Submission

Hair grows. This is an inevitable result of the passage of time. Usually it's no big deal, but as with most aspects of life overseas, it can become a source of terror as you realize that you can only postpone a haircut for so long before you will have to suck it up, walk into a hair salon, and submit yourself to a stranger's razor.

This doesn't sound like it's worth stressing over, but hairstyles can vary greatly from country to country. And as much as we like to say that all people are the same, it's also true that ethnicity is a factor in the thickness, texture, and color of your hair. In this regard, we are not all equal. I once learned this the hard way in Taiwan when I allowed a stylist to give me a haircut that looked super cute on Taiwanese girls, but resembled a dead rodent when combined with my thin hair and heart-shaped face.

The other problem with haircuts overseas is that salon vocabulary is not a priority in any language training. No beginning level books will teach you essential phrases like "Are these layers too long?" or "Do you like your bangs straight across or angled?" or "Just a couple inches off the back, please!"

So it was with a great deal of trepidation that I climbed the stairs to a salon in Kızılay, a block or two away from my school. Last week a fellow teacher had recommended this place to us, which was helpful because there seems to be a disproportionate number of salons in Ankara. I would guess there's one salon for every six people here. How do you find a good one? Ask a friend with good hair, of course.

The staff greeted me with a friendly "Merhaba" and asked what I needed. I was only able to respond, "My hair.." and make a snipping motion with my fingers representing scissors. The woman smiled, and asked if I simply wanted a cut or a [garbled rapid Turkish], which I can only assume meant any number of hair services from perms to dyeing to God knows what else.

I was directed to a chair, where a man came to take care of me. For some reason, all stylists here are men. I have no idea why this is. But this guy was also very friendly, and tried chatting with me despite his complete lack of English. After shampooing my hair, he plunked me down in front of a mirror and started asking me what I wanted from him.

This was the scary part. There's no way I could even come close to coherently explaining in Turkish what sort of cut I needed. He did his best to visually represent several options, giving me a choice between "hands swooping forward" and "hands making horizontal sweeping motions." I hesitantly chose "hands swooping forward," which seemed like a nice, nonthreatening gesture.

The next step was asking how long I wanted it. Again, this was accomplished mostly through sign language, but when I showed him my desired length, he looked at me quizzically and said, "Really? That long?" I reiterated that yes, it's what I wanted, and he kind of shrugged. I began to wonder if "hands swooping forward" was not the style I thought it was.

He then started reaching for things in the tool belt he wore around his waist like a mechanic. My hair was soon pinned up, and he deftly took a razor to the back of my hair. The next thing I knew, he was holding a mirror up so I could see. "Like that?" he asked. "Yes, that's great," I replied. Or at least that's what I thought I said, but it's quite probable that I was wrong, because he immediately whipped the razor back out and chopped off another inch or so. I watched in horror, but really, what can you do? Once it's short, that's it.

There was nothing left to do but sit and watch as he kept chopping. I'm used to being in this childlike state where I put myself in the hands of others and hope that they point me in the right direction, but I felt myself slipping into a sort of despair as I realized that I had no choice but to let this man have his way with my hair. There was nothing I could do but sit there, smile, and trust that he was professional enough to give me a decent-looking result.

In Islam, a "Muslim" is defined as "a person who submits to God." The whole religion is about submission, about putting ultimate trust in God, seeking his will and then following it wholeheartedly. For some reason, sitting in that chair, I thought of this and wondered if that kind of submission does indeed bring peace, or if it only creates more fear, as it did for me, putting a large part of my physical appearance into the hands of a man I didn't know.

Then I realized that the submission doesn't have to be about fear. As a Christian, I also believe in submitting to God's will, but for me, it's more like the way I submit to my hairstylist in Taiwan. Penny also doesn't speak a lick of English, and the first time I went to her my Chinese wasn't much better than my Turkish is now. But over time, I came to trust her, to realize that she knows a lot more about my hair than I do, and that her taste is better than mine. She is a jealous hairstylist, who chewed me out once when I came in after having visited another barber. But she was completely right; my hair didn't look as good when I'd strayed. I was better off sticking with Penny. After my salon Chinese improved enough that I could talk with her about my hair, she still ignored most of my suggestions. "No. I'm not going to do that," she'd respond. "That would look terrible. Here, let me do this." And I'd shrug and let her do whatever she wanted, because it always ended up looking good. Similarly, I trust God because I know him, I have seen how faithful he is, and I know that his will always ends up being better than my own.

So while I was philosophizing, my stylist was still snipping and blow-drying his heart out, whipping things in and out of his tool belt like some sort of cartoon character. And while I still would've liked more length, everyone else seems to like the result he came up with. I don't know; what do you think? Is this guy worth trusting next time I need a trim?