My Barber is The Real Baba The Fifth

My barber deserves a medal of honor. He deserves an MBS. For the ndogomothis reading this piece, MBS means Maasai with a Burning Spear .

My barber is not like that empty headed MP who keeps saying I second what Siloma said because they have zero content. He is calculative, he crafts my head. Other barbers shave heads.

My barber was born in the age of Sparta where men were born on ice, played with snakes and ate mashed crocodile skin. He has shaved my cranium for four good years and I am about to make him The Real #BabaThe5th.

He works at a barber shop called Climax Executive Barbers. Please note that it is Climax to mean apex. Kilimani and Roysambu guys please sanitize. Or Jalango left you guys at Miale?

There is a way my barber shaves my head, he takes his time. No matter the list of clients waiting? He will carefully pamper my smooth avocado head with baby powder, yes, that powder with an image of baby butts. It is time they put my head there and pay me well for advertising.

Do you know how incredible it is to have my head in your brand? An audio ad can go something like, “Siloma’s head is perhaps the best head in East & Central Africa with a wealth of…” Wait… What is in my head? Back to my barber.

This guy deserves a guard of honor because his microscopic eyes can spot the mind of a grain of hair thinking of germinating. In fact, if you are a friend to Bien-Aime & Aaron Rimbui, you can refer them to my barber. Tell them that the brainiac Siloma gets his head shaved there. I wonder why they did not shoot the song Bald Man Anthem at Climax . (I sincerely do not know why I am laughing every time I mention that name)

You guys are really distracting me, I really need to talk about my barber. Now. I know most of you go to Kinyozis. Well, this guy is not a Kinyozi, he is a coiffeur. (Wueh! I know I have rost a lot of commons here, espeshiary from the sentrol legion)

So my coiffeur offers me a glass of milk, juice or cup of tea whenever I visit him. And since I have been visiting him for four years he knows my specialty. He shaves my airport head with like four gadgets.

There is the starter, the main course, the desert and then the part which I dislike where he puts black mamba bicycle oil on my heading intellectualle (Finally, a scientific name for a head. I had to remember it from my Biology since some of you think that I am not learned).

After smearing my head with bicycle oil, he then takes a noisy machine called a smoother which does the finishing. Even when building a house they say the finishing is the most costly. Let alone a house, ze Bible says better the end of a matter than its beginning? (Hello small devils, I know the scripture).

So this ka-noisy machine gears up my head and kills all future strands of hair that thought they couldn’t be detected by the first three sophisticated machines. I then get ushered to the sink with a notch to place my neck and some beautiful Climax queen comes to wash my head, give me a massage and choma my beards.

Now, I know those Kinyozi’s you go to ooh ati sijui Castro’s Man Cave you have the barber give you some hot slaps of ‘Kaa vizuri’, ‘Leta kichwa left!’ and ‘Inamisha kichwa’. And then you wonder why you are not getting creative or rich in life…