I froze the minute a white masseuse plunged her fingers into my Afro. Look, I’d been to this particular Spa countless times and always for the same treatment: Back, Neck & Shoulders. It’s one of the cheapest massage categories and as a student…need I say more? It’s quite a popular Spa that uses ‘supervised trainees’ at a reduced client fee and from my experience, delivers great service too. So I’d made it my go-to area for rejuvenation.
Then this happened, and I began to question things. My first instinct was, “wait a minute, what’s she doing?” Now, I’m not one of those who yap ceaselessly about nothing of importance or groan (I’ve heard frightful noises coming from next doors) during a massage. In fact, I make it a point to inform the massage therapist that I’m not on a friendly chit-chat mission; I’m paying for a service and I need my peace during the session, period. And so towards the end of this otherwise relaxing massage, her fingers strayed into my Afro, and stayed there!
Is it really worth making a big deal out of this? Well, yeah, for a good number of reasons: Firstly, why had no one else ever done that? Was it part of the ‘finishing touches’ assigned to this massage category that I had been cheated on all this while? Or was she being nice and offering me extra treatment for mahala? Or, and this is what really got me thinking, was she just being curious about its feel? (Which in my opinion, is perfectly OK when done with permission.) But let’s not forget about the possibility of downright mischief; you can never tell… So with all these ‘what ifs’ swirling around in my head, I tensed up and didn’t even enjoy the ‘head massage’.
So why the hell didn’t I just say something? I. Don’t. Know. All I know is that I walked into a massage room with lush fluffy halo of an Afro and emerged matted, dishevelled and looking totally crazy!