Just a little snip under his tongue

Can you remember something that you didn't remember?

I don't remember not being able to speak English.
But I remember all those who said that as a child, I couldn't speak English and there were so many that I assume that it must have been true.

Apparently I was raised in the farm with grandparents who only spoke gujrathi and lived amongst the Zulu speaking. As a result grew up speaking a mixture of these two languages and something in between.
I also started speaking very late.
My Ma (granny) thought there was something wrong with the little bit, that joined my tongue to my mouth

She couldn't understand why they wouldn't let her just snip that little bit off and "you will see how he will start talking". I am sure that she meant well but I am grateful that nobody let her try to snip the little bit under my tongue.
We never got to test her theory because nobody would let her.
And by the time I was three, I was suddenly talking.
Non stop.
But the language that I spoke was something of my own creation and  because it was cute or  people were worried I would stop talking if they interfered, nobody corrected me.

Seems I went to school at six speaking this gobble dee gook and clearly I was my teachers problem by then. So it didn't matter.

Thankfully I don't remember too much about what the other kids said about me. I am sure they must have had lots to say about the boy who came from the farm, who couldn't speak properly.

Anyway daddy would take me to Moon's Barber shop once a month.

To get there one had to go through the alley besides Yusuf stores. Where Asmalls curtaining is today.

It was an "old school" Barber shop. Complete with old guys who just came there for a shave and to read the papers and shoot the breeze.

It was always packed and when I walked in Moon would announce to all who were there that this Parak buy started coming to his Barber shop when he was little.
And he couldn't speak any English!

So moon would speak to me in what little Zulu he knew. And this story would embarrass me as it followed me through my teen years.

Until finally when I was old enough I changed barbers just to get away from story.

When I was little he would put a plank over the arms of the chair and have me sit up high so he could reach me.
My hair would be cut really short as per my dad's instructions, despite the fact that I wanted it a little longer.
Longer hair was in fashion at the time.
He used a hand clipper, scissors and comb.
The snippers literally snipped snipped all around, and the clippers pulled out more hair than they cut.

Then came the legendary jack razor that he sharpened on a well worn leather strap.
Aids was not something that even existed back then.

So he would use this scary blade to clean up the edges.

Half of those in the barber shop were old farts who came for the conversation and I must say it was great fun.