Molweni Friends!
It’s been a while since I last posted—things have been a little busy on my end—but I’m back! I know I promised to update you on the latest developments with Sister’s Keeper in this post, but I’ve decided to dedicate my next post to that because I’ve been wanting to share something else with you for the past couple weeks.
I have been blessed with many experiences and opportunities, my time here in South Africa not being the least of them. While I have certainly appreciated the often planned and structured moments in my life, be it professional, personal, academic, or anything in between, I have found no greater value than in the lessons and insights gained through life’s simple serendipities, a.k.a “the little things.” It comes in different forms: the occasional expression of kindness from a stranger, the interesting conversation with another passenger on the train, the unplanned 4-hour conversation with a friend, or the accidentally awesome find of the less than conspicuous store tucked away in a narrow alley. It may not seem like much, but I deeply appreciate those moments because they remind me that simply allowing myself to receive life as it comes can teach me more about people and the world around me than I could have ever learned by rigidly relegating myself to the life I am always planning to live. I am happy to report that I have had an abundance of those moments while in South Africa and have one of a few I’d like to share with you.
A $12 Hairdo and a Priceless Conversation
He was standing outside with a few other guys with his feet posted against the wall as I exited the car. We’ll call him Tšepo*, which means “hope” in Sesotho. It was time to get my hair done and according to the card another guy handed me a few days before in another shopping center close by, this was where I needed to be if I wanted my locs washed, twisted, and styled for the $12. Tšepo was of a slender build with skinny jeans placed well below his waist, his body language was not particularly warm, and he looked no older than 18, but he told me that if I was there to get my hair done, I should follow him. To be honest, I initially wasn’t sure what to think! Firstly, I had not entirely ruled out the idea that getting my hair done for $12 was a gimmick(getting my hair done is usually at least six times that price!). Secondly, I had never gotten my locs professionally done by a guy before, let alone a guy that looked like he was still in high school. Thirdly, the shopping center was also not particularly populated. It was located in an area that some deemed “questionable territory” and since I had never been in this area before, I had no idea where this guy was taking me. Nevertheless, I trusted my instincts and followed him up the stairs of the shopping center.
Fortunately, my instincts did not deceive me. I entered the salon, was asked to pay the South African equivalent of $12 up front, and Tšepo guided me to the sink for my first wash. Preliminary introductions followed and as he meticulously did my hair, we discussed for the next three hours almost everything, from life in Jamaica(where I am originally from), Lesotho(where he was from), South Africa, and America, food, music, Mandela, poverty, to styling and caring for locs, history and economic opportunity. He told me he had been living on his own in PE(Port Elizabeth) in a modest single room house in a township close by for over a year and had recently started this entrepreneurial venture in styling locs with nine other young black men. They had collectively pooled together funds to rent the space and had outfitted it like any other hair salon. I later learned he was actually 21, a little older than my initial estimate. He was as skillful in styling my hair as he was in articulating his philosophies about life.
I was especially interested in his views on life in South Africa, about which he had the following to share: He and his family moved to South Africa several years ago from Lesotho in search of better opportunities. His mother received a Master’s in Agricultural Science, his older brother graduated from university, and he matriculated(graduated from high school). He saw greater value in devoting his time to entrepreneurial pursuits than going to university, and for good reason. His mother was unemployed and since being in South Africa, had applied for countless jobs, only to be told that she was “overqualified.” “Can you believe there is such a thing as being overqualified?,” I remembered him saying. His brother had also been looking for jobs and has yet to find one worth the financial sacrifice of paying for university. Tšepo had even applied to university, had gotten in, but decided to turn down the opportunity because he and his family didn’t have the money to afford it. “It isn’t that there is a shortage of ability; it’s just a shortage of opportunity,” he said when discussing his experience in the context of others he knew whose university aspirations had come to the same fate. His mother remains convinced that education is a way out of poverty, as I too believe, but given his family’s circumstances, he found it hard to see it that way. Instead, he believed the more time he could spend mastering this craft, the more he and his business partners could grow their venture and ultimately build a franchise of salons in other areas around the country. “I just want to do something that will break the cycle of poverty for me and my family,” he said.
