Glitter

Today I revisited the hairdresser I told you about in Shower Gella and for the same reason: to have some fun, but I am not sure if I did.


I walked in and there was no less than eleven women crammed into the little shop. I spotted the girl who usually attends to me and she was having lunch as usual.


“Should I come by some other time? I think you are busy today,” I asked her, feeling claustrophobic.
“No, no. I’ll be with you in a minute,” she replied

I squeezed my body between a mom with two little girls, one of who was jumping up and down like a chimpanzee, and the other, a five year old, was getting changed! The other lady was taking up one third of the seat that was made to accommodate two only.


Oooh, wow!! A bride. How nice. Hmm, she is not smiling a lot. She will probably smile later.
The hairdresser and owner of the shop, Om To’aa, was taking care of the bride, for who else would dare to handle such an important client? The bride's make up was done: tons of foundation and powder that must have blocked off the oxygen from the bride’s skin. And, of course, the point was to make her look as fair-skinned as possible. She had dark fuchsia and blue eye shadow and a thick layer of mascara. She looked pretty anyway.


My granny used to think that God brightens up a bride’s face no matter what. I think she was right, for I have never seen an ugly bride in my life.


Om To’aa had tied the bride’s hair into a pony tail and was now rolling thick hair strands to transform the bun into a fountain of hair, a do I last saw in the 1980s something. Then she decorated the bun with small white artificial flowers and glittery gel.


“Spray!”


And she sprayed the poor girl’s hair as if raiding a cockroach’s colony. The girl did not object. She still looked pretty.


“This is for when you take it off for your husband.” Take what off?!
Suddenly, the hairdresser took a glittery ornamented triangle shaped white piece of cloth and started tying it over the hairdo. Ok, a veiled bride. She still looks nice with the glittery veil.
Another layer, another layer, a pink flower here, a chiffon veil over her face. Her friends started taking pictures of her, asking her to pose here and there.
Why is she not talking or smiling?


After ten minutes, her family was outside waiting for her.


“Yalla, hurry up. Give it to me,” Om To’aa took a rectangular piece of ornamented silk cloth that had two holes in it. It turned out to be a face cover. Oh, ok. A niqabi bride. Hmm.


“No, no. My brother is not going to like this. It’s too attention seeking,” the bride said.
“Are you crazy? Nothing is showing of you, and you are a bride, and you are nineteeeeeeen,” one of her friends, who seemed to had had enough, started to shout.
“Still. He’s going to get angry. Let me use the side with no glitter.”
“Oh, what’s the point of coming here then? I swear nothing is showing, not even your eyes.”


She finally put the face cover on and went out to meet her groom and family. In less than one minute she was back into the shop. No one said anything and I did not understand what was going on.


Usually, it is just the groom being a bit late. This time, it was the brother being an @#%$^$& (Yes, seven letters). He insisted on going home to get something to COVER his sister. I had no idea how he was planning to cover her because she was already covered head to toe. I could only imagine him bringing a white bed sheet.


It occurred to me then that Muslims also use plain white sheets to wrap a body before burying it.


I also remembered something else I learned lately: people we feel sad for can be the happiest on earth.


I do hope she is one of them.