Salutations, hello, and nameste from Kalimpong! I hope that you are all well! That July is beautiful everywhere that you are and some of you are enjoying going swimming, barbecues, and fellowship with family and friends. For those who are journeying along with me, I wanted to share a story of hair. Read on if you are curious. Pictures will come, probably next week, due to internet restrictions right now.
I wanted to share this story with you all. My adventures can be a little silly, but this one revealed a change in myself and I wanted to share. My hair is still pretty short, and at times, depending on if I am near someone who cuts hair, or not, it gets a LITTLE longer. I would always be able to describe it as pixi-esque. Some of you know that one of my secret hopes, although shallow, was to one day have dreadlocks. I had dreams of thin little sections of knotted hair cascading around my face and envisioning them swishing to and fro whenever I would shake my head! I heard, while in Laos from a beautiful Russian artist named Svetta, that there was a place in Thailand to get dreadlocks done. This sounded quite fabulous to me, and I became quite determined that once we were back in Thailand I would get my hair dreadlocked. I spent an entire outing looking at salons and going on what I can only describe as a wild goose chase, trying to find a place where dreadlocks were made. This had two foundational problems: finding the word and way to explain dreadlocks, then finding the next place they would tell me about. By the end of the first day I realized that to get my hair into knots I would have to travel to a place called KhaoSahn Road. Ok. I set out first by bus, then by sky train, and lastly by moto to arrive at this particular section of town. I’m still learning a lot about haggling with people—so after talking to a few places and finding an ok price I sit down. The place where they do this is right on the street. So I am sitting on a plastic stool, on the street, in the gutter, as this woman backcombs my hair. Great.At first? I feel wonderful. First of all, this is an adventure that I am on—everything is TERRIFICALLY exciting. I have navigated to this place by myself, and have made the arrangements. This is good. Then as it begins I have the woman’s helper take a photo so I can see how my dreadlocks are progressing.
Okay, so, not the worst thing I have ever seen. I ask if they can make the dreadlocks a little smaller perhaps? You know, smaller. I scrunch my fingers small like little crab pinchers. Smaller. Okay. She goes a little longer. I am noticing a very large western/white population walking by on the street, and that I am in a very touristy area. Time for another picture check I decide and motion for my helper to document the process. Ohhh. Oh dear. Not as wonderful just now. My hair is very short and the hair is just ROUGH and pokey looking. Not quite fun or very wonderful. Half my hair is in these knots. Can I stop? I cannot stop now… what would I do? Why am I doing this?? After the second picture I proceed to start crying. I cry, and cry. The woman thinks that I am crying because it hurts, and it does hurt. But my head is beginning to look like an underwater sea creature or Krusty the Klown from the Simpsons…
While I am waiting for my dreadlocks to be finished, because I cannot think of anything else to do at this point, crying, in the gutter I am watching a cart. This cart is run by a cute little Thai girl, and she is cutting and frying potatoes for people as they purchase them. As I watch suddenly the woman who is doing my hair is RUNNING AWAY!! I look and the cart’s propane tank used to heat the oil for cooking the potatoes has gone out of control! The little girl is trying to dump the oil onto the tank so it doesn’t explode! She succeeds in upturning the oil vat, which douses the fire out, and there is no explosion. Her pour hands are so burned from the flames though! She is crying, and on her hands I see the plastic had melted to her poor hands. A foreigner asks another cart for a bag of ice and gives it to her. I’m so glad that she was okay. I’m sad that people are reenacting what happened and chuckling at her misfortune. Later, when I look up as my last dreadlocks are finished I see that she too is sitting in the gutter crying. No one is there for her.
Ten or fifteen minutes later my dreadlocks are finished. I ask for another photo and hurriedly shove my sunglasses onto my face and pay for the knots. As I walk away my sandals finally go through the soul, so I buy a pair of flip flops too. Making everyday purchases is quite an exercise in discovery and perseverance in foreign places! I cannot quite stop crying as I walk back to the bus stop. The tears keep trickling down behind my sunglasses. As I walk by I hear people call out, “nice hair!” I just keep walking, shoulders back, head straight. Completely self-conscious and very aware of the shift my interactions with people have taken I step on the bus. The older woman comes towards me with her ticket wand which is a long, metal tube that opens to reveal tickets and change. I ask her if this bus goes to the stop I need, Siam Square? She nods and I ask if she can tell me when we get there. I find the Thai people, generally, are so kind and helpful. She agrees. While I ride the bus, and then as I ride the sky train, and make the bus change I’m deep in thought. I cannot help but think about how UGLY I am at that time. I’m surprised by such a strong reaction, but it is there just the same. I debate about going to a hair place NOW or waiting a few days to see how I feel about these dreadlocks I’ve gone through such an obstacle course to have done? I reflect that a few years ago I would have DELIGHTED in the attention the sea-creature knots on my head would have afforded me. I’m surprised to see this change in my heart that I don’t want attention like that actually. My stop comes, and I get off near the YWAM center where we are staying.
I almost go back, but decide right before the turn not to wait it out. I realize that it was a luxury to be able to get my hair done like this, and how blessed I am to be able to have the choice to get my hair done differently. I walk into the salon. Now dry eyed, and since it is dark, no sunglasses on my face. I say hello and ask for an appointment. Salon people don’t care for dreadlocks, I think its important that you know that as the story continues.
I motion that I want them undone, a haircut. They look at my hair, and first tell me to go back to where I got them done. I explain that I cannot, and do not know exactly where it is. They say that they can shave my head, but that is all. My response is that I could cut my hair that way—isn’t there anything that you can do? Even if it is REALLY short??? They say no. No. There is nothing they can do. This is where I lose it again. Big crocodile tears swell up in my eyes and my lip pokes out. I start to cry. I felt so alone, ugly, and hopeless in that moment. I was trapped in a decision that I made without really counting the cost. God met me in that moment, in that salon. This woman, who reminded me of my mom, says something and 5 or 6 people come around me and begin to unpick the dreadlocks on my head. They continue working, talking in Thai, and prompting me to smile every so often. I was SO thankful and surprised! After ten minutes or so I look up and see that I have more body in my hair than I have ever seen in my life—POOF all over. They lead me over to have my hair washed and heavily conditioned. Then they cut my hair. The tall Thai man that cut my hair had a frosted bronze Mohawk, tight skinny jeans, and shirt 2 sizes too small for him. After he cut my hair he said, “Opposite.” Quite matter of factly, “Before?UGLY.Now? Beautiful.” I hugged him and said, “yes.” I walked home praising our amazing God. I like my simple dark brown hair, and its cut. I appreciate it in a new way. Joy and contentment in simple things is such a gift!
Blessings, love, and BIG hugs from Kalimpong!
:o)
Carla
