Give Me the Rooney

Evidently the first question I should have asked was, have you ever cut a Mzungu's hair before? Or, I could have been a little more perceptive about a number of things - the hairstyles of all the local men, the location of the barber shop, the lack of any scissors within the vicinity of the barber. No, I decided to brave (or rather, braved without thinking) a barber recommended by my vegetable dealer, John. It turns out, his recommendation was a friend in the stall across from his in the market.

Free bag of tomatoes with a haircut!

I thought I gave explicit instructions motioning with my hands - 'Number three on the clippers from here to here, getting a little bit longer from here up to here with about this much left on top.' I thought we were speaking the same language. I thought again after the first pass of the clippers rampaged my shaggy hair. I never realized how quickly you have to speak up when someone has clippers next to your head. Lesson learned. After about an hour of it getting shorter - and shorter - and shorter, I began to resemble the Matt of old - ala 3rd grade - which was the last time I had a haircut like this. I'm not sure what took so long. I'm pretty sure I could have given myself the same haircut in about 5 minutes. I do give credit to the barber, taking time to make sure not a single long hair was left on my head, with infinite patience searching for any stray's that had succeeded in avoiding the wrath of the clippers. After speaking up a few times to say - 'Hey now, that's short enough,' or chuckling anxiously - 'Oh geeze, that's not what I asked for,' I gave in and let the man cut my hair like he wanted to - and started to from the beginning. By the end, I realized I would have made both our lives easier and told him to cut my hair like a white guy everyone here is familiar with, the famous English soccer star Wayne Rooney. Now I know, next time it will be as simple as, 'Give me the Rooney.'

Wayne, my sentiments exactly.