The Culture of Hair

One of the best things about moving back to Lagos as a woman is that you can get your hair done pretty much anywhere for pretty much any price. You can choose to go to an upscale salon with a full on nail studio and spa within. They have skilled attendants in matching uniforms that can reproduce any style in any magazine with ease and charge you what some people pay as rent in some areas. They have security guards who go to great lengths to help you park but only after you have located your own parking space and started to move towards it. They have attendants who always have a broom at the ready to sweep up any errant hairs lest they irritate the high end customer. The buildings are air conditioned and the chairs are comfortable. Most of the time, the television is on a channel that most of the customers would, if not like to watch, then be okay ignoring. The hairdressers always seem to have the temperament of women on their periods (the men too) but you are at least comfortable with the fact that you will leave the salon looking like a million bucks.

You can also go to the middle range salons whose attendants might not necessarily have a uniform but make the effort of each wearing a faded white t-shirt with what was once the company’s logo on it. They also have security guards but they are not the ones that help to park, they are the ones who watch you park your car and then watch someone else block it in. Then proceed to feign absolute ignorance as to when the blocking driver parked and who the driver is. They will stand beside you and mirror your frustration about the “idiot” that parked there. The good thing about them is that they are always willing to go into the salon to help locate the person and come out of the situation the Good Samaritan. These salons also have attendants with brooms but not so much at the ready. They will probably sweep up when a customer has been cocooned in her own hair extensions or when the “madam” is coming in. They cannot be faulted because they have better things to do like gossip about which of the braiding girls is pregnant. The decibel levels of these places is competitive with a football stadium and one dare not interrupt the conversation of the two women doing your hair....even if your entire head is aflame. These buildings are air conditioned as well but that depends on which part of the salon you’re in and if there is fuel in the generator. The television’s are always on but most of the time to a channel that pleases the hairdressers more so than the “hairdresees”. The prices vary greatly and it is wise to ask if you are paying for extras such as shampoo, or maybe the use of the salon’s comb. The hairdressers are constantly angry and impatient but if you find one who understands you and your hairstyle then the rest is gold.

Of course, you have the “under the bridge” hair salons. They are quite grimy but they only subscribe to the hardcore Lagosian as clientele. If you can get past the carbon monoxide poisoning then you should be ok (I mean, you can get malaria from mosquitoes anywhere so that should be expected). There might not be air conditioning but there should be a steady breeze from the cars whizzing by overhead. The hairdressers are mostly animated women who have impressively fashioned a fully functional hair station from one table and half a mirror. This is probably the best place to get the most interesting gist of people who you might not know.You find yourself concerned that the 70 year old Alhaja down the street might be pregnant for the boy that sells credit. If one can brave it, it is the cheapest option and probably brings the least amount of disappointment (you can hardly go there with the expectation of getting a full on spa experience).

This being said, hair styling is subjective, you just need to know where to look.

Xo, Nola

"Is it me or is the A/C blowing hot air.....?"

I was lured out of my house and comfort zone because I was told that I was going to get fitted for an awesome outfit and then out to lunch. Somehow I ended up at the mechanic with the driver trying to figure out why the A/C wasn't working properly.

Now, as any self-respecting Lagosian knows, there is absolutely no way that you can actually be at a mechanics workshop for anything less than an eternity but the mechanics and the driver conspired and told me that it would take no more than 30minutes...and I "chopped".

Needless to say, six hours later I am still there, possibly having what can only be described as a sunstroke and being entertained by a rather erotic show of a worker pouring 2 bags of "pure water" over himself to beat the heat. At this point I have resolved to just accepting my fate and was trying to find an adequately soft spot to just die on but then it happened, we were done! The waves of emotion that crashed over me cannot be explained in actual words. It was all okay, we were leaving, I wouldn't die here, I might actually get to eat real food instead of dirt and car parts and to top it all off, the A/C would be working properly.

I got in the car, ready to take a nap the whole way home and no more than a mile from the mechanic's shop the driver looks to me and says "Is it me or is the A/C blowing hot air.....?"

xo, Nola

The Nigerian Psyche

Sometimes, I wake up at about 5:30 in the morning for about ten minutes before I fall back asleep (I don’t know why it might have something to do with me falling asleep at 9pm like a geriatric). Normally this is a generally peaceful process but this morning was different, this morning I heard a noise in the distance, possibly down the street. It sounded garbled and distant and to tell the truth, I didn’t really care what it was but it got closer and louder, enough to make me get up to see what it was.

It was a man, walking down the street with a megaphone in his hand, preaching. This was no ordinary megaphone either; it was fashioned with its own little power system that the man carried in a bag beside him to amplify the sounds from just uncomfortable to downright obnoxious. I mean, for the love of all things that are good and pure in this world, why would you do that!

I don’t have a problem with spreading the word of the coming kingdom but it’s so intrusive and at such an ungodly hour. If I thought I was irritated, the Hausa muslims who are not entirely on board with the second coming thing must have been pretty pissed off.

Well, there is not much one can do about it short of joining the crusade; maybe I’ll take the side streets and he take the major throughways, I mean I’m up already...

xo, Nola

I'm a blogger now!

...so I just decided to join the whole culture of blogging because lets face it.... people like to hear themselves talk.

I'm not sure about blogging culture but I assume digital introductions are in order. I'm Nola and I have been far flung from Nigerian soil for a bit but I'm back now...to Lagos, to family, to traffic, to smog, to congestion, to no light, to red-headed lizards and the whole nine....AND I LOVE IT!

A johnny just come, I've brought back some clearer eyes to see this place and some of the sights are just plain comical.

I still cannot bring myself to understand how a grown man, in a full suit at high noon can just whip "it" out and start to pee on the side of a major street, I mean, for real? It must take at least 30 seconds to hike up the jacket, before unzipping the trousers... ample time to think "hey, maybe I will not indecently expose myself on a street where there might be, oh I don't know...other people" but I digress. I don't get it but I guess I don't have to.

Lagos life is pretty spectacular, if you are open to the possibilities. I try to be sickeningly optimistic and so far it has worked for me. It is absolutely essential, if not, I might find myself going up to people and kneeing them in the crotch for what would be no apparent reason ( yes, women too!)

Anywhooo, I think I might like this blogging thing…I’ll keep you posted.

xo, Nola