Darlin' don't you go and cut your hair...

(Ed. note - another blog from the hottest hunk in Burkina Faso, Dave!)

I arrived in Burkina Faso on October 15th, hair freshly cut, after my final visit to “Mr. Edward’s Barber Shop” on the corner of Harvard & Glenville. My hair had been in the hands of the owner, Richie, for just over eight years. Upon my departure, prices had just risen to $18.00. I am sure that those of you loyal to your barber or stylist understand that you gain a certain comfort level; expectations are in place and you pretty much know how your hair will turn out. I had not yet considered that someone else would be taking on this task in Burkina Faso.

As the holiday season approached, things were getting a bit mangy so I asked my host brother in Ouahigouya where he gets his haircut. He said he would take me one Tuesday after his finished school and I finished my training courses for the day. We ended up going on a Saturday afternoon. The family’s barber, was located in the grand marché of Ouahigouya. The marché itself is very large; think of a huge outdoor flea market or swap meet with vendors all trying to sell you their wares. The barber shop was a tiny stall tucked behind the bike parking lot on the outer rim of the marché. We sat down together, seventh in line.

My usual cut in the US was getting the sides and back shaved with a #3 attachment and a trim with scissors up top. As I was waiting, I was thinking about how I would convey my desired cut in French. Most people in Ouahigouya, especially students and business owners, speak French, but my host brother could help translate into Mooré, the local language of Ouahigouya, if need be. When I was finally in the barber’s chair, I was informed that the barber did not know how to cut white people’s hair with scissors and was skilled only in the use of electric clippers. The way you pick out your haircut is via a series of numbered photos on the wall. Most of these photos were of average people but there were other posters with severely sun-faded pictures of celebrities. For example, there was one called “NBA KUTS” with pictures of Michael Jordan’s head from every angle. You could also pick the style of a number of other NBA stars from the early 1990’s. An adjacent poster displayed styles, as modeled by Nelly, for any occasion. My options here were: “BAD BOY NELLY,” “SMOOTH NELLY,” “SOPHISTICATED NELLY,” and about five other Nelly iterations. The haircut in each Nelly photo was exactly the same, the only variation being his clothing for each situation.

I went with “#46” off the regular guys poster which was just a short to long fade. The barber used eight different attachments as he worked his way around, seemingly hair-by-hair. It was one of the longest haircuts I had ever received, but I appreciated the attention to detail and it came out looking exactly like Mr. #46. After the cut, the barber ripped off a piece of Styrofoam to wipe my neck and behind the ears, removing any leftover trimmings. The floor was littered with small pieces of foam. Now for the tense part of any commercial transaction here: price negotiation. I had asked my host brother the true price of haircut and he said he pays 300 CFA (equivalent to $0.60). When I asked the barber much the cut cost, he consulted with some of the other employees and came back with a price of 1000 CFA ($2.00). This is still $16.00 less my cut in the US, but doubling or tripling of the Burkinabé price is very typical bill for foreigners to receive here. My host brother intervened and the two began a discussion in Mooré that left both seeming annoyed with the other. The net result was a charge of 500 CFA, the extra 200 CFA above the true price being for a beard trim. I paid this without further objection. Still it was good to know the price range for when I would be out on my own. I now had a baseline.

Orodara…

A few weeks after our move to the permanent site it was time for another cut so I asked my new host brother, also aged 17, where he gets his haircut. He recommended a coiffure near the post office so I stopped there one morning. There was a woman seated in the barber’s chair and her baby was on her lap getting a cut. Another guy was waiting on the bench, next in line. He asked me what I was doing here as if I had a choice of services to select from. He then told me that the barber here does not have electricity so he would not be able to cut my hair. As I began to say that it was not a problem, the barber than chimed in to the same effect and said I would be better served going to another coiffure, just around the corner near the bus station,

There was no coiffure near the bus station. Not on the side of it, not in it, nor across the street. The bus station is right at the center of town at the major intersection so it would not be missed. I continued to ride down the hill, back toward our house, remembering another sign I had seen for a coiffure. I found it and entered, finding one guy in the chair just finishing up. Luckily I heard him pay, the barber asking for 200 CFA ($0.40). I now was prepared to pay a little more for the beard trim, but certainly not the 1000 CFA starting price given in Ouahigouya.

This barber used a tool I had never seen before. He had the attachments from electric clippers attached to scissor-like metal shears. As he cut away at my hair, he changed scissors rapidly to vary the length, all without electricity. He did not use electricity until he took clippers at the end to clean up my neckline and beard, reducing the beard to nothing more than a day-after shave’s worth of scruff. The electric razor was extremely sharp and dug into my neck, feeling like a cheese grater. I also ended up with some mid-1990’s long thin side burns. Then he shaved the point of hair at the center of my forehead, giving me a fuzzy shaved hair peninsula in the middle of nowhere. I think the intent here was to straighten my hairline, but I remain unsure. After getting Styrofoam-wiped, it was time to pay and he asked for 200 CFA. I left the coiffure with a pretty good Burkinabé haircut, finally having paid the Burkinabé price. With an extra 300 CFA (minimum?) in my pocket, I could spend an extra half hour at the cyber café, sharing this story with you.