Hair today, gone tomorrow - but never forgotten

Some barber shops like Ras Hairdressers in Valbro Chambers in Victoria Street (now Bertha Mkhize Street) were neat and tidy, while some, without mentioning any names, were downright dirty.

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RIGHT: Kiran Ramkylas is one of the last local 'old school' barbers still located in downtown Durban.

(Supplied)

The hygiene standards were concomitant with the prices charged for a haircut. By pumping on a foot pedal, the barber could raise the bulky chair (most were imported from England in days gone by). A wooden board was placed across the chair armrests to provide height when screaming toddlers were brought in.

I dreaded going to the barbershop with my mother for two reasons. The old hand clippers, stiff with neglect, would sometimes jam and cruelly pinch the skin when 3-in-one lubricating oil had not been used. I would wince when nipped by the clippers and the clearly culpable barber would make as if I was complaining for no reason. Also, my mother would insist that I be given the regulation dish cut which was a plain bowl haircut with no box cut or sideburns, and though I longed to look fashionable, that simple trim became the unmistakable mark of every schoolboy.

When barbers closed their businesses in the city and relocated to the suburbs, my father would take my brother and I to a barber by the name of Moonsamy in Westcliff, Chatsworth. He cut hair under a peaches tree in his sandy backyard. When my father’s back was turned, we would whisper our pleas to the barber for a box cut, but he always shook his bald head, too afraid my father would be angry. What stuck with me most wasn’t just the disappointment of the haircut, but the way Moonsamy the barber punctuated his work every few minutes, sending a sharp stream of spit sailing through the gap in his front teeth, a habit I found utterly detestable.