Tima, who was previously laying on the rug watching some Youtube show on her tablet, was now sitting up with a doll in between her lap teaching Kayla, Michelle’s daughter, how to braid. Babysitters were too expensive, and she never really felt safe leaving her baby with anyone but her mom and sisters who were now back home. She brought Tima to the salon whenever she wasn’t at Kindergarten. Embarrassed by her limited vocabulary and accented English, she’s much less anxious when Sidiki Diabaté’s “L’Enfant Beni” playing from the TV hooked to the right wall fills up the space.Īs Adja separates the Expression braiding hair, she sees her daughter who sits behind her through the mirror. She feels as though they have little in common. Having just come to Harlem from Mali some six months ago, she struggles to communicate comfortably with American clients like Michelle. They haven’t talked much past the initial greeting and Michelle explaining her style choice. She’s working on the last two braids of Michelle’s hair, a first-time customer. All the stations are empty this morning except for one.Īdja parts the last section of hair with the rattail comb to hook in another box braid. The light that seeps through the panes reaches the back of the shop, casting stark white rays against the pink wall. The thick branch of the oak tree leans against the narrow second floor window and blocks streams of sunlight from Adja’s African Braiding Salon. Staff Writer at The Indicator Awa Diop ’26 portrays the fleeting friendship between two girls in an African braiding salon in “Braid Us.” This piece was originally published in “Bridges,” the Fall 2022 edition of The Indicator.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |