Barbershop: don't die on me.
I almost chopped off somebody's ear, and I'm serious. He bled, so much, the sight of his blood made me feel like I was going to be locked up for murder.
He didn't die though, he stood up briskly with his bleeding ear, ran quickly to the gen, turned open the fuel cap while the gen was still on— dipped his fingers into the tank and sprinkled petrol on his ear. He did it repeatedly till the bleeding stopped.
I stood frozen on one spot while he dipped his fingers into the fuel tank. I tightened my grip on the clipper with my right hand, partially as a means of self-defense (just in case he would come rushing at me after he had stopped the bleeding, I would throw the clipper at him and run out of the shop) but I could barely raise a leg or move my body— the shock of what I'd just done and the sight of blood had left me petrified.
My boss was not around, so I feared this man was going to kill me, literally.
In fact, if my boss was around, I wouldn't have been the one to barb him. My boss would have handled it.
He turned to me and I pulled out a lie in one sentence, "Sir you were sleeping!", I screamed the words, almost in tears.
And that! That was my saving grace, cause he had actually been dozing repeatedly while I was cutting his hair, he'd mentioned he was really exhausted.
Though, I knew the accident was caused by me, I was not careful while cutting the hair behind his right ear— the blade of the clipper had sliced the skin on his right ear. I was eighteen and I didn't know a clipper could cause so much bleeding.
After I screamed that he had been sleeping, he kept looking at me with his left hand folded into a fist— I'm telling you, if he had walked a step closer to me, I would have passed out in the salon even before he would have given the first punch. I was that terrified.
But he turned away, and stormed out of the shop with his right hand to his ear.
At the time, I'd not gotten admission into the university. My mom had insisted that I go learn a skill, in this case, barbing. I'd only been an apprentice for one month before almost chopping off someone's ear.
That was the last day I touched a clipper with the intention to cut anyone's hair.
Also the last day I reported for work, I think.
I was so scared.
My mom considered the incident very funny and laughed me to scorn. Till date, she still finds it funny.
Anyways, it's been almost five years since then, I'd quit barbing cause of that.
But now, I actually want to talk about my current barber but I felt it would be nice to start-off with the story of how I almost became a murderer in someone's barbing salon.
Picture from PinterestSo this my barber, each time I go for a haircut, I deliberately make efforts to start up a conversation with him.
I don't speak Ibibio so fluently, but I try to sound as fluent as possible. He does same with pidgin, for my sake too.
And every time, the conversation would always wind-up to how he'd learned to cut so well and the things he had to go through while learning.
I don't think he has realized that he has told me this story almost every time I go to cut my hair, maybe he has. But I figured it must mean a lot to him (I mean, it's the story of his becoming).
So each time I sit for a haircut, I let him talk, I laugh at the jokes he'd told the last time in the story (cause they're indeed funny), I ask almost the same questions I asked the last time.
When he's done, I smile.
Each time I'm about leaving his saloon he says "thank you", I don't want to say I know why he's thanking me.
I also don't want to believe he's thanking me for paying him.
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