If you are walking nearby any institution of higher learning in Kenya and would wish to enjoy a freak-show for free, grab yourself some popcorn from the nearest vendor and pay close attention to the weirdo hairstyles that students sport. I would advise you to put on sun-glasses though, for it seems like this is a generation hell-bent on abusing our eye-sight with their garish coiffures.
Their hairstyles run the whole gamut from the ridiculous to the insane, and onto the utterly criminal. Boys in skinny jeans nowadays wear spiky bangs, furrows, corn rows, multi-coloured Mohawks, spread out side-burns and other outlandish hairdos that are yet to be named. They look really hideous, like a bunch of cockerels on the loose.
I believe that God created and positioned things in their default positions and no man has a right to change this. The rainbow, for instance, was to stay up there in sky, not on gormless students’ heads. Ever since that Peter Marangi commercial first appeared on air, young people have been painting their drumheads all sorts of colours! It is anarchy at its worst, and it makes me damn furious!
And what is it with engraved symbols on their heads? Just because your favourite rapper has a matatu route number engraved on their head does not mean you should follow suit! I pity that chap from Kiambu who has “100/120” inscribed on his small noggin. My old man Grandpa Richard insists that “empty inside” are the only words that should be shaved on peoples’ heads.
Barbershops are almost running out of business because boys my age prefer their hair done in beauty salons. Stout men nowadays fancy having their hair ‘fried’ and ‘cooked’ in beauty spas. I am told they are aping a certain political rock-star. Men even sport ponytails, and it has becoming almost impossible to tell one’s sex just by looking at their hair.
The argument that degenerate hairdos help one to express themself better is, of course, spurious for more reasons than my fingers and toes run to. If you want to express yourself better, buying a dictionary and learning punctuation will go a longer way than smelly dreadlocks.
My old man Grandpa Richard says that during their time everyone had the same hairstyle which they called Jordan. “We wore our Jordan hairstyles like a badge of honour,” Recalls my nostalgic grandpa, who has had the same hairstyle for over seventy years. He further goes ahead and suggests that the government should round up all college students and sheer them down like sheep.
Feral haircuts are the entry lane to the super-highway of rascality. If nothing is done to arrest this reprehensible trend, young people sporting unfortunate hair-cuts will branch out into crime, imbibing illegal brews, and assaulting farm animals in ways I cannot describe.
They have asinine hairstyles, these comrades of mine.