Hairdressers are the same everywhere
Yesterday I entered the seething pussy of Bahrain beauty: the bitch parlour.
Yeah, would never catch me dead at a beauty parlour in South Africa, and no, it’s not really different. They can still tell a mile off that you have no respect for their profession: They can see it in your hair somehow and glare daggers into your back, just like in South Africa.
But I accompanied a friend on her pedicure, met her Michael Jackson look-alike hairdresser and watched while liberal Sheikhas got their hair fluffed by gay boys (the traditional ones go to the enclosed side, covered head to toe, only to be touched and seen by women and then to wrap up their blown-dried locks in doeks again).
I also learnt some local slang – someone who is an Abu Ghuraib (as in the Iranian torture prison) is someone who has been seduced by American ways. And ate pork at a Filipino restaurant with Thai chefs. What an Abu Gharaib!
Today I was entertained by yet another hotel bigshot, this one from Canada. The food was bad – salmon over-cooked and dry and the potatoes reheated. But this guy told me about the “black magic” in Morocco. How these women reduce men to nervous wrecks if rejected by sneaking allergens and stuff into their food. He said he never believed it, but it happened to a good friend and the man is destroyed. Curious, I’ve never heard of this and my Google search was fruitless.
My Amazon books have arrived, so time beside the air-conditioner is in order. Breyten can only be appreciated in bits.
Yeah, would never catch me dead at a beauty parlour in South Africa, and no, it’s not really different. They can still tell a mile off that you have no respect for their profession: They can see it in your hair somehow and glare daggers into your back, just like in South Africa.
But I accompanied a friend on her pedicure, met her Michael Jackson look-alike hairdresser and watched while liberal Sheikhas got their hair fluffed by gay boys (the traditional ones go to the enclosed side, covered head to toe, only to be touched and seen by women and then to wrap up their blown-dried locks in doeks again).
I also learnt some local slang – someone who is an Abu Ghuraib (as in the Iranian torture prison) is someone who has been seduced by American ways. And ate pork at a Filipino restaurant with Thai chefs. What an Abu Gharaib!
Today I was entertained by yet another hotel bigshot, this one from Canada. The food was bad – salmon over-cooked and dry and the potatoes reheated. But this guy told me about the “black magic” in Morocco. How these women reduce men to nervous wrecks if rejected by sneaking allergens and stuff into their food. He said he never believed it, but it happened to a good friend and the man is destroyed. Curious, I’ve never heard of this and my Google search was fruitless.
My Amazon books have arrived, so time beside the air-conditioner is in order. Breyten can only be appreciated in bits.
posted by Nadine at 5:03 PM
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