Nadisha Hunter, Gleaner Writer

Customers jostle with motorists as traffic snakes through downtown Kingston's crowded streets. Cartmen peddling virtually anything twist and turn through the mass of bodies and nomadic sellers traipse about chasing the next buck.

Among downtown's melting pot of merchants, a shrill cry pierces the air.

"Yuh a do yuh hair, my girl, come, mi gi yuh a bashment style. Come mi fix up yuh nails nuh, my girl."

The unadulterated Creole advertisement lures to sidewalk salons customers who reside in the metropolis or shoppers in transit who are happy to trade in the comfort of upholstery for a balancing act on overturned buckets.

The conditions of the street salons on Princess and Barry streets don't match up to the plushness of uptown establishments. Customers hold up their hands as shields against the scorching rays of the omnipresent sun as cars whiz by and vendors and buyers sneak a glance as they pass.

No turn-off

But the public spectacle is no turn-off for crowds of women who turn up week after week for a 'fix-up', an enticing alternative for clients more interested in saving tons of cash while not compromising fashion finesse.

Dozens of personal-care professionals work assiduously, crafting wigs and designing nails to satisfy every whim and fancy. Like traditional salons, charges are based on hairstyle complexity, ranging from 'classical' styles for occasions such as weddings and funerals to more unconventional fare to blend in with dancehall razzmatazz.

Ashley, who asked that her surname not be published, said she has been in the business for five years. She is one of several hairdressers who have not been spared a whipping from the global economic recession but said the holidays often brought bigger business than the three to four customers per day.

"I will continue doing this for my living because I am able to take care of my son and my bills, so although it can be better, it's not bad," Ashley told Saturday Life on Monday.

Like much of downtown Kingston, the semi-formal services represent part of the city's symbiotic vending ecosystem. Boutiques and wholesales operated by the Chinese are the source of their raw material.

"We work along with the stores. We get hair at reasonable prices, so we are at a comfortable spot," said Ashley.

More profitable on the streets

A traditional indoor parlour is not on Ashley's business agenda, as she said things are more profitable on the streets. The sentiment is not dissimilar from those rife throughout much of Jamaica where vendors, citing poor patronage, abandon dilapidated markets to woo customers on the go.

"Persons will pass and see me doing a hairstyle and love it and just stop and get their hair done but if I was in a building, I would sweat to get a customer," she explained.

Rental and other utility bills would also eat into her already slim profits, she said. Ashley's prices range from $1,000 and up for wigs to $500 or more to refine eyelashes. Unlike other businesses that post signs dismissing the possibility of credit, Ashley is open to a pay-later policy.

"I trust my clients because sometimes things really hard and them always pay me after."

The female entrepreneurs are part of Jamaica's growing cadre of women who are forced to fend for themselves in society's mean streets, often carrying the full burden of caring for their children.

Now, they have another problem. Some cash-strapped customers are shying away from the perceived luxury of haircare, a development sparked by the recessionary economy which has depressed sales.

Kerry Lopez says 2009 has so far been the worst of the 10 years in business.

One of the inconveniences she faces is carrying her baby with her on the hustle.

"I can't pay a babysitter any more because things get tight and nobody have any money to do hair often again, so things get bad for us," Lopez told Saturday Life.

In order to supplement her income, Lopez sells slippers to help care for her three children.

Sitting in Lopez's chair, like all the other hairdressers, costs $1,000 and up, but the unpredictable clientele flow sometimes turns over real profits of only $6,000 per week.

Takes baby along

Lopez isn't the only coiffeuse who takes her baby on the 'juggling'. That's the world of Seta (last name withheld), a nail technician for over three years. She, too, is a non-believer in indoor hairdressing.

"I have five children to take care of, plus I have nieces and nephews who I am responsible for and nothing nah gwaan out here," Seta said.

Though she is willing to leave the industry, for now, the streets are her means of survival.

Nail technicians like Christina Blake are hopeful of generating sufficient revenue to fulfil big dreams like building a house. But the style mavens, who play hide-and-seek while breaching vending laws, say pressure from police and municipal authorities was hurting their livelihood.

"Things all right now but the police them fi stop molesting wi or di Government fi gi wi a building in the town fi the all a wi, mek wi earn wi living," Blake lamented.

Customers of the roadside salons told The Gleaner that that they were impressed with the level of service offered, deeming the public setting a minor inconvenience. Nadine Williams, a customer for four years, said Barry Street is her one-stop 'shop' whenever she needs to doll up her do.

"Mi nah stop come here come do mi hair 'cause a here mi get the wickedest style," she stated.

Another customer, Erica Brown, cited similar satisfaction.

"Any hairstyle that is wearing, just go to the hairdressers on the streets because they know how to do it," Brown told Saturday Life.

nadisha.hunter@gleanerjm.com