Zimbabwe can feel unreal at times. When I moved from Zim and met new people and they ask me what the Zimbabwean experience feels like, I always go back to this…
I had just gotten a fresh haircut from my favourite barber shop: Vintage by Joina City. It was my usual fade! I loved it as it restored my confidence, fixed my posture, and life felt like it was aligning again. I stepped out of there feeling like a new man. There was a certain victory lap in my walk, a bounce in my step as I tiptoed down Cameron Street, weaving through vendors who had claimed the street pavement as their marketplace. Then it happened.
“Togera here?” a voice called.
I froze.
For a second, I thought I had misheard. I turned and saw the barber, already looking at me expectantly, as if my head wasn’t clear evidence of recent investment. What the hell? Of all the questions, you ask if I want to get a new haircut? Can’t you see my dope fresh fade? Or is it not looking good and you need to do some touch-ups? I was a little bit confused and pissed off. My first instinct—admittedly irrational—was violence.
The thought flashed across my mind with surprise: one clean punch would really send a message here. Because honestly, can’t you see? The fade is fresh. The lines are sharp. I do not need your services, sir!
But then again, that’s Harare for you. This was Cameron Street. This is what happens here. A ragtag line of barbers, each asking the same question, over and over, to every passing head—qualified or not. Money changers on the one hand calling if they can convert your dollars to zig or rands. Kombis on the other hand speeding through the busy streets, cutting lanes with their respective touts yelling, “Mbare here? Mbare here? Mbareeeee!”
Still, I had hoped that my haircut would speak for itself. That it would stand as a silent shield against such nonsense. Unfortunately it did not.
I kept walking, choosing silence over confrontation, cussing him thoroughly in my head as I went.
A few minutes later, I bumped into Taku, an old friend from college. I told him the whole ordeal, still feeling slightly offended. “I swear,” I said, “I almost punched him.”
Taku burst out laughing,
I hadn’t gone that far so we looked back, the barber had already moved on.
“Togera here?” asked another man.
And just like that, I realised—it was never about me all along
Just business.
