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The Hairdresser of Harare by Tendai Huchu pdf Download, Read Online

The Hairdresser of Harare by Tendai Huchu explores the intertwining lives of Vimbai, a talented yet embattled hairdresser, and Dumisani, the charismatic new stylist who disrupts her world. Set against the backdrop of a rapidly changing Zimbabwe, Vimbai’s struggle to secure her place at the salon leads to an unlikely bond with Dumisani, who soon becomes her tenant and confidant. However, as their relationship deepens, hidden truths about Dumisani emerge, challenging Vimbai’s perceptions and uncovering the societal tensions that shape their lives. This poignant tale blends personal growth with a vivid social commentary.

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Summary of the hairdresser of Harare by Tendai Huchu

 The Hairdresser of Harare is the story of two main characters; Vimbai and Dumisani. Vimbai is the star hairdresser at the Khumalo Hair and Beauty Treatment Salon in Harare, Zimbabwe and the story is told with her as the main character. She has a young daughter who she lives with in a home she inherited from a brother who was working in the UK before passing on. The home where she is living in with her daughter and house help is the reason she is estranged from her family as she refused to allow her brothers take over the one thing her brother left for her. Her life is moving along fine with the usual things that a woman who works in a salon has to deal with, school fees colleagues et al, until Dumisani walks into the salon one day and all hell breaks looks. First off, Dumi quickly takes over the role of “best hairdresser” at MaKhumalo’s and our Vimbai is forced to changed her attitude as her job is no longer guaranteed as before.

The model employee Dumisani then sees a revolution at the salon, changing the posters they had hang around, changing the music to more mordern fare, starting to sell products for birth control and and and… The revolution is truly on. He even engineers it so that everyone gets a salary increase. With the successes MaKhumalo expands and opts to hire a manager for her salon and guess who gets the big job? Not former favourite Vimbai but new golden boy Dumisani. It all looks bleak for Vimbai until Dumisani has to get a new place to live and he moves into Vimbai’s home as a tenant. The enemy at home now becomes an ally and they even start some sort of relationship. A relationship, platonic one mind you, that leads to her meeting her tenant and new “boyfriends” family which is a rich and prominent one.

Eventually she discovers some deep dark unpalatable secrets about the man who she is rapidly falling in love. I’ll give you a clue; the guy works as a hairdresser. He loves everything to do with fashion and hair. He will not have sex with a hot woman alleging that he will prefer to wait until marriage. The novel is an acute portrayal of a rapidly changing Zimbabwe. In addition to Vimbai and Dumisani’s personal development, the book shows us how social concerns shape the lives of everyday people.

About the author- Tendai Huchu

The Hairdresser of Harare by Tendai Huchu
Tendai Huchu

Tendai Huchu born in Bindura on September 28, 1982 and also writes as T. L. Huchu is a Zimbabwean author, best known for his novels The Hairdresser of Harare (2010), The Maestro, The Magistrate & The Mathematician (2014). . He studied Mining Engineering at the University of Harare and dropped out in the middle of the first semester, and from there had various jobs, including working in a casino. His writing career began in 2010. Tendai Huchu’s first novel, The Hairdresser of Harare, was released in 2010 to critical acclaim, and has been translated into German, French, Italian and Spanish. His short fiction in multiple genres and nonfiction have appeared in Enkare Review, The Manchester Review, Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, Gutter, Interzone, AfroSF, Wasafiri, Warscapes, The Africa Report and elsewhere. In 2013 he received a Hawthornden Fellowship and a Sacatar Fellowship. He was shortlisted for the 2014 Caine Prize. He is now a podiatrist in Edinburgh and his work has been translated into German, French, Spanish, and Italian.

