Saturday Morning in Monrovia
I did my usual Friday food shopping run yesterday afternoon, and as I was unloading my groceries, I realized that I’d forgotten a couple of things (second week in a row - a clear sign of old age). No worries though, Saturday morning I was going to go get my hair cut, so I’d run by Harbels on the way back.So this morning I get up (slept in - wow I guess I needed it), do some fun reading while eating breakfast (monsters trying to take over the world kind of stuff), and decided to get out a bit early around 9:30.
As I approach Salah Saleh’s Saloon just before 10, I see it’s locked up. Then again, pretty much everything else is locked up too and the street vendors are just setting up. I guess Benson Street and everything else doesn’t really get started until after 10. So I take advantage of the time and walk around exploring a bit. First circling a couple of blocks one way - still closed - then circling a couple of blocks another way - still closed. However, the usual guard is outside standing around so it may open at some point and hey, at least I got a long walk in. I decided to head over to Harbels to pick up my stuff and come back the long way and see if the Saloon is open then. Nothing like a 4 mile walk to start your weekend. I was listening to the Clash and it was a great opportunity to finish up Combat Rock and to start Sandinista.
I walk on over to Harbels, buy my stuff and walk back. Great! It’s open.
As I walk in there’s a guy in the chair, another sitting down, and then me. Shouldn’t be too long of a wait - none of us have a lot of hair. A few minutes later, another guy comes in - 3 from the Lebanese community (not counting the barber) and me. The third guy lights a cigarette waiting his turn. Then yet another guy comes in - clearly a Liberian - and wearing dress pants, white shirt and a tie.
“Hey boss man, how’s it going?” “Ok and you old man?” “Trying”
They obviously know each other well. The Liberian walks over to the other barber station (which I’ve never seen in use), lathers up some shaving cream, puts it on and starts shaving.
While this was happening, there was a historical drama (in Arabic) on the tv, one guy finished up and the guy in front of me started and well on the way to being done after 5 minutes. Like I said, none of us waiting in line had a lot of hair. A couple of minutes later Saad, the barber, looks over at me and tilts his head to indicate it’s my turn.
As I sit in the chair I ask him where the drama is supposed to be taking place (it was an Arabic country, what looked to be French police officials [they looked like the cops in Casablanca], what I thought was a French flag in the back ground [though it could have been a green color - Italy, or some other country’s flag - I always get those three color flags mixed up in my mind] and some rebels.). He looked at me and said, “Oh, it’s a historical drama.” I replied, “Yeah, but where does it take place? Lebanon?” He looked surprised and said, “Yeah, Lebanon.” “Just wondering.”
Then Saad said, “The usual?” “Yup.” As he turned with the clippers and looked at my head I said, “Oh yeah, my wife cut my hair when I was on vacation.” “I can tell.” And he started cutting my hair.
After a couple of minutes another Liberian came into the shop. Saad had business with him and quickly grabbed some papers and handed it to him, saying a few words I didn’t quite catch. I realized that they were speaking Liberian English and the sounds suddenly materialized into words. As the guy was leaving, Saad called him back in and told him a jack and crow bar were on the floor for him to use. The guy complained that it wasn’t the right jack for the truck. “Yeah, but it will work.” “I want the right jack. But I’ll take this now and try to use it.” “Leave it and come back small small [in a few minutes] and I’ll get the right one for you. I’m busy right now.” The guy said he’ll take the jack and try it out, but he’ll bring it back because he wants the right one. Saad gave him a look and he said, “Respect me, trust me, I respect you, we do good business together - I’ll be back with the jack.” They both laughed and the guy went on his way.
It dawned on me that not only could I understand a Liberian speaking Liberian English, I could understand a Lebanese man speaking Liberian English (and he was darned good at it - most folks that try sound really fake, not Saad.)
After a couple of minutes, the guy with the tie finished up what he was doing (I don’t have a clue what that was, I was sitting still getting my hair cut), walked out and said, “See you later Boss Man.” “Hey, old man, wait!” “What?” “Why do they bury lawyers face down?” “What? They don’t bury lawyers face down!” “Why do they bury lawyers face down?” “Oh, I don’t know, why?” “To keep them from lying after they’re dead!” “You’re not going to bury me face down! I don’t lie!” And he walked out the door.
Saad turned back to start cutting my hair again. “You do know that I’m a lawyer don’t you?” “What? You’re a lawyer?” “Yeah, I’m a lawyer?” “No . . .” “Yes. I am.” I can see the old guy smoking the cigarette in the mirror, I watch him shaking in laughter. Saad says, “Well, you’re a lawyer, he’s a liar!” I replied, “Yeah, well there was one summer my kids thought that was the funniest thing in the world - they kept saying “My daddy isn’t a lawyer, he’s a liar!" It drove me nuts!" I glance over to the mirror, the smoking guy is shaking his head laughing. “Don’t worry Saad, there are two kind of lawyers in the world, those that like lawyer jokes and those that don’t - and I’m the kind that does. . . at least as long as you’re holding that razor blade.” By that point everyone in the room is laughing.
I don’t know how much of Liberia I am going to miss when it’s time to move on, but I will miss Salah Saleh’s Saloon.