On Wearing Skirts

Cover up. That's the best policy here, I was told. Cover the arms and the legs. No deep necklines. Women wear skirts below the knee. No jeans or pants. And it is important to "dress up". Going to someone's house to visit, going to a meeting, it is best to wear dressier footwear and a nice shirt (collared). Tshirts are too casual-only for everyday work. The American casual is not here. You may see a highly polished version of it in the metropolitan island that is Nairobi, but otherwise, not so much. And so, I wear skirts. Almost all the time.

Some of you know that my parents were raised in conservative Mennonite homes where they dressed "plain" which means homemade dresses, calf length, with sleeves to the elbow, head covered in a special covering and no jewelry (among other distinctives). But, my parents came away from this strict code of dressing upon leaving their parents' homes and entering adulthood and so I was raised with a much milder version of dress code strictness. Because of this, I'm familiar with, though not fully understanding of dressing so conservatively.  

As an adult, however, I've come to love my jeans, shorts, t-shirts and action ready style of dress. I always have felt like an imposter when I try to put on fancy clothes. I just don't feel comfortable, don't feel myself. My poor mother did her best to help me wear skirts when appropriate, but my feelings have never changed to this day. I dislike wearing skirts. Always have and I think I always will.

You might say, "Aw, it can't be that bad!" But here's the deal. Whether I realized it or not, the way I dress has become an extension of me. It represents me to the people I meet, right? Haven't we heard this all our lives? Presentation is important. Plus, women's lib, right? Pants are just so much more practical. I have to admit I've grumbled none too few times when I have to walk through the thorn brush in a snagging skirt. "This is ridiculous!" is my comment to be exact.

So here I am in Maasailand and I need to present in a certain way that doesn't at all feel representative of the real me leaving me feeling weird, un-attractive, frumpy, you get the picture. But at the same time it is representative of the real me because the real me wants to be respectful, to be sensitive to local cultural norms, too, to be able to build rapport in relationships. Yikes, its such a mix!

Despite my fuming and fussing early on, I have become more submited to this skirt wearing business throughout the last two years. Living with the Maasai, I dress in a way, that I never would choose to dress at home. Most of the time, I think about it as if I'm putting on my uniform. Its what's required for my work, its not me. Frankly, I'm the only one who cares or thinks anything about it. Everyone else thinks I look just fine.

As I think about it, this hang up on my style of dress may connect to the individualistic aspect of my culture. In Maasai culture individuality is not a value. But wearing uniform clothes is! The women love to get together and buy the same lessos (fabric wrap) for a particular event. Its the "in" thing.  Even the men get uniform bright blue suits to show they are part of the men's group at church. The Maasai image to the world is a recognizable uniform for goodness sake! Interestingly, this is not unlike the Amish or Conservative Mennonite churches.

There is a sense of belonging or togetherness expressed through dressing alike.  My mother has told me about the sense of separateness from the world in juxtaposition to the sense of belonging to the Mennonite community that dressing "plain" provided her as a child. I think there is something similar here with the Maasai. Togetherness. Belonging. Separate from other tribes. Identity.

I'm not sure I can tap into the togetherness and belonging of the Maasai.  However, in doing something challenging for a while (like living in the bush and dressing weird), I start to find identity in the uniqueness of my challenge. I begin to form a part of me around the strange dressing that I have to do, around the isolation from modern society in which I live, around living in the bush in Kenya. I think if I saw someone else who presented with similar skin color, similar strange dressing, similar wind tangled hair, dusty feet and thorns in her fingers, I might suddenly feel a burst of belonging.