#BeardGang

The month of March is coming to a close. What do you have to show for this first quarter of 2017? I for one have quite a number. I have a new kid (Okay, he was born in February, at least I have a goat, jeez, get off my back). I swear Valentino has me feeling like DJ Khaled and Asahd. Puss gave us a litter of kittens, I mean, it's raining young ones over here! And finally, I grew another beard strand. Now here is where I have an issue. Some of us have facial hair deficiency or maybe we just happen to be slow beard-growers. People ask me why I stopped going to the barber's,well, let me tell you how it all went down.
A beautiful sunny morning, I woke up feeling all middle-class and entitled. Yawned, drew the curtains, sent a shoutout to The Big Man in The Clouds and went looking for food to stuff in this hole in my face. Nutrition gotten? Good. Maybe I showered or I didn't, anyway I hopped on out to the kinyozi. There's something about the barber shop that sets it apart from a salon. Maybe it's the smell of methylated spirit and lemon halves in the air. Maybe it's the soothing reggae music coming from the speakers under the waiting-bench. Maybe it's all the newspapers spread all over; newspapers from 2012, 2014, 2015, all old and yellow from being fingered and touched too much over the years. Maybe it's the testosterone just sitting in the atmosphere, all blood and guts, football and rugby, tusker and nyama choma. That, dearly beloved, that is what a kinyozi feels like. I've seen these 'unisex salons' that have come up, actually I have been to one myself. Fancy place, they have aquariums and Wi-Fi and a live band and unicorns that poop butterflies. They have hot towels for your hands, since your hands are these delicate little things that need love and warmth and expensive creams which you will rub off when you wash your hands after taking a leak in their fancy toilets, excuse me, washrooms.
So I made my way to the kinyozi. I sat myself on the vibrating waiting-bench which hummed along to Beres Hammond as he remembered Those Days When Music Used To Make Us Rockaway. I picked up a copy of a yellowing Saturday paper and pretended to read, knowing very well, Baba Mike will suddenly get interested in the paper when someone else starts reading. Sure enough, he asks me to raise it higher up so that he can read the front page clearly. I tell him I am done with it actually, hand it to him and see his interest levels drop by half. Mike rushes in with Jamal in tow. 7 year olds with no front teeth and who probably think girls are gross.
I look around the room. The two kinyozi booths both of which have dozing 50 something year olds getting their chins exposed. The hairstyles posters. The ones that have Ludacris and Chris Brown and Jamie Foxx and all these famous African-American males posing, waiting to be pointed at as a muse for a new hairstyle (which Johnte -the barber- won't get). The oldies done, enter their previous selves, Mike and Jamal. Out of breath from running up and down the stairs, squirmish in the kinyozi seat with their feet hanging and swinging around, embracing their shortness. They can't say "sasa" or "sister" or "stima" they sound like," Thatha thithter, hakuna thtima". Do I laugh at them? Like hell I do!
I get on the seat. Johnte is out throwing the hair from the 7 year old heads. I look at the paraphernalia on the table. The shaving machine, the spirit, the beard razor (which promises no bumps), Johnte's lighter. Wrapper on my neck, Johnte asks me how life's been since I was there a month ago. A little lie here, a little lie there, I break down the story of my last month to Johnte who only says things like, "waaaa, haiya, sema walai, wazi brathe, apo sawa" the whole time I talk. He starts dusting my chin and says,
" You know, I have this cream; it helps guys get their beards."
At that moment, everything seemed to come to a halt. Let's analyse this statement shall we,  1. You know. When a person starts a statement with you know, with the stress on the last syllable of know, then you know you are about to be told!
2. I HAVE A CREAM THAT HELPS GUYS GET THEIR BEARDS. The tone, the hush hush way I was being made aware of this product. It is the same tone your sex advisor uses when he tells you,
"I have this little blue pill that enhances performance."
It's that tone that accompanies words like, " I have these cookies that can make you touch the clouds."
I was taken aback (I used to use this phrase a lot back in primary school composition writing). I was stunned. So, when Willie Wonker down there decides he is retiring it's the same thing as having a naturally exposed chin? But I had a strand I would pull at when in church! (all deep in thought, reflecting) Didn't that count? Oh well, people pay to have the chin hair off anyway, I might as well decide to keep the hair on my head.
So there you have it. I decided to keep my hair at the expense of a beard. Also, head shave is 70 bob, beard shave is 50 bob both head and beard is 100 bob. I want to go in with my hundred shillings, long hair and a beard and say, "Johnte, fagia yote"
Today I felt I needed to do something fruity and foreign. Crepes everybody! Crepes with strawberries and chocolate marble cake. Crepes are basically fancy French pancakes, think Antoine or Pierre, thin moustache and an accent.

Ingredients
1/2 (half) cup of Self Raising flour
1 tablespoon of sugar
1/4 (quarter) teaspoon of salt
2 eggs beaten
175 ml milk
1 tablespoon of butter melted

Method
In a blender, mix all these ingredients and blend till bubbles form at the top. Using a blender is easier. Let this sit for roughly 15 minutes. In a greased pan, put a moderate amount of the batter. You can swirl this around to ensure even spreading out. On medium heat, let the crepe turn brown (it might take upto 2 minutes) before flipping. Once both sides are done, repeat. The crepes are supposed to turn out soft and thin. Fold into a quarter and place strawberries in the foldings. Dust with icing sugar and drizzle honey to add a sweet taste.
Output; 4 pieces.
Enjoy!

Thank you so much for reading and sharing, kindly look at my previous posts.

Catch you next time.
In true Crepe spirit: Merci et Au revoir