The girls looked me over.
“He has so much,” one of them
said. “Why doesn’t he cornrow it?”
“Shit, yeah,” they said. “That’s
great!”
I said, “What? Cornrows? No!”
“No, no,” they said. “Do it.”
Bongani dragged me to a hair
salon down the street. We went in
and sat down. The woman touched
my hair, shook her head, and
turned to Bongani.
“I can’t work with this sheep,”
she said. “You have to do something
about this.”
“What do we need to do?”