I also happened to have Mandela’s Long Walk to Freedom with me that day, which he noticed. It ultimately became the catalyst for our conversation on the need to discuss and learn about the past. He didn’t think there was much of a point to talk about “the struggle” and other moments of the past because he believed talking about it does nothing to change the present. I disagreed and shared that one has to first look to their past in order to look to the future, which he respected, but didn’t seem too convinced. This led us to another conversation about how much he did not believe in the government and its ability to change society, and that he found more promise in the people, which I understood. He continued to share other ambitions of entering the music industry and of also starting a non-profit that worked to offer a space to mutually engage young white South African suburbanites and black youth in townships across the city, with the hope that doing so would give both groups the opportunity to learn more about their similarities than differences.
Three hours later and $12 lighter, I left the salon with a bangin’ hairstyle(pics below) and one of the most insightful and inspiring conversations I have had since being in South Africa. I knew his experiences were his own, but I couldn’t help but put them in the context of others both similar to and different from his own, not just in South Africa, but in Jamaica and the U.S., which I know more intimately. Tšepo offered views that begs the question that is often at the heart of policy, economic, social and political debates around the world: “How can we break the unfortunate cycle of poverty?” For me, I think it begins with a holistic offering of structural and community-based changes, which among other things, support the entrepreneurial minds and ideas of people like Tšepo. Tšepo was understandably disillusioned by the structural barriers he and his family have faced, but it did not eclipse his will to dream of a better reality and act upon it. I think the work of public service demands that we adopt a similar mindset. Acknowledge the realities as they are, but allow them to be the impetus for action in service of the vision of a fairer and kinder world. Tšepo gave me more than an awesome hairstyle that day; he gave me hope, and for that, I will always be grateful. Thank God for “the little things”!
It’s been a while since I last posted—things have been a little busy on my end—but I’m back! I know I promised to update you on the latest developments with Sister’s Keeper in this post, but I’ve decided to dedicate my next post to that because I’ve been wanting to share something else with you for the past couple weeks.
I have been blessed with many experiences and opportunities, my time here in South Africa not being the least of them. While I have certainly appreciated the often planned and structured moments in my life, be it professional, personal, academic, or anything in between, I have found no greater value than in the lessons and insights gained through life’s simple serendipities, a.k.a “the little things.” It comes in different forms: the occasional expression of kindness from a stranger, the interesting conversation with another passenger on the train, the unplanned 4-hour conversation with a friend, or the accidentally awesome find of the less than conspicuous store tucked away in a narrow alley. It may not seem like much, but I deeply appreciate those moments because they remind me that simply allowing myself to receive life as it comes can teach me more about people and the world around me than I could have ever learned by rigidly relegating myself to the life I am always planning to live. I am happy to report that I have had an abundance of those moments while in South Africa and have one of a few I’d like to share with you.
A $12 Hairdo and a Priceless Conversation
He was standing outside with a few other guys with his feet posted against the wall as I exited the car. We’ll call him Tšepo*, which means “hope” in Sesotho. It was time to get my hair done and according to the card another guy handed me a few days before in another shopping center close by, this was where I needed to be if I wanted my locs washed, twisted, and styled for the $12. Tšepo was of a slender build with skinny jeans placed well below his waist, his body language was not particularly warm, and he looked no older than 18, but he told me that if I was there to get my hair done, I should follow him. To be honest, I initially wasn’t sure what to think! Firstly, I had not entirely ruled out the idea that getting my hair done for $12 was a gimmick(getting my hair done is usually at least six times that price!). Secondly, I had never gotten my locs professionally done by a guy before, let alone a guy that looked like he was still in high school. Thirdly, the shopping center was also not particularly populated. It was located in an area that some deemed “questionable territory” and since I had never been in this area before, I had no idea where this guy was taking me. Nevertheless, I trusted my instincts and followed him up the stairs of the shopping center.
