Tongan Haircut

My last. In the 5+ months I've been here in Tonga, I've gotten two haircuts. When I first arrived I was using my clippers, but later I wanted to let my hair grow in a bit. I got a haircut that was ok...just ok...and then recently I was looking like a resident of the Mushroom Kingdom and went in for a second cut. Which circles back to my opening statement.

There are no barber shops here, just stylists, with names like "Barbie's Hair Salon" that don't inspire much confidence in this Ken. I'm also a palangi, with a fine, soft, free-flowing head of hair. Quite different from the hair on your average Tongan (usually thick and curly). Which might explain the frequent Tongan dialogs between stylists when I sit down in the chair (that is, when it's not faka'ofo'ofa palangi, which means "handsome white man" and is one of the few phrases of Tonga I can recognize). But this time, the stylist changed twice before someone started in with the scissors. That should have been my cue to go, but I figured I was committed once I had that towel around my neck. So my real moment of panic came halfway through the cutting when the stylist told me something to the effect of, "my brother cuts men's hair, but he isn't here...but I am trying my best." And since I said I wanted to keep most of the top length, I left looking pretty much like Guile from Street Fighter.

No, I will not add a photo (of myself, but here's Guile to help you visualize). But I will stop getting my hair cut. I assume my beard already helps me resemble the "Canadian lumberjack" from the fantasies of many Tongan ladies, so I'm letting my hair go wild and untamed to match it. Something I have attempted before. At least until it's Mickey O'Neil length, and then I'll reevaluate...or get it cut in roughly five months when I go to New Zealand.