Who's the asshole in the shorts?

Oh!  That asshole is me!!??!!

Today in Africa I learned that you will feel like an ass if you wear shorts in Rwanda.  Especially if you're a girl.

As most of us know, I am not used to dressing up.  Especially when I have nothing to do.  I throw on some shorts, or my super short denim skirt, or whatever else is laying on my floor, and go about my business in town.  I figured since I was just walking to town to run some errands, and since I have an extremely limited number of even somewhat nice outfits to wear, which I try to save for interviews and nights out, I could put on my nice, clean shorts and walk to town.

So I did.  I knew most people don't wear shorts here, and that it might be frowned upon.  But I figured I don't know anyone and I can't afford to get nice stuff dirty, so I'll go for it.  Who cares what people think?

Yikes.  The looks of disgust!  The stares at my white, white legs!  It was awful.  For the entire time I was out pretty much everyone I passed stared.  And I felt like an asshole.  I vowed to never do it again.

You always hear these things about places.  The Lonely Planet guide tells you to be respectful and cover up. You pack appropriately.  But then you get to your destination and there are Swedish backpackers everywhere with their blond hair flowing and their mile long white legs glowing and their bikinis hanging out and what not, and you realize no one really gives a damn what you wear.  This has been the case everywhere I've been - until Rwanda.

Later, I put on a dress.  A pretty little sundress that falls just above my knee (okay, maybe 1-2 inches above my knee).  I also put on sneakers because Kigali is incredibly spread out and going anywhere involves at least a 30 minute walk.  The stares did not stop.  But this time, I couldn't be sure if they were staring again at my white legs, or at my now horrendous fashion and distasteful sneakers.  I think it was the legs, but I'll comfort myself with the fact that it could have been the sneakers.

Everyone here is incredibly fashionable, all the time.  A muzungu who goes out looking like crap ain't gonna get much respect in the streets.  As you can imagine, this is something Alex and I are struggling with.  A long, ongoing struggle.

But, until I cross a border, my trusty shorts and little denim skirt have been tucked far and deep into the back of my closet.  Every time I go running I look at the two pairs of running shorts I brought (short!!!), contemplate for a couple seconds, and then put on my capri stretch pants.  I choose sweating over stares these days, until I learn the rules.

(I also read that flip flops - which I wear almost every day - are illegal here, but that's for another post).