Fortunately, my instincts did not deceive me. I entered the salon, was asked to pay the South African equivalent of $12 up front, and Tšepo guided me to the sink for my first wash. Preliminary introductions followed and as he meticulously did my hair, we discussed for the next three hours almost everything, from life in Jamaica(where I am originally from), Lesotho(where he was from), South Africa, and America, food, music, Mandela, poverty, to styling and caring for locs, history and economic opportunity. He told me he had been living on his own in PE(Port Elizabeth) in a modest single room house in a township close by for over a year and had recently started this entrepreneurial venture in styling locs with nine other young black men. They had collectively pooled together funds to rent the space and had outfitted it like any other hair salon. I later learned he was actually 21, a little older than my initial estimate. He was as skillful in styling my hair as he was in articulating his philosophies about life.
I was especially interested in his views on life in South Africa, about which he had the following to share: He and his family moved to South Africa several years ago from Lesotho in search of better opportunities. His mother received a Master’s in Agricultural Science, his older brother graduated from university, and he matriculated(graduated from high school). He saw greater value in devoting his time to entrepreneurial pursuits than going to university, and for good reason. His mother was unemployed and since being in South Africa, had applied for countless jobs, only to be told that she was “overqualified.” “Can you believe there is such a thing as being overqualified?,” I remembered him saying. His brother had also been looking for jobs and has yet to find one worth the financial sacrifice of paying for university. Tšepo had even applied to university, had gotten in, but decided to turn down the opportunity because he and his family didn’t have the money to afford it. “It isn’t that there is a shortage of ability; it’s just a shortage of opportunity,” he said when discussing his experience in the context of others he knew whose university aspirations had come to the same fate. His mother remains convinced that education is a way out of poverty, as I too believe, but given his family’s circumstances, he found it hard to see it that way. Instead, he believed the more time he could spend mastering this craft, the more he and his business partners could grow their venture and ultimately build a franchise of salons in other areas around the country. “I just want to do something that will break the cycle of poverty for me and my family,” he said.
I also happened to have Mandela’s Long Walk to Freedom with me that day, which he noticed. It ultimately became the catalyst for our conversation on the need to discuss and learn about the past. He didn’t think there was much of a point to talk about “the struggle” and other moments of the past because he believed talking about it does nothing to change the present. I disagreed and shared that one has to first look to their past in order to look to the future, which he respected, but didn’t seem too convinced. This led us to another conversation about how much he did not believe in the government and its ability to change society, and that he found more promise in the people, which I understood. He continued to share other ambitions of entering the music industry and of also starting a non-profit that worked to offer a space to mutually engage young white South African suburbanites and black youth in townships across the city, with the hope that doing so would give both groups the opportunity to learn more about their similarities than differences.
Three hours later and $12 lighter, I left the salon with a bangin’ hairstyle(pics below) and one of the most insightful and inspiring conversations I have had since being in South Africa. I knew his experiences were his own, but I couldn’t help but put them in the context of others both similar to and different from his own, not just in South Africa, but in Jamaica and the U.S., which I know more intimately. Tšepo offered views that begs the question that is often at the heart of policy, economic, social and political debates around the world: “How can we break the unfortunate cycle of poverty?” For me, I think it begins with a holistic offering of structural and community-based changes, which among other things, support the entrepreneurial minds and ideas of people like Tšepo. Tšepo was understandably disillusioned by the structural barriers he and his family have faced, but it did not eclipse his will to dream of a better reality and act upon it. I think the work of public service demands that we adopt a similar mindset. Acknowledge the realities as they are, but allow them to be the impetus for action in service of the vision of a fairer and kinder world. Tšepo gave me more than an awesome hairstyle that day; he gave me hope, and for that, I will always be grateful. Thank God for “the little things”!
* Tšepo was not his actual
name, but for the purposes of respecting his identity, I decided to change his
name.
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