Review: JAJA'S AFRICAN HAIR BRAIDING at The Contemporary Theatre Of Ohio
Gossip is distributed like shampoo, lies are covered up like hair dye, and life’s tangled knots are cut away in small talk among friends
Whether it is Floyd’s Barber Shop in THE Andy Griffith SHOW, Truvy’s Beauty Salon in STEEL MAGNOLIAS or even the Suburban Salon in EDWARD SCISSORHANDS, hair care is the center of society. Gossip is distributed like shampoo, lies are covered up like hair dye, and life’s tangled knots are cut away in small talk among friends.
In JAJA AFRICAN HAIR BRAIDING, written by Ohio State University graduate Jocelyn Bioh, a braiding and weaving salon is not just a social gathering spot; it is an United Nations summit. Among its workers and clients are immigrants from Senegal, Sierra Leone, Ghana, and Nigeria who settled in this New York City neighborhood.
Director Shanelle Marie and her nine-person cast navigate Bioh’s witty, yet insightful script in this Contemporary Theatre of Ohio production. The show runs March 5-22 at the Riffe Center (77 S. High Street in downtown Columbus).
A tiny clock silently spins forward in the blackouts to show the passage of time as the strengths and flaws of the characters emerge.
Despite being the title character, Jaja (LA Baker), the Senegalese owner of the shop, is talked about more than she actually speaks in the play. Jaja is getting married to successful landlord Steven and thereby achieving her green card status. Her daughter Marie (Aliyah Graham), the emotional core of the story, runs the show in her mother absence.
Bea (Wilma Hatton) provides the salon’s sharpest voice of skepticism. When Marie talks about her mother’s dreams for the future, Bea quickly punctures the optimism:
“She will be right back here in the shop. She will be braiding hair trying to make ends meet like the rest of us.”
Much of Bea’s frustration is directed at Ndidi (Leigh), a stylist working at the shop after a fire destroyed her own business. Ndidi glides through the workday wearing headphones and dancing between clients — behavior Bea interprets as carefree opportunism rather than survival. When Michelle (Bry’ana Bentley) chooses Ndidi instead of her usual stylist, the tension boils over.
“I can’t do a background check on every customer who calls me,” Ndidi fires back after one accusation.
Around them swirl other voices in the salon: Aminata (Anita Davis), who still believes her philandering husband might change; Miriam (Shauna Marie), a gentle stylist hiding a troubled marriage and an unplanned pregnancy; and Jennifer (Lori Lindsey), a customer whose microbraid appointment makes her an outsider to the shop’s daily drama.
Tirzah Washington, Bry’ana Bentley, and Brandon Anderson provide the template for handling triple characters. Washington takes on the boorish Vanessa, who complains about everything, businesswoman Sheila, who carries on loud conversations on her cellphone oblivious to the annoyance of others around her, and the overprivileged Radia, one of Marie’s former classmates who she edged out for valedictorian honors in high school.
Bentley on the other hand plays far more likeable characters, Michelle who doesn’t want to upset the balance in the shop by going with Ndidi instead of her normal dresser Bea; Chrissy, who is convinced all she needs is a set of braids and she will look just like Beyoncé, and Laniece, a fun-loving customer with questionable eating etiquette.
Brandon Anderson, the lone actor with an XY chromosome, physically alters himself to play James, a cad who habitually cheats on Aminata, Franklin, the sock man, Olu the Jewelry man, and Eric the DVD man.
Just when you think the discord will tear the show asunder, a tragedy not only brings them together, but it unifies the group.
At the forefront of this new direction is the combative Bea, who proves to be just as tough of a friend as she is an enemy.
“It will be okay,” she reassures Marie.
“What if it is not?” Marie asks through tears.
“Then it will not be. And after that, it will be OK,” Bea said.
In a world that often pulls people apart, the women of Jaja’s salon remind us that community can still be found in unexpected places — friends who braid hair today and will still be there for each other tomorrow.


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