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I feel like a new person. As I turn the corner of Church Street, entering the busy Rose Street, I mainly think about how often we as individuals don’t listen. We might hear others, but do we selflessly place our own problems aside to listen actively and help others?
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I will never forget the first time I received a barber’s haircut. I was about six years old, and my father took me to one of those container shops on The Deck – the taxi terminus in the Cape Town CBD. The buzzing sound of the barber’s machine reverberated through my skull and shattered throughout my whole body, and as I inspected my head in the mirror, I watched my hair wave away. That day, when I returned home with the South-Easter brazing on my scalp, my neighbour bellowed, “You look like Geodude from Pokémon!” and through her laughter, I held back my tears and disappointment, and I swore I would never cut my hair with a machine or at a barber again.
Fast-forward to 10 years later; I was then 16, contemplating whether I should swap my mushroomesque hairstyle for what was current at the time – a mullet. “There’s a Jordanian bra that cuts gevaarlike mullets. Just come with me to the barber, you’ll like it there,” reckoned my close friend, and thereafter his pleading turned into forcing. I had mixed emotions, but that was just after Jaynap Higgins (Rahmatulla Alay Ha – may God’s mercy be upon her) snipped a tip of my right ear, and I knew it was time to return to a conventional barbershop. What my friend failed to mention was that the gevaarlike Jordanian couldn’t help us both at the same time, and due to my impatience, I landed in the chair of Abbaas Sylvester.
Abbaas and my hair have been through it all over the past 11 years. I’ve had mullets, pompadours, quiffs, slicked backs, undercuts, side parts with low fades, straight crops with heavy fringes, Caesar cuts, a failed attempt at a man bun, semi-long John Wick-style blowouts, and, quite recently, a fader. The fader surprisingly requires more maintenance than any of the aforementioned styles, because to keep the “die fade is in” tagline, one needs to get a fresh cut every two weeks. My facial hair has also gone through different iterations, such as goatee beards, petite goatees, royale beards, short boxed beards, balbo beards, recurring stubble beards, annual movembers, and a failed Taliban-like style – all making the cut. But one thing that hasn’t changed is Abbaas’s dexterity for cutting hair.
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While I was training, I used to blow up balloons, tie them to a barber’s chair and practise my shaving. That helped with learning to control the pressure of my hand – if I pressed too hard, the balloon would burst, and it meant that I had just cut the client.
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“I started in this trade nearly 20 years ago at Harry Nathoo’s barbershop – a second-generation barber originally from District Six,” explains Abbaas, after I enter Sleek Barber Shop and proceed to sit on his vintage Theo A Kochs barbershop chair that was originally made in Chicago, USA. “I had just completed high school, and while sweeping at Mr Nathoo’s shop, I would watch him cut, and I would steal with my eye. Then, one day in December, a barber never came to work, and Mr Nathoo just gave me a machine and said cut.” Abbaas reaches for the first of three machines he uses to cut my hair. He clicks on the number one clip to his Wahl machine, and begins my haircut, as he continues to tell his story. “While I was training, I used to blow up balloons, tie them to a barber’s chair and practise my shaving. That helped with learning to control the pressure of my hand – if I pressed too hard, the balloon would burst, and it meant that I had just cut the client. I would also stand against the wall, with a comb in my one hand and a scissor in the other, running my hands up and down the wall for hours.”
Abbaas Sylvester and his mentor, Mr Harry Nathoo
In October 2020, last year, Abbaas decided to pursue his dream of opening his own barbershop. Initially, he was nervous, but it was a risk he needed to take. “When lockdown started, I realised that I couldn’t provide for my family,” continues Abbaas, as he removes the number one clipper, cleans the machine with a brush, and begins to comb my hair. “It was no work, no pay, so I considered opening my own shop. I was long enough in the trade, and after working for a boss for over 20 years, I needed to go on my own. I wanted to create something for myself and have something to leave for my family. You see, a barbershop is not just a barbershop; it’s a community, and I wanted to create my own community.”
Aside from his inviting smile and warm nature, there is a melancholy behind Abbaas’s eyes – a melancholy that only I, along with those who have had similar experiences to him, can see. Throughout our many chats over the years, he revealed that he suffered from issues relating to his mental health, and at the time when I, too, struggled, I realised that I needed to think less about myself and listen to him. “For many years, I have struggled, and I impart what I’ve learned about myself to my clients. People don’t just come here to cut their hair; it’s also a sense of therapy – they are able to get things off their minds. For me, as a barber, I can see when my clients are down or not feeling well; if they do decide to talk about it, I try to give them advice.”
Abbaas, an advocate for mental health, and a man who has helped me understand my own inner demons, hasn’t always had it easy. “When I first discovered that I had mental health issues, life became difficult, because I still had to go to work because I had to provide for my family. Other people didn’t understand. They would joke and ask if I had already taken my mal pille when they saw that I wasn’t being myself.
“Things got so bad that my father had to go with me to work, because I was scared to be alone or scared that I would mess up people’s hair. I was also scared that something would happen to me or that I would have a breakdown. But, ja, I never took it hard when people made comments, and being in the barbershop indirectly helped me; it took my mind off everything. Sometimes, when I feel down, talking to my clients helps.” It was then that I realised that in this world we are all interlinked, because just like Abbaas, I too suffered deeply due to my mental health. Since the age of 13, I have struggled with anxiety and depression; however, over the past two years, I’ve been in a good space.
Abbaas places a thick black comb over the top of my hair and does the final fade with his machine-over-comb technique. A clean blade gets placed into his cut-throat razor, and he intricately trims my edges. After a quick clean of his hands, with effortless precision Abbaas takes his high-quality scissor all the way from Solingen, Germany, and completes his scissors-over-comb technique to blend in my fade on the sides. “Finishing is the most important part of the job. How do they say it, now … a barber is only as good as their last cut?” He scoffs and trims my now mini fringe, before adding his final touches of American bay rum for the aftershave, and Brylcreem to moisturise my scalp — once again for that old-school barber feel.
I leave Sleek Barber Shop not only feeling fresh; with every haircut, along with chatting to Abbaas, I feel like a new person. As I turn the corner of Church Street, entering the busy Rose Street, I mainly think about how often we as individuals don’t listen. We might hear others, but do we selflessly place our own problems aside to listen actively and help others? Abbaas has taught me to stop and listen. Because, when we take the time to listen, we will all realise that we are all on this earth, trying to figure out our paths in life.
Visit Sleek Barber Shop at:
97 Church Street
Bo-Kaap
Cape Town
8001
Contact information
- Phone/WhatsApp: +27 71 486 1698
- Email: info@sleekbarbershop.co.za
- https://www.sleekbarbershop.co.za
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