Information about the book (Amazon)

The hairdresser of Harare by Tendai Huchu
The Hairdresser of Harare by Tendai Huchu

 Excerpt from the hairdresser of Harare by Tendai Huchu

I knew there was something not quite right about Dumi the very first time I ever laid eyes on him. The problem was, I just couldn’t tell what it was. Thank God for that. There was a time when I was reputed to be the best hairdresser in Harare, which meant the best in the whole country. Amai Ndoro was the fussiest customer to ever grace a salon and she would not let any ordinary kiya-kiya touch her hair. Having sampled all the salons in Harare — and rejected them all — she settled on ours. The fussiest customer was also the largest motor mouth and gossip-monger. Once she was our client, we never needed to advertise again, as long as we kept her happy. That was my job and why Mrs Khumalo paid me the highest wage.

Khumalo Hair and Beauty Treatment Salon was in the Avenues, a short walking distance from the city centre. We did hair but never any beauty treatments. In any case I doubt any of us knew how to. There was a rusty metal sign painted white with black lettering on the front gate that pointed to our establishment. The rust, accumulated over several rainy seasons, had eaten away so much of the sign that only Khu—l-, a drawing of a lady with a huge afro and an arrow still showed. Our customers didn’t need it, the directions were simple. ‘Go up from Harare Gardens, skip two roads, take a left, skip another road and look for the blue house on your right, not the green one, and you’re there.’ You’d have to be a nincompoop to miss it. The front section of the house, which once served as a lounge, was converted into an internet café with a dozen or so computers. You could hear the fans humming and the shriek of the dialler from the pavement across the road. Their prices weren’t too bad either, compared to those at Eastgate or Ximex Mall. The rest of the main house was used by the Khumalo family, all thirteen of them.

Our salon was at the back in what used to be the boy’s kaya, servant’s quarters. From across the yard, the fragrant aroma of relaxers, dyes, shampoos and a dozen other chemicals hit you. The smell merged with the dust from the driveway and left something in your nostrils that you couldn’t shake off until the next time you caught a cold. The building had been crudely extended. A wall had been knocked down to the left and concrete blocks hastily laid to add another seven metres. Such architectural genius had left us with a hybrid building, the likes of which you could only find if you looked hard. The right of the building was constructed of proper burnt bricks, professionally built in every respect. You could see the dividing line where the cheap concrete blocks had been used. Aesthetics aside, we were all grateful for the accommodation, though it rattled a little during heavy storms.

Each morning I was greeted by Agnes with, ‘Sisi Vimbai, you’re late again. Customers are waiting.’ Mrs Khumalo’s eldest daughter held the keys and opened shop. I would make a sound like ‘Nxii’ with my lips and walk in without greeting the cow. I hated her, she hated me twice as much and, so long as mummy wasn’t in, there was no need to pretend otherwise. Everyone knew I was the goose that laid the golden eggs. If I left, half the customers would follow me. In any case, letting them wait made them realise how lucky they were to be served at all, so I was actually doing the business a favour. There were three other hairdressers; Memory, Patricia and Yolanda plus Charlie Boy, our barber, who always came in smelling of Chibuku. The salon was my personal fiefdom and I was queen bee. I would throw my handbag on the floor underneath the cashier’s desk and boil myself a cup of tea. ‘There is a new style I want you to do for me.’ How often have I heard these words, usually followed by a folded picture torn from some glossy American magazine. ‘Nxii, I can do that easily, it’s just the style for you!’ I always indulged them with a white lie. There’s only one secret to being a successful hairdresser and I’ve never withheld it from anyone. ‘Your client should leave the salon feeling like a white woman.’ Not coloured, not Indian, not Chinese. I have told this to everyone who’s ever asked me and what they all want to know is how d’you make someone feel like a white woman? Sigh, yawn, scratch. The answer is simple, ‘Whiteness is a state of mind’. Mrs Khumalo understands this and that’s why she would never fire me. The other girls don’t understand it and that’s why Patricia was fired. The stupid girl got pregnant less than six months into the job, so, of course, Mrs K. had no choice. Hairdressers are there to sell an image and that image is not pushing a football in your belly. Suddenly we had a vacancy. Little did I know that this small twist of fate would cost me my crown.

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