it's not style…

My church family shows a LOT of concern about how I dress. And I'm not talking about modesty. I'm talking about matching. 

One Sunday morning I emerged from my room to go over into the sanctuary for prayer before service. I was wearing a dress I recently had made here by a tailor out of a blue/orange/green African kitenge fabric; a bit of the same fabric as a head-wrap; light orange sandals; and a long white skirt over the dress.

As I'm walking down the porch, I see our church secretary standing in the doorway of the church office. The confrontation follows:

(in Swahili)

Me: "You look nice!"

Her: "You too…"

[Silence. I'm about to move on. She steps into the office, still looking at me.]

"Come."

"In the office?"

"Yes, come here."

[We enter. She slowly moves around to sit at the desk, folds her hands, elbows on the desk, and looks seriously at me. After a few moments…]

"Do you not have a white blouse?"

"A white blouse? No."

[Another moment.]

"No white blouse?"

"Nope."

[She keeps looking at me, thinking hard.]

"Is that a shirt?"

"No, it's a dress underneath. But it's too short to wear to church, haha"

[She somewhat half-heartedly laughs.]

"You have a kitenge, then?" [Makes a wrapping motion around her waist to demonstrate]

"Yes, I do."

[She seems at a loss for how to suggest that I go change. Ignoring her blatant insinuations, I make a joke about how her mouse pad has eyeballs on it, and leave.]

(end scene)

THEN, as I'm leaving the office, walking down the side of the church, another lady on her way to the bathroom suddenly stops in her tracks, staring at me.

"Njoo!" [Making the 'come' signal]

I backtrack and greet her, smiling. She grabs my bodice, trying to pull it out of my skirt. 

"Don't scrunch it up…" 

"It's a dress!" I counter. 

"Oh…" She seems disappointed. I turn around and go on my way.

These unanticipated exchanges of the morning, in the simple 50 foot walk between my room and the sanctuary, left me sitting in church before worship started, hiding my face in my hands cracking up at the thought that many women in the congregation might be distracted from worshipping when I go up to the front to join the team, squirming in their seats at their inability to do anything about my outfit, like if my mom's hands were tied behind her back in a room full of crooked pictures on the wall.

Here, the most successful styling is, for example: blue dress and head-wrap, blue earrings, blue shoes, blue necklace, etc etc. You'll buy a certain fabric, and then have an outfit made from head to toe out of the same fabric. This is quite an amusing contrast to New York City, where the hipster style of my generation's heritage is characterized by NOT 'matching,' and innovation and individuality is considered a virtue. It's all about confidence -- if you have that, then you can wear almost anything. I would find satisfaction in taking an unlikely item of clothing and making it cool, or successfully pairing two things that you would never pick; since high school I've been told I have a pretty reputable and unique style. In Zanzibar (tourist/beach town) I could be more gutsy. I'd invent my own techniques of wrapping the kanga. 

Here in the church community I have toned down the experimental element of my style about 97%. Sometimes I'll still wear something 'weird' like this ---> but for the most part I try to keep it simpler and more straightforward.

If I do branch out, I have to be prepared for backlash. The other day I was leaving the house to go into town, and I passed the roadside stand of a guy from church. I was wearing a knee-length black cotton dress with a thin red flannel button-up shirt, ends tied at the waist and sleeves rolled-up. He waves at me so I go over to greet him:

Him: "What have you done to your shirt?"

Me: "It's a style."

Him: "It's not style. It's doesn't look good."

Me: "You're just not used to it. Many people do this."

Him: "Many people do it?

Me: "Yep. Just not here I guess..."

All of this started a long time ago. When I first got here, Mama would excitedly buy me earrings and shoes to match outfits she liked on me. At church I would be critiqued by random congregants for little things: "You should really find some other earrings to match that dress…" But on the other hand, if I succeeded, people would be sooo excited: "Wow, you really know how to match!" (yes. real quote.)

The first time I met my dear host dad, Pastor Eric, I got woken up at 6:30am a few days before Christmas--"get up and get ready! Baba got back last night! We're going out to breakfast right now!" 'Right now' could mean literally anything, so I threw on a dress and went outside. After meeting him, introductions etc, I went back inside for a bit, came back out, and he was standing outside -- he looked me up and down and said, skeptically, "So…are you already ready to go?" "Yep!" "Ok…" After he went around the corner, Mama pulls me to her and whispers, "He meant that you should change your shoes, I saw the way he looked at your feet…Go put on those red shoes you have!"

Despite it all, I'm in fact thankful for how it's thickened my skin. And it's not just this that contributed to it -- it's living in a culture and a family where, whether it's language, manners, communication or food, I'm so far from 'knowing everything' or even being able to pretend that I kind of know what I'm doing. I'm so much more okay with conflict, with making a fool of myself, with admitting that I don't know something, with failing, failing again, and then failing again. It's humbling to be, in some sense, treated like a child again. But, especially with my host parents, there's so much love in it, and ultimately I love them for their brutal honesty -- "The Lord disciplines the one he loves, and chastises every son whom he receives…For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness for those who have been trained by it." [Hebrews 12:6,11] Offense is a lot more momentary now; I'm settled in a place of releasing of my 'status' or 'reputation.' It's much better to choose not to be insulted and let the moment wash past you into oblivion, forgetfulness, or amusing blog anecdotes.

Another week, we were going to a funeral and I wasn't sure what to wear. To get an idea, I looked outside at the other people milling around waiting for our bus ride, did my best to get dressed in a similar fashion but mentally prepared for the critique I knew I'd get. Sure enough, I saw Pastor Eric for the first time that morning: 

"You should probably go ahead and get ready." 

"Right…" [Obviously my efforts had failed. I completely surrendered.] "So...what should I wear?"

"Well, of course you'll wear another nicer blouse, and a kanga."
"Right, of course."