Gal dad

 He has been watching me since I came. The kind of look that tells you he's about to ask something but doesn't know if you are the type that can be bothered.

We are at the juice parlour and I have brought my bag of limes  with me.

'What is that one called?"

He finally gets an opening line.

'Ni Lime."

'What does it help with?'

'I think it does the same job as a lemon but with less bitterness.'

'Ooo.'

'Like oranges and tangerines.'

"Are those sisterlocks?"

He finally asks the question that was disturbing him.

'Yes.'

"Sio locks?"

"AI

"Ai, hizo sio locks, wewe huoni." A woman joins in the conversation to confirm to him that no, these are not locks, they are sisterlocks.

"Dreadlocks haziletangi picha muzuri lakini hizi ni nzuri."

He explains that he wants a different style for his daughter but wonders of they can be undone. The woman explains that, these are woven like a rope, to remove them would take a long time.

'Kwani ni nywele Yako?' You mean this is your hair?

He asks wide eyed, and asks if he can touch.

He  says it feels like locks 

The woman continues to defend sisterlocks.

"I think these can be allowed in her school."

'How old is she?'

"Seven," He proceeds to show me a picture.

"He hair is done four times a month, I'm tried. It's soft so after a while it just looks rough. The other day I was going round in town  looking for anga bantu anga bantu braids."

I can tell he doesn't mind at all. I also figure out he is co-operating millenial. Aren't we all? 

I show him a video of an installation.

'Kwani ni wewe una weka!'

He is surprised. He asks me how much I would charge.

And how much and often a retie will be required.

We settle at 1500 per retie.

We exchange numbers.

"I'll call you when she comes on the weekend, where are you located?"

The woman asks if I braid hair. I say I have only specialized on hair locking.

"So if she comes to your salon you will turn her down?" Gal dad asks.

I explain that the only thing  thing I do is bridal make-up.

'Thikū ici moohiki nī matūire?'

"Mohiki ma nakū? Riū andū mathiaga kwa DC, na andū atano tu, mūkainūka."

'Mūingī rīu nī waakī?'

"Ona aingī mokaga o kwīrora na matira kwendera wega."

'Mūcoke mūtigane kī Akothe.'

"After gūitanga mbeca icio ciothe."

(They both agree that weddings are fewer, and it's better to just go to the registration office with five people, not  a  large crowd of jealous people. They mention Akothee's wedding, and the raising cases of separations)

'Nī mūhīrīga ūyū wa Sara, nīwaregire kūiganīra.'

(Women [daughters of Sarah] these days are not patient.'

"Gūtirī mwega, Mimi ni mzazi so siwezi tetea upande wowote. Mambo sio mazuri siku hizi" (I am a parent of both so I cannot take sides, but these days marriages are in danger)

Three men join us.

'Nilimmwagilia maji na hata haikuwa moto sana.' Gal dad says.

We laugh.

My juice is ready.

One of the men says if only we would drink such healthy things. Especially Mūgwanūgū.

I say we call it by a different name in my area.

'Gīthukurūi.'

"Mūthukurūi."

'ah, that one is different Ūcio nī mūaloibera (Aloevera) that one is not for drinking.  Nī wa ironda. It's for treating wounds.'

'Is it the spotted one? 'I ask.

"Yes, and it has a lot of gel. But mūgwa nūgū nī ūyū wa ngirini.)"

Gal dad has finished his apple juice.

I tell the girl to give him some of mine.

'Aaa, hii ni tofauti, hii ata mzinga inaweza chase.'

'If you added mint I am sure it  would be just right.'

The woman picks up her bahs and wishes us a good day.

I get my bottle of lime and cane juice.

This is one of my good finds.

the juice place that just blends whatever you bring with you, ata cabbage.

I usually bring some carrots and beetroot