So I’ve really wanted to get a haircut for a while now but I haven’t because I didn’t know where to get one. It’s hot here so I just planned on buzzing my head if I got the chance. Jonathan brought clippers with him but I haven’t used them because the voltage is different. Jonathan used them once already with a voltage converter and they worked just fine, so on Saturday, I finally decided to give it a whirl. Unfortunately, I forgot to use the voltage converter. As a result, midway through the haircut, the clippers started smoking (I owe Jonathan a new set of clippers…)
This is where the adventure begins… I needed to find a place to get my hair cut because I couldn’t walk around with just half of my head buzzed. I looked ridiculous and I had no idea where to go. So I threw on a hat and just started walking. I remember someone mentioning the location of a hair salon nearby, so I went in that direction but I didn’t see it when I got to the area so I just kept walking. I had to ask several people on the street and not many people understood what I was asking. A few did, but the common way to give directions here is to say “it is just there” and then wave your hand in the general direction of the place… not very helpful.
Eventually, I found a place, but I don’t think the man had ever given a muzungu (white person) a haircut before so I had to help him along. He even let me cut in line because I was a muzungu. He shooed away two teenagers waiting so that I could go next. I know that the people there were talking about me because every thirty seconds or so I heard muzungu this or muzungu that, but they were speaking in Luganda so I didn’t know what they were saying. My favorite part of the whole experience was the sign on the door, which read “The Unisex Jesus is My Refuge Hair Salon”. I only wish I had a picture. Maybe I will go back for a quick shot another day.
Then, on Sunday, I was going to church in the city so I got on a mutatu (translated as taxi but it’s more like a city bus). I was by myself and we had barely moved when we ran into a barricade that three or four other mutatus had created. Several Ugandan men were there waiting and started yelling at the driver of my mutatu in Luganda. I had no idea what was going on. Then they started yelling at us to get off and get into the other mutatu (I only knew because of gestures they were making and what the others were doing). I was freaked out at this point, but I just did as they said.
Once in the other mutatu, I asked another Ugandan passenger what had happened. Apparently, the mutatu I was on had cut their route short and came in another route, cutting off several other mutatus. The other drivers were angry because they had stolen their customers. Once I got on, my heartbeat returned to normal and it was smooth sailing into the city.
What a weekend!
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