An AFrican Heart - Part Two

Pleasing. A great word defined as welcome or satisfying.

My experiences in Sudan have taught me that an African heart is motivated to please.

Everyone wants to please me with drink, food, transport,conversation. This is more than being hospitable.

They want to please someone, even when they do not understand what is being said.

And, as I have learned, more than once, hearing "aye" or yes, does not mean yes.

Yesterday, I decided that my hair had gotten too long for this climate. Those of you who saw me right before I left, are thinking, probably not. But, this sun, climate, good healthy food, lots of water and rest, means otherwise.

So, I have been asking around trying to determine where I can get my hair cut in a part of the world that is not used to curly caucasian hair.

Everyone told me to go to Omdurman, but after driving there and back twice, their traffic I want to stay away from. It makes I-95 at rush hour look tame. At least with an interstate, there are lines and rules for driving. And, when you leave the interstate, there are traffic lights or stop signs at intersections, that usually work.

Galilla, one of the women that assist the staff at the Provincial office, told me that she had her "boy" that would cut my hair. Boy does not mean her son. So, Sapanna said that he had found the person who could help me.

Lo and behold, it is the young man that lives on the Cathedral property in one of the Guesthouses. I have seen him cutting all the men's hair, African mens hair. There is only one style here for men. Short. I thought, no way.

But, he told me to follow him. I did not, until I asked if he had cut my "type" of hair before. Oh, yes. Are you sure? Oh Yes. Really? Oh, yes. His smile reassured me.

So, I said OK.

Picture this, since no photographs were taken.

Judi, sitting in the shade of a tree, on a metal school house chair. My bag is on the ground next to me. A sheet, I am sure from someone's bed, is wrapped over my shoulders and around my neck.

He arrives with scissors and a comb. He has three assistants. Sapanna (who is afraid to let my head out of his sight), Jo-Jo (a three year-old little girl) and her older, but not by much, brother.

So, I review how to cut my hair. Hold the strands between your fingers and cut what remains above your fingers, about 1/2 in off.

This is where I get worried.

Sapanna is translating for him. He has not understood a word that I have said, however, he wants to help me.

The first cut, directly in front, leaves a small section, very small, 1/2 long.

Sapanna has translated incorrectly, and luckily I stopped him before too many more sections were cut 1/2 long.

Through trial and error, me cutting out the hair over one ear, he doing the other. My feeling in the back for the correct length, he doing the rest. Me cutting a small piece on top, sides etc, he the rest, we complete the haircut.

I reassure him, that with short curly hair, there is no bad haircut, though the people in my office remember the time I showed up to work in a wig, after a disaster of a haircut. This cut was OK, in fact pretty good, considering it was the first time for all four of them. Jo-Jo ended up trying to hold the mirror in place, her brother kept adjusting the sheet, and Sapanna just had to keep cutting, just for the experience of it.

In case you have forgotten, it was very hot, even in the shade, and my newly shorn hair is sticking to me everyhwere.

So, along comes water. I bend over, they pour water over my head, on my neck and down my back, my arms, they wash my face and dry me off. Actually, it felt really good.

Jo-Jo, not in an effort of pleasing, but in an attempt to feel the rexture of my hair wet, makes me sit on the ground while she plays with it. It had me remembering the times that Kathryn did the same thing when she was little.

In pleasing me, I wanted to please them.

So,I stayed on the ground and played with Jo-Jo longer than I intended and, if needed, I will get my hair cut by him again before coming home.