Ladylike

Perhaps fittingly, my last weekend in Tanzania before the arrival of my dad and brother was a supergirly weekend. Yet supergirly in a distinctly Tanzanian way, I think.

For one, I went to a tailor. A tailor! The anti-Target. I've never had anything tailormade; it always struck me as simultaneously glamorous, old-fashioned, and entirely out of my price range. But the majority of women here have at least a few tailormade outfits, usually a fitted top with short sleeves and bum-hugging long skirt to match. Almost all are made from kitenges, these durable and super colorful fabrics you can buy in 6-meter swaths (minimum length) from jampacked little stalls just east of Mnazi Mmoja park. The purchasing process alone is a lot of fun - lots of sifting through bright patterns and feeling up material and hemming and hawing over whether this one is just the right one for you. (All the salesladies have opinions.)

Back in Kongwa, Mama Elizabeth (the Reproductive Health coordinator) had lent me a shawl with a really pretty cowrie shell design all over it. The same fabric popped up again a month later, for sale in a narrow little store on Uhuru Street, so I decided it would be mine. Hoping to get a simple dress made, I took the fabric on Saturday to an equally narrow tailor's shop deep within the complex of stalls near the Morocco gas station. The tailor didn't speak any English but seemed rather enthusiastic about the project. We'll see how things turn out on Thursday. Adventure!

If girliness includes clothes, it must also include hair. But luckily, not my hair. Nina and Magdalina had decided a week or so ago that they wanted to try out a specific style of tiny braids sported by lots of women in the city, including our housemate Happy. This specific style is actually a traditional Maasai style - in fact, it's the traditional Maasai men's hairstyle. (Maasai women go bald while the men sport long, waist-length braids. Interesting gender reversal.) But it's non-Maasai Tanzanian women who want their hair done, not with the traditional beads and stuff but with the hundreds of tiny braids. Thus, quite a number of young Maasai men in Dar make their living by going to private homes and spending a few hours braiding ladies' hair.

So that's what I came home to on Friday and Saturday: one German girl cross-legged on the porch positioned between two twenty-year old Maasai guys, her hair being heartily yanked back and forth as they steadily twisted and spun and pulled it, all the while smoking cigarettes and drinking Konyagi. (That stuff is seriously foul.) It took them - I kid you not - 7 1/2 hours to do all of Nina's hair. Oy. Magdalina got away with only 6 hours, lucky girl.

But after the men headed off back into the city, the girly part took over: all of the women of the house, which I think included at least five countries, helped out by braiding the braids and dipping them in hot water to seal them in place. All of the boarders, plus the house matrons, plus a few of the house matron's visiting sisters - everyone pitched in. It was good times on Kibasila street.

And despite residual two-day headaches, Magdalina and Nina look pretty nifty. When they first made their plan, we three talked how Europeans and Americans tend to view braided hair on white women with disdain, as a sign of wannabe-Africanness. It made them a little reluctant to go forth. But now that it's done, it seems that all the African women here think it looks fabulous on them. Walking around with Magdalina yesterday was really fun, with random strangers on the street continuously shouting "Unapendeza!" ("You look nice!") at her. There's no way I'd ever do it (7 hours? I can't even sleep for 7 hours without getting a little bored), but I'm happy to be associated with them.

Last week of work. Dad and Alex arrive on Friday morning (and have already been invited to lunch at the office). Looking forward to adventuring with them.