Would you marry my husband?
Do what it takes to get what you want, especially when the stakes are high. That’s what my stylist did when her husband landed in hot water. Here’s what happened:
I used to get my hair braided all of the time. It was convenient and it looked awesome. In fact, to allay any hair-related problems when I was in Spain, I made sure I had fresh braids before I went over there. People used to stop me in the street to comment on my braids. Some of them even touched my braids without even asking. That wasn’t so cool, but that’s Spain – a whole other story. My braids looked good even after I came back to the U.S. six months later.
And so it was that Bintu was the only one to touch my hair and put in those braids. (Called trensas in Spanish). She is from Senegal and of course she is devastatingly gorgeous in that way only African women can be. Her husband, also from Senegal, was even better looking: 6 foot 1. So dark he was blue black.
I loved them. They loved me. It follows that it was no surprise when Bintu asked me if I had a boyfriend. Normal salon talk, nothing to be surprised by. I said no as I am, and continue to be, the queen of first dates and on-and-off relationships. At that time I was in the “off” status so I let her know that.
She asked me a few questions, all becoming increasingly personal. Then she pulled out the jaw-dropper and asked me, “Would you marry my husband?”
INS was after him even though Bintu somehow escaped their attention. She wanted my American citizen status to keep him in the U.S. They’d just had a little baby boy and she didn’t want him to spend any time away from his father.
One part of me I wouldn’t have minded, seeing as though he was super hot. But I’m not into polygamy and couldn’t see sharing my man. I’d kill my dear friend Bintu just to have her / our husband all to myself.
It’s not a good idea to anger your stylist while she is putting braids in your hair. She could put them in too tightly and you’ll be crying for weeks until your hair grows out enough to release the tension on your scalp. I hemmed and hawed until we came to the agreement that I’d get back to her.
Now I’m in a pickle. I didn’t want to answer her and tell her no. But I also didn’t want to stop going to her to get my hair done. Eventually she dropped it and I was relieved to say the least.
Eventually I stopped going to get my hair braided and I moved from Philly to Florida. I’ll always remember how my friend asked me to marry her husband and ultimately become wife number two.