My First Syrian Haircut

I’ve been apprehensive to get my hair cut here because everybody on our street is always dressed to the nines and has well styled hair. My frizzy fro had, until today, withstood the temptation to shababify, but it was just getting too long, and I needed a haircut. [“Shabab” is the Arabic term for young, unmarried men ranging from high-school age until their late-20s. It can be used to describe a large section of the Arab world’s unemployed and restless population; the fashionable crowd that struts up and down our street, hangs out in groups in the park nearby whistling at girls and groping each other, and the drivers of daddy’s car who zoom by us at ridiculous speeds barely missing most everyone around; or, as in the exclamation, “ya shabab” (O’ shabab, hey guys), which can be put before virtually any sentence].

What I didn’t expect was the spa-like experience that ensued. I walked into one of the barbershops closest to our house and sat down in the chair. My barber, or, as it turned out, stylist, started off routinely, using a number 3 trimmer to begin my customary blend on the sides. He did an excellent job, taking more time than the average barber in the US to make sure that everything turned out okay and there were no long patches or clumps anywhere. When he finished, he asked if I wanted a shave. I hadn’t picked up a razor in three or four days and was contemplating growing my beard out again, but I decided against it and asked for a full shave with a razor (as opposed to a trimmer, another option). He agreed and called over a young boy who was probably twelve or thirteen (a future shabab, it can be singular and plural). The boy proceeded to dab on a couple lumps of old-school shaving cream and then use a brush and warm water to smear it all over my face for a good five minutes. He then yelled to the original barber who came over and shaved me. Once the shaving was finished, the barber took more shaving cream and rubbed it all over my cheeks, neck, and the sides of my face up to my eyebrow level on the sides and just under my eyes. He then wrapped the back of my neck in a towel and called to another boy, probably a few years younger than the first one, who took me to the back of the room and washed my hair. When he was done, he motioned for me to dry my hair off with the towel and wash the shaving cream off my face.

Back in the barber’s chair, he rubbed aftershave on my skin and asked if I wanted gel. I don’t usually put gel in my hair, but I didn’t think the experience would be complete with out it. It was a good thing because it proved to be the coup de grace. My Syrian barber achieved something none of my American barbers—nor I—have ever been able to do: get the hair at the front of my head to stick straight up for more than a minute. Final cost for my shave and haircut: $5.44. The experience: priceless. I’m going out now to buy some gel.