Whenever you hear about a bevy of women letting their hair down, you know you’re happily in for wisecracks, sarcasm, hair-pulling or wig-snagging, revelations, impromptu dance moves, and who-knows-what-else — all of it aimed at jarring laughs and the occasional tear.
In Jaja’s African Hair Braiding, playwright Jocelyn Bioh (the marvelous Nollywood Dreams among previous works) isn’t just talking about women letting their hair down, she’s talking about putting their hair up and down in all sorts of tightly braided and corn-rowed ways.
Anyone thinking that the play might be considered the Black equivalent to Robert Harling’s Steel Magnolias has got something there. Here, it’s 9 o’clock and just off 125th Street in Harlem on a hot 2019 July morning. Marie (Dominique Thorne) is opening Jaja’s African Hair Braiding salon for the day. (David Zinn’s set is lusciously gaudy.)
[Read Melissa Rose Bernardo’s ★★★★☆ review here.]
Marie, a recent class valedictorian, runs the shop on a daily basis because mom Jaja, originally from Senegal, isn’t always on hand and not immediately at this session. Bea (Zenzi Williams), originally from Ghana, Aminata (Nana Mensah) from Senegal, and Miriam (Brittany Adebumola) from Sierra Leone are quickly on the pulsating premises. So is more recent braider Ndidi (Maechi Aharanwa) from Nigeria, who immediately fires off the first of the attention-grabbing Jaja’s African Hair Braiding confrontations.
Customer Michelle (Kalyne Coleman) arrives for her appointment thinking it’s Bea’s day off. She’s in the process of leaving Bea for Ndidi. She’s dismayed, however, to find Bea at her chair and flying off the handle at her as well as verbally attacking Ndidi, who’s unaware of the previous Bea-Michelle history. Michelle explains that recently Bea has taken too long for her braiding and then not getting it done well enough. That’s in Michelle’s now-abashed estimation.
A couple chairs away, Miriam, who’s still thinking about returning to Sierra Leone, is adding micro braids for journalist Jennifer (Rachel Christopher), who shows up in the morning and, while the intricate operation is underway, remains in her seat for close to 10 hours. This leaves her plenty of time to get Miriam’s romantic history, that story being the most comprehensive one revealed during Bioh’s 90-minute jaunt. (By the way, braiding details — the time and pain involved — will surely not be news to many women in the audience but may be fresh and eye-opening for men.)
Aminata’s tale is presented more in-person when womanizing partner James (Michael Oloyede) barrels in to work his sly way around her. Just before he exits, he feigns remembering he needs to borrow money. It’s quickly handed over, and another close look at their troubled relationship concludes.
And so, the long day sashays by. As it does. Bioh drops enlightening news about ubiquitous and truly exalted Harlem braiding sites. Stores are apparently far from permanent (no pun intended), some perhaps lasting no longing than the time a standard braiding lasts, some of them burning down. (In a program note, the playwright explains that since she was 4, she’s been a customer and has seen it all.)
As she cleverly fills audiences in on the checkered reality of Harlem businesses, braiding salons among them, she keeps the chatty exchanges coming and, for the most part, engrossing. Salesmen, all played by Oloyede, hawking things like socks and jewelry come through the door. Customers, all played with a range of attitudes by either Coleman or Lakisha May, head through the door and out again. One visitor, who’s made the significant move downtown, gushes that she enjoys coming to Harlem because, “It’s so cute.”
But — and here’s a potent but — from start almost to finish Bioh doesn’t dig too deeply beneath the surface of her tale. It’s almost as if she’s simply combing the included incidents out as Bea and Ndidi spend time combing the bunches of extension hair they’ll be using.
Clearly, Bioh realizes this and late in the proceedings goes about correcting the dramaturgical lapse — or hoping to correct it. She introduces the titular Jaja (Somi Kakoma) from Senegal and talking about it as resplendent in a white gown. (The ubiquitous and always reliable Dede Ayite is the costumer.) Jaja is exhilarated about her impending marriage to a white American, a knot-tying that will at last confer citizenship on her, ending longtime worries about ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) incursions.
And here’s a big spoiler: Jaja speaks too soon. Bioh contrives a heart-stopping development that threatens not only Jaja but daughter Marie. She contrives it but awkwardly. As she rapidly heads into ending the play, she leaves things on — forgive this — ice. And this leaves Jaja’s African Hair Braiding as insufficiently dramatic, though never less than amusing, as acted by the 10-member cast and directed by Whitney White, who apparently knows exactly what has a braiding outfit buzzing any and every day.
The play does give a reviewer a chance to nod strongly at a creative team member too often overlooked: the hair and wig designer. That individual is indisputably crucial here. Check out, especially, what eye-catchers crown Bea, Aminata, and Ndidi. Awesome work, Nikiya Mathis.
Jaja’s African Hair Braiding opened October 3, 2023, at Samuel J. Friedman Theatre and runs through November 19. Tickets and information: manhattantheatreclub.com
