Julia at her saloon
A lot of who I am right now can be attributed to the women who have nurtured me. This nurturing has taken place right at home but also in places you’d never imagine—one of those being the saloons. Back home in Kenya, saloons are more than just places where women go to have their 4C hair braided; they’re vibrant hubs of banter, advice, and storytelling. The scenery that welcomes you is walls plastered with posters of women in different braided styles, the classic checkbox carpet and plastic chairs, hanging “Darling” braiding hair aka “peas,” a five-liter shampoo jerry can chilling on the floor, and a radio playing in the background.
There’s always praise for well-taken care of long hair and sometimes playful reprimands about body weight, like “Msichana, na si ukule. Kwani nini inakustress?” (Girl, eat up. What’s stressing you?). These spaces are where I’d sit and endure the pain as my hair was “fried” in the name of blow-drying. Before that, though, the fine-toothed comb would dig into my hair, all through to the matted strands. With every flinch, the hairdresser would shove my head back into position. After this perseverance, my hair would finally be straightened and ready for the next phase.
Oh, and pray that they have a proper chair! Otherwise, you’d be at the mercy of the hairdresser’s posture. If she sat, you’d have to sit lower, and to braid the back of your head, you’d find yourself locked between her legs. That’s an experience we can unpack another time.
Despite the discomfort, saloons have always felt like a refuge to me—a space where I’ve seen the liberality of African women in its rawest form. Women bring to light the struggles and victories they face in their, unfiltered and honest. A simple question like, “Where did you get this wig?” could spiral into conversations about the highs and lows of life—praising their marriages, recommending a new “Servant of the Lord”, critiquing their bosses, or rushing off mid-session to pick up their kids from school.
I fondly remember Jane, who often braided my hair. I particularly remember her doing my hair for the first time as a flower girl. She made me look beautiful, but more than that, she shared so much about her own life during that session. She’s no longer with us, but I admit it’s remarkable how women connect so deeply and intimately in these spaces—it’s something I’ve always cherished about African saloons.
Have you also experienced this too? Please share in the comments below.
I couldn’t agree more with everything that you said. I have experienced all these at first hand and one of them that seemed so personal was them asking me when I will ever add weight. They always throw the “Ni kama masomo imekuwa mingi huku hadi mwili imekataa, lakini utanenepa tu ukimaliza shule” phrase which always hurts deep inside knowing how much I have tried to gain weight. One delightful take away I have had from them, is that they are women of ambitions and even in their tasking jobs, they always appreciate them. I remember one said a while ago, that asked again to choose a profession, she will still choose to be a salonist as it has given her friends, freedom, flexibility, and everything that other professions could not give her. May God bless those women and men! 😊
Oh the nostalgia that comes with that picture; darling braids, miadi and blue magic and other versions of Julia)!
These moments that just prove that we’ve actually lived real life!