Fashion
You will never find ‘Made in Mozambique’ on any piece of clothing. The textile industry just doesn’t exist and all cotton is exported as unprocessed lint. No, this is not because all Mozambicans have no need for textile as they go about their business in loincloths or less (as tempting as that may be in the summer heat). The number one provider of Mozambican wear is Humana, supplier of second hand clothing around the world. Have you ever wondered what actually happened to that hideous fluorescent shirt you received for volunteering at some non-profit fundraiser, or that glorious holiday-themed sweater that mysterious disappeared, or what happens to all those stinkin’ Yankees shirts once the championship craze ends? Oh, they go to ugly clothes heaven….and there they are worn proudly.
Walking through town the other day I passed a gem, a 10yr old girl wearing a faded green t-shirt with the phrase “Irish Whiskey Makes Me Frisky!”. Another day, an old man’s shirt exclaiming that “I’m a blonde on the inside.” Once I saw one with a beautiful picture of the U.S. Capitol building and “I have a dream...” scrolled above it and only upon closer inspection did I see the confederate flag waving from the cupola. Or another simply stating “The Man” with an arrow pointing upwards counterpoised with “The Legend” and an arrow pointing downwards. And others are a bit too lewd to share with your mother.
From what I can gather shirts with English writing (especially simple phrases) and colorful screening are valued and “beautiful”. What is written is of no importance, clearly. This all makes for some fantastic walks through town.
But then, this access to tons (literally) of used clothing most from the USA opens up a world of fashion – pant suits, purple shirts and cowboy boots, fuzzy feminine vests on large men, stone-washed jeans, polyester flower prints in a million forms, leopard print extravaganzas, brides maid dresses, and more. If its brightly colored, shiny, and clean then it is the thing to have!
Last weekend I left the market with white terrycloth floppy “Gilligan” hat with a band of pastel floral print around it and lining the underside of the brim. The only snickering came from the 2 volunteers I was with, everyone else thought it was beautiful.
Dancing
It’s a shame that the first dance moves I learned consisted of a slow box step which was supposed to keep my off the feet of my awkward 8th grade graduation dance partner, but which did no such thing. By the age of 13 I had already lost all hope of being a professional dancer. Shame. This I realized watching a 7 year old member of one of my Junior Farmer Clubs dance to music that played only in her head. She has muscles I never will. And yes, the moment was equally unsettling as it was captivating.
I often wake up at 6am on a Saturday to my neighbor blaring Lionel Richie tunes and singing along. This I prefer much more than the other neighbor who prefers heavy beat Brazilian passada (and no singing along) at the same hour. The only time the music stops is when the electricity goes out. So with all that music all the time, people are bound to dance and they start very young. I have seen toddlers move their hips in ways I still struggle to. Also, there is no shame in dancing alone or 2 men dancing together because anything is better than not dancing at all. As you stand at a bar (where women do not frequent) in a circle of men drinking beers there is always dancing, at least a simple step and sway (well mistimed if your me), but progressing from that to grinding (with more beers of course) is not at all an unusual sight. This is always my cue to pay my bill.
However, the best part is that any dancing is good dancing. It was here that I fine-tuned my art of ridiculous dance moves because they were different and thus praiseworthy. Brilliant!
Rambo Lives!
“So, do you know Rambo!?” a teen once asked me. I didn’t know where to begin my answer.
Scattered throughout every town are family run movie houses. All you need is a small room, a TV, a DVD player, and some pirated action movies. Charge a only few pennies and the kids will come. Oh will they come. Hours later they will leave dry-eyed not having blinked once. These movie houses are the number one reason why people think I am Chuck Norris, a claim I never actively deny. The large majority of films shown are pure action flicks; the type that are completely understandable even if you did not understand a word that was said. Chuck Norris, Jean Claude Van Damme, Bruce Lee, Jet Li, Arnold Schwarzenegger, and Rambo are all very popular. And it is no surprise that kids can throw a round-house kick as well as they can dance. These movies are so popular that I recently met (this is no joke) a child named Vandomme. I laughed, shook my head, and greeted him politely all at once.
So when I was asked if I knew Rambo I was not shocked. TVs are fairly common here and the national television stations broadcast the news a few times a day. However, much like the news in the States, detailed and non-extreme images of distant countries are not common. Those images that do flash on the screen of Europe or America or Asia become ‘the image’ of that place; in the very same way that American media images of starving African babies becomes ‘the image’ of a continent. So with very few images of America coming through the news (which clearly all 6yrs old watch habitually), the primary source of information on American culture comes from Chuck Norris and Rambo.
How would these kids know that all that film stuff is a ruse? Those movie show a world of big buildings, fast planes, fancy homes, and splattering blood. How could all of that be not real, they ask! Beside the Rambo question, I have answered dozens others explaining that no one was really killed and though Chuck Norris’ moves are sick no he didn’t do the entire round-house-neck-snap-chair-bash-2-pistol-clean-up scene all at once. Sorry, kids. But then they just look at me as if I just told them that Santa does not exist.
