimately the shape and foliage of my head in the entire city. He knew exactly in what direction to direct his clipper for the maximum effect on my appearance. He took his time on my hair and under his skillful ministrations, I often found myself lulled to a light doze by the steady hum of the clipper, waking up to the most handsome version of myself. I took an Okada to his shop only to find it open but Kunle absent. Looking around at the other shops, I still couldn't find him or anyone who knew his whereabouts. It occurred then to me that I should give him a phone call but as I searched my pockets for my phone I realized I had left it at the office.

"Damn it!", I cursed silently. I really needed a haircut. Where in God's name is Kunle when I need him? I knew I had to get back to the office really soon, but I also needed to look perfect for my presentation tomorrow. I decided then to take a chance and cut my hair elsewhere. Walking around Kunle's neighborhood, I spotted a shop tucked away into a corner. There was no sign to indicate it was a barbershop except for a mirror and one of those posters depicting hip-hop celebrities with haircut styles. I could also see from where I stood on the road a man, the barber I presumed, slouched on the only chair in the shop and a boy lying on the floor.

"Una dey barb hair?", I yelled from the street.
"Yessir!", the man yelled back.
Approaching him, I started making out his features. He was putting on an ash coloured singlet. He had unkempt hair and an untamed beard. He looked like a tout to me. Beggars can't be choosers, I thought to myself as I walked into the shop and sat on the chair. The boy lying on the floor got up and walked out.  While I sat on the chair, the man went outside to turn on his small generator set.
 Positioning behind me, he draped a cloth over me which barely covered my chest. This was a detail I didn't notice until much later.
"Wetin you wan barb sir?", he asked.
"I no wan barb, just shave the sides of the hair make my haircut show well well".
"OK, sir. That wan na one fifty".
"Eh, I hear".
As he started, I started to take notice of the shop. It was completely bare asides from the chair, the poster and the mirror which was installed upon a counter. The counter was sparsely occupied by two combs, a few clipper combs, a lighter and what looked like a brush for applying makeup. The lighter immediately prompted a question in me. Did he sterilise the clipper? I couldn't remember.
All of a sudden, the clipper made a loud noise and the generator went off. The barber went out and started the generator up again, fiddling with the choke but still, there was no power in the shop. Meanwhile I envisioned the shame of walking back to Kunle with a half-finished haircut. I already felt as though I cheated on him but the shame of him finding out? Well, I rather he didn't find out.
As I thought about this, the power came back up and the barber resumed his work. As he worked, the boy came back in and picked up the makeup brush and started brushing away the hair that had been cut. Both of them became engaged in a discussion over my head in the local dialect. Since I wasn't an indigene, I could only pick out a few words I knew, owo, elo ni. As they both worked in tandem, my body was already reacting to the steady hum of the clipper. Or at least, that what I thought. Now, I have doubts. Slowly I fell into a light doze.
I have no idea how much time passed before I woke up. On the floor. In an empty shop. The shop was stripped bare. There was nothing inside the four whitewashed walls except me. I quickly touched my crotch to check if my genitals were still present. They were. Quick relief flooded through me and was immediately replaced by anxiety as I checked my pockets. They were empty. My money was gone.  I ran out of the shop hoping to catch a glimpse of something or someone that would give me a clue regarding my predicament. No such luck.
As I walked down the street, I noticed that I was receiving weird looks from passersby. They'd look at my head, snigger and walk past. Perplexed, I looked in the side mirror of a parked vehicle.
My eyebrows were gone. My eyelashes too. All gone. The only hair left on my entire head was three strips of hair, arranged horizontally on my scalp.
I couldn't go back to work. I walked home and called that I had a running stomach. I went out, bought a shaving stick and removed the hair left on my head. That night till the next day I had the worst migraine of my life. I couldn't give my presentation. My assistant gave it. He was also given the promotion. I became his assistant. 

I never found the barber. Neither did the police. Cosmetics are now being sold at the shop.
That was years ago. I now have my own advertising firm. Kunle still cuts my hair. My wife, Sandra, still teases me. My eldest daughter has joined her in teasing me. I still drink strong black coffee before going to the barbershop. I always go with a cap.
One can never be too careful.