Okay, one more post.
Yesterday I racked up another memorable embarrassing moment. We made an excursion to a textile store where one can buy the ubiquitous patterned and colorful African cloth.
That morning I had bucket-washed my clothes, so with a limited wardrobe, I had decided to sport the “kapilana” I had purchased in Mozambique. I proudly wrapped the zany fabric around my lower half, tucking and twisting as my housemate in the U.S. had explained to me (she taught school in Congo in the 70’s). I sent myself to breakfast with a pat on the back for so naturally assimilating to my surroundings already on Day 2.
Well, as these wrap skirts go, they need adjusting as the day and activities unfold (pardon the pun) so by the time we reached the fabric store, I may not have presented in, well, exactly tip-top shape. But hey- give me a chance- I’m a Muzungu fresh off the plane.
In the almost empty fabric showroom, I noticed that our driver, a burly Congolese male, summon Angela, our Colombian friend who was also fluent in French to come over to the front desk where he was waiting for us…and I went back to browsing. Suddenly the sound of my own name split my reverie. It was Angela coming my way, bearing algun mensaje para mi.
Welcome to the Congo, Hannah. Angela informed me that the attendants at the front desk were all worried that my “pania” (the name they give the wrap skirt in DRC) was going to fall off as I walked around the store! I had obviously wrapped it wrongly. So they told our driver in whatever language, probably Lingala or Chokwe, who told Angela in French, who told me in Spanish that I need to fix my pania!
I was so embarrassed, but ironically, my pania felt just fine and I knew it wasn’t going to fall down. Besides, I’d thought of that and worn a second layer. What was I to do anyway, in a big open showroom of fabrics and attendants standing around watching?!
In the end, I tried to discreetly adjust my skirt and they sold me the cloth I’d picked out, probably hoping that I’d have some help next time I dressed myself and left the house.
Back at the guesthouse we had some big laughs about it. A young Congolese woman gave me a thorough Pania lesson 101 all in French. I quickly saw that in every single principle of the wrapping process, I had done it the opposite way. I could see now how I must have looked like such a goon!
Hurrah for Experiential Education.
(Here’s to you, Corinna)
3 comments:
Whoo. Here's my embarrassing wrap story-- I had a flowing sort of wrap around skirt, not a capulana, and it had a tie so I felt like it was unnecessary to worry about wearing any sticky little slip under it in hot weather. But there I was in the busy market when a breeze flew up and decided to see what I DID have under it. I felt the new air and when I turned around I saw very clearly that there was a group of men watching. Which reminds me a time when Brooke tried to jump on my back and caught my skirt in the action... Lesson learned: always wear a slip no matter how hot it is. African women usually wear at least THREE layers........ I still take my risks though.
Great story! It had me laughing thousands of miles away.
¡Oh no! Bueno... por lo menos estabas preparada. Como dice el refrán "Más vale precaber que remediar". Besos
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