She’ll welcome you with a wide smile: “Hair or beard?”
Then she will burst out laughing: “We’re barbers too, but female barbers!”

Most probably this is how you’ll get to know Hayam, through her “hair or beard” question.
She won’t care if this is your first time or your hundredth.
“God willing, I’ll make you all pretty on your wedding day,”
She’d say if you’re single.
If you’re married, she’ll pray for you and your daughter:
“God willing, I’ll make her all pretty on her wedding day”.
And if you’re divorced, she’ll definitely try and make up between you and your ex.

You get used to her and soon can’t live without her.
“I can’t complain, you know?
He, too, is tired, and overworked there,
So if I complained, I’d be a spoiled brat!”
She tells me about her husband who works in Kuwait.
She is around 27 or 28-years-old,
She’s been married for a year,
But she’s only seen her husband during the first month of their marriage,
Because he’s bound by a work contract.

“Do you know what I love the most about this job?
The brides. I love doing their hair and makeup.
Not so that people would say ‘Look at what Hayam did!’,
But because when her husband looks at her,
And thinks she’s so beautiful,
My heart could burst with joy.”

Most probably you’ll also walk into the salon
To a huge fight between her and the owner.
“I swear to God I’ll just walk out,
Who does she think she is?”
To which Madam Safiyya’s, the owner, usual response would be
“Be my guest,
Whatever makes you sleep at night”.
But I assure you that if you visit them the next morning,
Before the customers show up,
You’ll find them at Madam Safiyya’s desk whispering,
Then they’ll burst into laughter surrounded by cigarette smoke.
If you walk in at this moment,
Hayam will invite you to join them, saying,
“Come here, little one, we’re telling dirty jokes.”
Then they’d burst into laughter once more.

But on bad days, you’ll find them sitting at the same desk,
Also surrounded by the smoke of their cigarettes,
Talking about life. Eyes wandering about.
Most probably, they’ll end their conversation with,
“Why even bother? The married woman isn’t happy,
And the divorced woman isn’t happy!”
Then Hayam would get up to sweep nothing off the floor,
While Madam Safiyya would get lost in thought in the midst of her cigarette smoke.

“No,” she tells me with a blow dryer in one hand and a brush in another,
“But I told that son of a bitch off.
The moment he started being rude, I slapped him.
I let everyone in the microbus have a go at him.
Did he think that I wouldn’t do anything, that son of a bitch?”
She laughs as she tells you the story, then she’d turn to Madame Safiyya and say,
“I need to leave early today, Mohammed is going to call me.”
Madame Safiyya would mutter some words that suggested her approval.
She’d turn to me, continuing:
“Didn’t I tell you?
I go to a cybercafe so we can see and hear each other.
He told me that the next time he comes,
He’ll buy me a computer with a webcam,
So we can talk comfortably when he’s away.
But I told him that we should save the money for something better.
Anyway…”

She’ll tell you about her little dreams,
While threading a customer’s eyebrows:
“I’m saving now so that I can help him come visit,
Two helping hands are better than one.
When he’s back and we have an apartment of our own,
He says that he wants me to quit my job and stay at home.”
She raises her voice during the last past, so that Madam Safiyya would overhear the conversation.
“Oh, really?”, says Madam Safiyya.
“No, but I told him I could never leave Safsaf my love,” Hayam continues cheekily.

When you get to know her better,
It wouldn’t be strange to walk into the salon one day,
To find her standing in the middle of it,
With a blow dryer in one hand and a cigarette in the other,
Dancing to one of the songs on the radio.
If you looked at her eyes, you might see some redness,
But she’d be fast to wipe them.
“It’s the cigarettes, goddamnit!”

That’s Hayam, the hairdresser.
She does hair and makeup for brides and takes microbuses.
She smokes behind her father’s back,
And she curses anyone who dares cross her.
She sleeps in one room with four siblings and saves up to help her husband.
She always laughs, and when she tears up, she blames the cigarettes.

Goddamn the cigarettes, Hayam!