Before my trip to Egypt, I shaved my head. But not too short. I wanted some cover so I didn't burn my head (yes, I did bring a hat).
I did not, however, trim my beard at all. I didn't think I would have much opportunity to shave or trim my beard, and why bother? I could see how long it got. I would go native. I could command respect!
The results are most tragic.
After more than a month, I started getting fidgety with my hair. It was too long. It stood up. But not long enough to pat down. It annoyed me. It was not right. I had to get a haircut. Another month and a half of this would be too much. I needed to act.
I asked our driver, and all-around good guy, Hamam, about getting a haircut. "No problem," he says. "We go now?"
I needed it now, so let's go do it now.
He asked another team member here to join us, a field school student. It was nice to have another opinion. And whatever this experience would be would be fun to share.
After dinner, we hopped in the car and just went for a drive. Fast down a small road in the country. Hamam kept shutting off the lights and drove in complete darkness. Just to be funny. And nearly killing a cyclist.
We get into this small town, with people hanging about drinking their tea and smoking their shisha. Just like everywhere else. He comes to a stop, looks around, then starts backing up about 50 yards. Nearly running over some more people.
He looks, and in a tiny little one room shack, or what looks like a tiny garage to me, is a man getting a shave.
"We're here."
Uhm, are you sure? You didn't seem like you knew.
"Yes, I come here all the time."
He parks, nearly creating an accident. We get out, and walk in with everyone staring. I am used to it now.
Inside the barbershop, we sit down and watch the man get his neck shaved. Hamam and the barber make eye contact. I asked if Hamam comes to this man all the time. Hamam says yes, but they act as if they don't know each other.
When the stranger is done, Hamam goes for a haircut first, so I can see what it is like and if I want the same style. The student and I shift so we can watch him.
At that time, a young boy of about 14 walks in, and starts sweeping all the hairs everywhere. That is a good sign.
Then another boy of about the same walks in, sits down, and just stares at us.
And continues staring.
And he stares.
He smiles.
While he is staring.
The boy sweeping sits down.
And he stares.
It is awkward.
I give my phone to the student (name retracted as she did not agree to be included in this posting), so she can take pictures while I am getting my hairs cut.
She begins playing with the phone and taking her own photographs. Of Hamam. Of herself. Of the floor. Of me.
The boys like the phone. The boys like the student. The one boy gives her a Quran. She admires it. He hands it back to her.
Hamam's haircut is finally done. It is my turn.
I hop in. How short do I want it? Take off the beard, or leave it? How short on top? I want to shave all the way down as I normally do, but was convinced to just go down a little bit. The beard will be trimmed a lot.
The haircut goes smoothly. Comb through the head and beard. Scissors to cut everything. No lotions. No shampoos. No electronic gadgets. Just a very simple haircut.
During this, Hamam gets some tea and shisha. They drink. I sit.
I hear people laughing. At one point, I see the student posing with the two boys for a photograph. Hamam has my phone. He starts having fun with it.
As I get the hairs cut, I close my eyes so as to not get hair in them. Hamam sneaks up when I do and takes a really close up photograph that startles me. He finds it amusing.
After a little while of hairs getting cut, the barber steps back and grabs something off his counter.
Is that floss? What is he doing with that? Is he going to tie something? Is he going to make some sort of border? Is he a medieval barber who will also floss my teeth?
Oh, wait. He is putting the floss in his own teeth. Maybe it is for him.
Now....why is the floss going near my face? What are you doi.....
AH!!!! What the hell did he just do? Did he just pluck my face? Isn't that what a razor is for?
The group in the room laughs. The barber makes fun of me. He mocks my "Ah!" Bastard.
Hamam, of course, also finds this amusing. He has my phone, so he starts video recording the process.
In this video, you see me getting plucked. It is my first time getting plucked. It is my first getting plucked with floss. It is the first time dealing with such pain. Not grueling pain, but an annoying pain.
Hamam pans out. He captures the crowd laughing. My face in pain. The student laughing. He turns to the mirror, records himself laughing. He walks to the student, gets them both laughing at me.
In the video, you see me wince. I am turning red. Hamam comments on that. I sarcastically thank the barber. Shoukran.
Bastard.
The haircut finally comes to an end. I walk away, have my tea and some shisha. I pose with the kids. They are happy to oblige.
I ask the student if she had ever heard of this.
"Oh yeah, I get it done all the time."
And you pay for this?
This is what has been happening at beauty shops across America all this time?
I didn't even ask for this!
My face all red, my tea gone, enough laughs for a while, we leave the barbershop. I thank Hamam for the experience.
Mogamara.
The beard is now short. The hair is manageable. My face is no longer as red. The pain is gone, but not forgotten.
I don't think this is an experience I will want to replicate again.
To all the women who subject themselves to this on a weekly basis, you have my respect. Who knew such things were happening? Who the hell thought of this? Who knew sadomasochism would be such a lucrative business?
I leave you with some images from the evening.
