At home, I wear sweat pants to go to see the doctor. After all, their offices are full of germs, why would I wear my best clothes there? Here in Senegal, people get decked out for the most minor engagements. They pay a lot of attention to their appearance, and often expect others to do the same. Initially, I would do interviews in jeans and a light cotton shirt because we’re surrounded by people in scrubs. Since I’ve started dressing nicer however, I find that the process has been a lot smoother, It’s probably a sign of respect—if you don’t make an effort to look nice, it means that the person you are meeting with is not worth that time. Coco Chanel did say that she cannot understand when people (actually, I think she specified women, but let’s say people) do not bother to fix themselves up when going out the door because you never know when you will meet your destiny—and it’s always good to be prepared for destiny.
Well, I really hope that I don’t meet my destiny here, because I’ve never felt so unglamorous in my life. Senegalese women are elegant. Many are accustomed to carrying things on their heads, so even without a load, they walk with their necks elongated, chin raised, back erect, moving only their hips as they make their way down the street. I’ve tried to imitate them, but I don’t think it looks quite the same on me—I think I tend to look arrogant instead of graceful.
Today I went to a meeting, and felt like a moth among butterflies. Senegalese cloth makes me think of fruit and gemstones. The colors are so bright that you can taste them, although maybe I’m just too obsessed with food. The dresses come in mango yellow, papaya orange, watermelon pink, lime green. They also come in amethyst purple, ruby red, deep gold, and sapphire blue. Some are coated with a type of wax and beaten to a shine so that they look like silk. Both women and men wear a pearly white that is magically impervious to the dust that seems to cling to my clothes. It’s like I’ve gone to the world of Oz, where everyone wears flowing robes, bright headwear, and jewelry made of gold. Borders of sleeves are embroidered, and sparkling thread, or even glitter or sequins, are sewn into the fabric. There are an endless variety of color combinations, of eyelets, ruffles and lace. Frequently, women have a delicate scarf or shawl that matches their attire, which billows behind them as they walk. They look so cool that I feel a compulsive desire to go clothes shopping.
In Senegal, if you put on something shiny, people know that you mean business. Here I spend my time traipsing around hospitals, scuttling to keep up with doctors as they make their way around. I’m not used to the heat, and by the end of the day I’m a steaming mess. Something in the room doesn’t smell very good, and I have a sinking feeling that it’s me. It’s just SO hot here. The Senegalese however, do not break a sweat. They’re wearing twice the amount of clothing that I am, yet at most their forehead gets a bit shiny, giving them a pleasant looking glow. At the meeting, someone turns off the air conditioner, and I feel like I’ve been put in a jar and I’m running out of air—the heat just hangs so heavily. Tomorrow I will go to St. Louis.
Well, I really hope that I don’t meet my destiny here, because I’ve never felt so unglamorous in my life. Senegalese women are elegant. Many are accustomed to carrying things on their heads, so even without a load, they walk with their necks elongated, chin raised, back erect, moving only their hips as they make their way down the street. I’ve tried to imitate them, but I don’t think it looks quite the same on me—I think I tend to look arrogant instead of graceful.
Today I went to a meeting, and felt like a moth among butterflies. Senegalese cloth makes me think of fruit and gemstones. The colors are so bright that you can taste them, although maybe I’m just too obsessed with food. The dresses come in mango yellow, papaya orange, watermelon pink, lime green. They also come in amethyst purple, ruby red, deep gold, and sapphire blue. Some are coated with a type of wax and beaten to a shine so that they look like silk. Both women and men wear a pearly white that is magically impervious to the dust that seems to cling to my clothes. It’s like I’ve gone to the world of Oz, where everyone wears flowing robes, bright headwear, and jewelry made of gold. Borders of sleeves are embroidered, and sparkling thread, or even glitter or sequins, are sewn into the fabric. There are an endless variety of color combinations, of eyelets, ruffles and lace. Frequently, women have a delicate scarf or shawl that matches their attire, which billows behind them as they walk. They look so cool that I feel a compulsive desire to go clothes shopping.
In Senegal, if you put on something shiny, people know that you mean business. Here I spend my time traipsing around hospitals, scuttling to keep up with doctors as they make their way around. I’m not used to the heat, and by the end of the day I’m a steaming mess. Something in the room doesn’t smell very good, and I have a sinking feeling that it’s me. It’s just SO hot here. The Senegalese however, do not break a sweat. They’re wearing twice the amount of clothing that I am, yet at most their forehead gets a bit shiny, giving them a pleasant looking glow. At the meeting, someone turns off the air conditioner, and I feel like I’ve been put in a jar and I’m running out of air—the heat just hangs so heavily. Tomorrow I will go to St. Louis.
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