Cross-cultural considerations: Underwear

 

“Heading west from Voi town

along the road to Taveta on the Tanzanian border,

east of Mount Kilimanjaro, you'd be forgiven for thinking

that the entirety of Taita-Taveta District . . .  

is merely flat and featureless scrubland,

dominated by dusty orange sand,

a few clumps of thorn trees, and not much else.

Yet if you turn right at Mwaktau, 25km west of Voi,

a switchback tarmac road to the district capital of Wundanyi

begins a rapid ascent into [the Taita Hills,]

a surprisingly fertile, . . . beautiful land, replete with

vertiginous cliffs, rushing rivulets and waterfalls.

Beautiful in its own right,

the contrast with the dreary semi-desertic plains below

is astonishing.” (Jens Finke)

 

The beautiful Taita Hills are more than hills—they’re mountains, some of which are close to 7,000 feet. During the final stage of our orientation course, Dave and I lived in a sparsely populated area high in those lush mountains.

 

And the day came when we needed to wash our laundry.

 

Bwana Mwakodi said he’d show us the nearest water source. We followed him down a steep, meandering path through the forest, descending about five hundred feet.

 

At the bottom, he led us through dense undergrowth to a spring. Clear, fresh water! What a treat after that stream in Maasai-land.

 

Bwana hiked back up the hill while we scrubbed, rinsed, and wrung out our laundry. My husband Dave’s participation no doubt caused gossip to echo back and forth among the hills. I could imagine the voices, “A man doing women’s work!”

 

Afterward, we began the hike back up the very steep hill with our heavy wet laundry and a couple of water jugs. Dave held one side of the basin and I held the other but, to our surprise, we really struggled. That basin was heavy and that hill seemed almost vertical. I suppose the elevation had something to do with our difficulty.

 

An elderly man and a couple of women hiked up behind us. They greeted us in Swahili and visited like Africans always do, and then they reached for our laundry basin and water jugs.

 

We objected, but they kindly insisted.

 

One of them, a petite woman, lifted the basin to the top of her head, balanced it perfectly, and, without effort, scurried up the hill. We were stunned at her strength.

 

Dave and I huffed and puffed up the path behind them.

 

When we arrived back at the Mwakodis’ place, sweaty and breathless, we gave our new friends a few shillings to thank them for their labor.

 

They would have carried our water and basin even without getting paid, but no doubt appreciated the money and we were grateful for their help—but even more, in them I glimpsed God Himself. In Psalm 68:19, David said that God bears our burdens, and those dear people came alongside us that day and, like God, helped us bear our heavy loads.

 

Once again, I was overwhelmed by people’s kindness—

over and over again, and

recalling how Bwana and Mama Mwakodi bought—for us—

groceries they couldn’t afford. 

Nothing could have prepared me for the Taita people’s generosity.

 

We strung a clothesline between The Pearl and a tree and soon we had clean, dry clothes. Sweet!

 

Only later did we learn

that hanging one’s underwear where everyone can see it

is a no-no in Kenyan culture.

 

Aaargh!