Strengthening the Threads Between Us

For the past three years, I have subscribed to a beauty practice for my eyebrows known as “threading”. Commonly practiced in Egypt and India, the art of threading has moved its way to the United States. With the use of a cotton thread, the hair is trapped and pulled out of the hair follicle resulting in a cleaner look as opposed to tweezing or waxing. During this time, I have bonded with a worker at the shop simply known as “Maya”.

 

Maya, a 53 year old slim woman and I are around the same height of 5’5”. Maya has an air of regality that I wished that I possessed. Originally born in India, she has been an immigrant twice in her life: the first, moving to Nairobi, Kenya as a bride to her husband at the age of 22 and again three years ago when she and her family relocated to Rochester, New York; moving here at the wishes of her family due to the unrest that has sadly become a way of life in Kenya. Maya has become more than the woman who makes my eyebrows look beautiful. We have often discussed issues such as children, work and school over the years. But I sense that there is a deeper story behind this soft spoken, but strong woman. I know that she has a son who is slightly older than my oldest child who is a student in college or university, as it is known in Europe, studying engineering. Maya has shared with me struggles that her son faced, particularly financial; working two jobs in order to subsist. Money earned goes toward tuition, where Maya and her husband Patel contribute as much as they can from their earnings. Literally, Maya works twelve hour shifts, anywhere from six to seven days a week. I was extremely grateful when Maya granted me the opportunity to get to know her further.

 

I found out that Maya, like myself, is a wife and mother to 28 year old twin sons. Her youngest twin son died four years ago in a car accident. Amazingly enough, when Maya shared that tragic news, not a glimmer of sadness crossed her face; as if she had made peace with the situation. Her eyes remained steady with mine, as she described in matter of fact tone how he perished. This was a woman with great strength. I knew then if the situation were reversed, I would still be in tears. Not to say that she had not shed any tears of anguish or sorrow. I believe that strength is laced in faith, of knowing that her son is in a better place, and the knowledge she would see him again.

 

Moving to Nairobi was a daunting task. Learning a new language, a new set of customs was one that any new wife would be nervous to experience. One of the things that she remembers of being an immigrant at that time was though she had to leave her family and friends, Maya understood the importance of her place as a wife; traveling to a new land. Although it was a new land, I am sure that she may have relaxed being surrounded in the Indian community that existed in Nairobi. The impressions from that time that stood out for her was that sense of community. Everyone knew everyone else. From Maya’s description, it all seemed like a large extended family. I have no doubts that she adapted to the Kenyan customs quickly. From living in Kenya for almost thirty years, her citizenship is listed as Kenyan on her passport.

 

Not that everything is peachy, or hunky-dory in Kenya. Since the death of Osama Bin Laden in 2011, there have been multiple reported kidnappings, suicide bombings and other terrorist attacks. As previously stated, Maya and her husband immigrated to the US as a result of these attacks for their safety. Civil and political unrest are commonplace. The political climate in the US may at times resort to mudslinging, is definitely friendly in comparison. From what Maya shares, the temperature is similar to Rochester’s, minus the snow. The temperature “ranges from 48° to 84° in January and 45° to 79° in July” (Kenya Information Guide, 2012). Who knew? I thought that all of Africa was hot, brutally hot year round. Transportation, Maya believes, was easier than the US as shops were in closer proximity. Maya does not drive, wherever she needs to go, her husband takes her. Economically, although there are greater opportunities in the US, Maya admitted they were harder to get. Barriers such as language may account for the lack of opportunity.  Educational opportunities were best granted elsewhere, as Maya’s son went to university in England to study engineering.

 

Are we experiencing an influx of immigrants? States Lowry (2012), “According to the Center of Immigrant Studies, the immigrant population had doubled since 1990, nearly tripled since 1980, and quadrupled since 1970. By 2010, the immigrant population was 40 million,” (par. 3). One of the problems immigrants experience, either intentionally, or non-intentionally, is possible assimilation to American culture. Lowry (2012) also states, “At its best this country absorbs immigrants and makes them fully American” (par. 5). I find this to be true, from the American style of dress that our immigrants adopt, to name changes to make immigrants seem more American. Technicians in nail shops are known as “Tiffany”, “Brittany” and “Tina” as opposed to the names they were given in their native homelands. When asked whether or not if she assimilated to the American customs, Maya

informed me that she had not. Maya is the name that her parents gave her, and although she may wear sneakers on her feet, that is just a comfort factor, as she is on her feet all day. Maya still wears her tunics and pants; I have not seen her in T-shirts, or jeans in all of the three years that I have known her. She analogized that even though she could watch me, and copy what I do, but she would never understand the “why” behind what I did. In saying that, she believes that one can fully never understand another’s culture, despite studying or reading up on it. She continued saying, “If you receive a recipe from your mother, who got it from her mother, who got it from her mother, everyone who gets the recipe adds their own twist to it. You may add something to the recipe different than what your mother did, but you understand that the recipe is a part of you; there is a heritage to it, a reason behind it, that it is more than just another recipe.”

The issue of coming to a new country is not the “move to a strange land, it is the settling in” (Mentek, 1998). One thing that I did sense from Maya was a sense of loneliness at times. She shared that although people pass by the shop and may smile in passing, they do not stop to speak. She felt that Americans have an air of superiority, where they feel as if speaking to someone from another subculture is beneath them. In Kenya, it was not like that, everyone knew whose family individuals belonged to. I think that is unfortunate, as even when I am trying to keep up with my husband as we walk through the mall, I make it a point to stop in and give her a hug. She shared a story where a customer came in to have her eyebrows threaded. The customer kept staring, and then greeted her with “Jambo!”-Swahili for “welcome”. Maya then relayed that the customer asked her in Swahili if she ever lived in Kenya and was she related to Patel who drove a bus! Maya responded that she had. As it turned out, the two individuals were acquaintances in Kenya. Maya was happy to talk to someone from the country she grew to know so well. I asked Maya if, after that visit, she received referral business; did other individuals from their community in Kenya come to the shop? Maya said that others did come to the shop because of that referral. I was a referral client myself and I have referred others to her as well.

 

Some of the immigrants that come to other countries have held other jobs in their lands of origin. I have heard stories of individuals who were doctors, lawyers or engineers in their homelands come to the US only to hold minimum wage jobs. These immigrants are not allowed to practice their former professions as they need to be relicensed, and in most cases, reeducated before they are allowed to practice their former professions. If an immigrant comes over who was a doctor, and they may be approaching either middle age or older, once they complete college courses, then an internship, then a residency, to practice medicine would be close to impossible. Maya learned the practice of threading from another family member, presumably her mother, aunts or grandmother. In New York State, one does not need to be licensed for threading, as one would need to be for other esthetic services such as waxing, facials, or make-up application. I am not sure how much Maya makes per hour at the shop, her income is supplemented by tips. Some of her income is sent to her son in Kenya. Literally on a good day, Maya brings in a few hundred dollars from her work. Although there is another worker at her shop, most individuals, including myself, will wait for Maya to do their eyebrows.

But, alas, there is another customer who has come into the shop. In the course of our interview there ave been three other customers, who the other worker, as I found out is Maya’s niece, handles. But this particular customer wants Maya. I give Maya a hug, thanking her for the interview; promising her that I would be back in the shop on Friday to have my eyebrows done. Maya reminds me that she will be going on vacation at the end of July for two weeks. She is going home to visit her family. When she went on vacation a couple of years ago, she was gone for a month. Two weeks is not bad, my eyebrows will survive. I will just pray for her safe return. More than just my eyebrow technician, she has become my friend.