The unseen power of mama watoto

A serious woman holding a cup of coffee. (Courtesy/iStock)

Working in a barbershop can sometimes be a rollercoaster of events. Some sad, some interesting. It just depends on the kind of clients one attends to. Mzee Matheka for example, has been my client since I don’t know when. He came to my shop for the first time and he has never shaved his hair elsewhere.

He is in his 60s and usually entertains us with stories about his early days as a young man, back in a remote village of Kathonzweni and how he used to be a smooth operator and he would never ‘ laugh’ with girls. He moved to Nairobi at only 19 and as he says, he has spent most of his life in the city.

He also talks much about his former Indian boss who he would always disagree with and this would later force him into early retirement. Mzee Matheka is big-bodied and his busting belly button might make you think that he is an excessive drinker.

He told me he only tasted beer once and he didn’t like it. He is such a client who doesn’t queue and he doesn’t care who is next in line. He calls himself a senior citizen who doesn’t need to queue anywhere even in the line of death, as if there is something like that. I was once forced to return back a barber seat that I had purchased because it had a problem that I hadn’t noticed until Mzee came over and sat on it and he almost fell on his back. It was quite embarrassing.

After retirement, he decided to venture into real estate and he now moves around selling pieces of land. There was a time I asked him why he had never thought of moving to a quiet neighbourhood despite his advanced age and status and he told me that he is used to the noisy Eastside of Nairobi and the so-called leafy suburbs seem boring to him.

Mzee is full of surprises and this time, he walked in saying I dyed his grey hair black. I wanted to know about the abrupt change in the hairstyle and he said that there was a damsel he met on the field, an intern who he terribly fell for and he wanted to look as young as possible. So instead of the usual bald look, I dyed mzee’s hair black and I knew he liked it the moment he let out a big smile immediately after he looked at himself through the mirror. He was spectacularly fine. He paid and left.

After like 20 minutes or so, he sneaked back. I have never seen Mzee such humbled and patient. He quietly waited until I finished up on the client I was working on when he pulled me aside. “Mama ameleta shida,” he said.

“Why?” I asked.” She wants to know why I decided to dye my hair without consulting her. She is suspecting that there is a young girl out there who is behind my new look,” he said. “She has demanded that I bring back my grey hair or else she won’t allow me to spend the night at her house,” he added. Mzee was now asking if I could wash off the black dye and restore his grey hair.

I told him it was not going to be possible but he insisted that I try. I would then spend the next 30 minutes washing and scrubbing his hair using hot water in vain. I then assured him that I would look for a grey hair dye the following day and I would let him know. He must have begged Mama Watoto to forgive him because he didn’t come back and he stayed with the dye until it faded away.

We always laugh it off at the kinyozi anytime I remind mzee about the story and I thought to myself how just dyeing the hair would become such a big issue and a respectful man, full of bravado such as Mzee Matheka would be forced to return to the barbershop to get back his grey hair. “All women are insecure and it doesn’t matter at what age. That’s why they sulk when we are served by female barbers. Sometimes they don’t even like it when we look good. We have to stick here with you just to make them happy,” he remarked.