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Recession, Hooligans & Community: The Trials And Joys Of Owning An Edinburgh Hair Salon

This story starts with me hating my job at Scottish Gas. One day I stood at the gate and couldn’t go in. I was done and I was over it all; the pressure, the targets, the angry callers, I had finally had enough. So, I didn’t go back.

I had been looking for a premises for over a year when a shop came up on Easter Road, and, six months pregnant, I took it. It was a tiny space, with only enough room for a nail bar and reception desk but come hell or high water, I was going to make it work.

I came to Scotland at 21-years-old. My last months in Zimbabwe had been spent in salons. I couldn’t always afford the treatments, but I was always there for the chat, the gossip and, of course, the drama. The salon in Zim was a mix of ladies from all walks of life; it was a place to socialise and network. I missed these moments, the sense of belonging, the friendship, the love, and I wanted to create a similar environment in this foreign country that was now becoming home.