The Barber

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_Ronalson

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There are statistics for a lot of things.

There are statistics of girls abused in an environment.

But at the moment I wasn't thinking of any of those numbers. I wasn't thinking at all.

I gripped the chair I was sitting in. Tears gathered in my eyes but I didn't say a word.

I froze.

"So what do you say?" The Barber whispered in my ears. I leaned away from him and gripped the chair tighter.

I say I want to go home.

People say they are cues for things. If rain is about to fall, the weather gives you a hint.

If something bad is about to happen you might feel uneasy. You might feel it in your bones.

If you were about to be groped by the man who cuts your hair though?

Would there be cues for that?

Yes. I think so.

The first cue was the pink trousers I wore.

You see, I never wear trousers because it lets my poor self-esteem shine through but on that day I was feeling cute.

I bounced on my feet down the street and ignored the catcalls of immature boys.

I was on a high and nothing could bring it down. Or so I thought.

The second cue hit me when I entered his shop.

I stopped and looked around.

It was full of men.

That would have probably been my cue to run. I did notice it but I thought nothing of it.

I thought nothing of it because it's mostly men who cut their hair. Some girls also do. Girls like me, who attended schools that required that they cut their hair.

So it was okay.

I walked past the men and settled on the chair.

I glanced at the mirror and saw pictures of musicians. They were men, young and old, wearing heavy gold chains and tattoos all over their bodies.

I sighed and shook my head. I looked behind me.

The men sat on both sides, talking in Yoruba and English. I listened in and tried to understand what they were saying. I sighed.

Then he entered.

My attacker- I mean barber.

He was dark-skinned. He looked young but he was older than me by years.

I greeted him and he nodded.

He wrapped a cloth around my neck. The cloth was there to stop my hair from touching me.

He plugged the clipper.

Then he began to cut my hair.

As he did, my mind wandered.

I thought about a lot of things. I thought about food and the Nickelodeon movie I was going to watch when I got home.

That's when I felt his hand snake under the cloth. I stiffened.

His hand didn't stop. They moved till they came to my chest and he began to grope me.

I froze.

I wish I could say that I screamed.

I wish I could say that I remembered everything they taught me in school about such situations but I didn't.

It fled.

I let out a breath and pushed his hand away.

He continued to cut my hair.

He leaned closer and whispered in my ears. "Sleep with me."

I gripped the chair.

"I'll pay you."

Tears gathered in my eyes.

I didn't want to sleep with anybody. I just want to cut my hair.

But I didn't say a thing.

He probably took that as a yes because he continued.

The only thing that fled within me was common sense. It bolted.

I couldn't do anything.

Behind us, the men argued and laughed. The noise grounded me.

He continued to cut my hair while his second hand travelled on my chest.

I held on to the chair for dear life.

I looked in the mirror.

Cut my hair fast. My eyes seemed to say.

Maybe he heard me because he did.

I shot out of the chair and handed him the money without looking at him.

I ran out of the shop and didn't stop till I was far off. I let out a breath and tears came tumbling down.

It didn't stop.

That's when the cues hit me.

The pink trouser.

The men.

I shook my head and sniffed. The high I was on, crashed to a low.

I shook my head at myself and blamed him. "It's his fault. Who says that?"

Who?

I was underage and just wanted to cut my hair.

He was nuts.

He had to be.

I went home and told my mom and she hugged me.

I never went there to cut my hair again. In fact, at some point, I forgot where his shop was.

I'd look for it when I wanted to cut my hair- not because I wanted to cut it there- but because I wanted to glare at it but I didn't find it.

Ever since then, when I cut my hair, I randomly remember him. The barber that went nuts.

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_{Sorry! Life has really been hard on me, just like i wrote in the previous story. But, I'm totally back. Thanks for the patience!}

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Here's my entry to the inkwell Creative nonfiction week #51

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