The subtle and not so subtle practice of honesty
I work a lot in Africa, and over the past 22 years have noticed that many women in Africa are amazingly honest in a way that most American women are not. This particular observation, that of women being very honest to each other, may only hold for women, talking to other women. I am fairly sure (although I cannot say for sure) it does not work for men talking to men and in my experience does not hold for men talking to women. I also want to say that I love this particular part of the culture here, so take that for what it is.
So, if you ever want to know how you look, like really want to know if you are having a good hair day or a bad one, how you look in that dress, or if your makeup looks ok, ask a Southern (and based on a few recent experiences I can say Eastern as well) African woman. Be warned though, for you Americans who are not used to this, that she will be completely and totally honest with you. She will find that flaw and point it out, or will tell you all the great things about what you are pulling off that day. Either way you will know exactly what she thinks on the matter. She will tell you what she sees and assume that you can take it. This became very clear to me last year when I walked into work while in Kenya and the first thing said to me by my lovely co-worker was ‘You are looking quite dull today.’ Honestly, she was right. Occasionally thoughts on how you look are completely unsolicited. My favorite version of this is the (for many Americans) a non-compliment that is a compliment “Kristina! What is happening to you? You look so terrible! You have lost weight! Come, let’s eat so your family doesn’t worry so much.” I love that non-compliment compliment. It got it last time I visited some friends and it made me happy, as they offered me more food than I could eat.
There are other versions as well. The disappointment version might be one of the best. This happened when I was arriving in immigration in Namibia. Straight after about thirty-five hours of travel I handed the immigration officer my passport. Now I should pause here to let you know that that particular passport photo of me was amazing. It was one of those you would consider printing off or using as a headshot. I looked great in that passport photo. God, I miss that passport. But, this particular day I was not looking great in person. I looked pretty much like someone who had not showered, slept, changed clothes, washed her face or hair in about three days. In fact, I was someone who had not done any of those things in about three days. The officer took my passport and looked at it. She then looked up at me. Looked down at the passport, up at me, down, up, down, up. I finally said “surely you can see it is me?” And she responded, “here,” pointing to the passport, “your eyes look bright, your skin looks nice, your hair looks good. You don’t look like that now.” I told her it was me and her response was amazing: “So you’re telling me you are capable of this (pointing to the passport) but you showed up like this (pointing to me)?” I had no defense, other than the thirty-five hours of travel, which clearly was not going to suffice as she knew where I was coming from. So, I just nodded my apologies as she let me into her country, as hideous as I apparently was.
