Beauty in the Eye of the Beholder (and also some stuff about Dinkas, Mundaris, and Zandes)

Charity, learning how to take a selfie,
or as Marian and I call it 'a long-arm shot.'
Also pictured, most of beautiful Faith's head and
Jona photo-bombing us in his Neverthirst hat.

I went to hang out with a lovely gorgeous friend of mine the other day. She really is beautiful, and I think that deep down in her heart she knows it. Certainly all the boys around here know it, and I’ve been with her when she laughingly refused a proposal of marriage from one of them. She told him she would only marry an educated man, and if he went back to school and got his degree (high school diploma), then she would consider him. She’s got a pretty intense list of qualifications for her future husband besides education and the fact that he must be taller than her (she’s quite tall). First, he should be an Equatorian (she's Moru, a Western Equatorian tribe)--no Dinkas need apply for her hand. She also refuses Mundari, another nomadic tribe that lives in Western Equatoria (Side note: I think they're awesome. They're so tall and strong, and they have cool looking cows and they wear native clothing with pride--short dresses for the men, which they totally pull off, and colorful cloths draped across the shoulder for the women. Also, they're badass. You don't mess with them. Our governor is Mundari and even the President is scared of him). Charity refuses them because Morus aren't fans of the nomadic pastoralist tribes, especially the Dinka, but also Zandes (Another side note - here is a Moru racist joke Repent told me that I laughed at because I have been here too long: when do you see a Dinka cow that is fat? If it has been eating Moru gardens). Zandes are Equatorians too, but they’ve had a little historical feud going on for centuries, since the Zandes were warriors and cannibals and they once came to try to eat some Morus.  The Morus, as the story goes, were ready for them. Though they are mostly peaceful people, they can defend their own when the time comes (they will shoot any Dinka cow in their gardens with their bow and arrows, and that is no joke). They all climbed up on top of a nearby rock mountain, taking food and water as needed and proceeded to set the jungle below on fire. The Zandes ran away in terror as the Morus threw rocks at them off the mountain. Of course, I’ve never heard the story from the Zande point of view, and maybe they were just trying to pass through innocently when they were attacked by fire and rocks, but it is an exciting story that rather catches the imagination.

The "Eat Fire Rocks, Zandes!" Moutain

Also, we are currently (when I’m writing this, not when I’m posting this) under threat of Dinka attack, as a nomadic Dinka tribe has moved into our area with all their presumably stolen cattle. The governor said they had to go as they are refusing to build fences for their cattle, and the Moru farmers are not cool with Dinka cows eating their crops. The UN has been called in to mediate, but people are ready to defend themselves and their tribe as need be if the Dinkas violently insist on staying. Esther said, “I’ll whack them with my garden hoe if they come attack me.” Repent prefers his machete. I’m thinking that it is not likely that anything will happen, as our local government is pretty tough. But you can see why Charity, my beautiful friend, has some tribal prejudices.  It’s kind of amusing, as whenever she is in Juba or elsewhere, she is often mistaken for a Dinka woman, with Dinka men paying her fare on the bus because she is “one of their women.” They don’t always believe her when she tries to set them straight.  To her great regret, she is tall, slim and dark--basic characteristics of Dinka women. If she were ever in the US or Europe, it would take two minutes for her to be spotted and made into a supermodel. She wants to be a lawyer, though, and I think as a career, that’s a bit more useful. Modeling is a career that, the longer you do it, the worse you are at it, whereas other professions tend to offer better opportunities and greater knowledge the longer you work at them.

Jona, Charity, and Faith-serious siblings

 Charity and I talked of many things: why I’m not married, what kind of guy I would be willing to marry, why I haven’t accepted the proposals of several local boys, whether or not I have someone in America or Uganda or Europe or wherever who I want to marry. She is very focused on my marriage. She keeps having dreams that I’m married or having a baby, and she predicted my wedding will happen before the end of the year. I appreciate the thought, but I’m pretty sure there isn’t enough time left in the year for that. But I had just told her that I was 30, and I think she is worried about my old age.  She said, “You have a baby face and you look really young. I thought you were only 25.” I lost 5 years in that guess, but a few days before Baby had said that he’d thought I was 35, so it all evens out in the end. I wasn’t offended by Baby’s guess either because I recently found out that he is 28, and I would have sworn to you that he wasn’t more than 15.

Repent's mother, grandmother and
youngest child-3 generations of beautiful

 Charity’s other comment on my personal appearance was to tell me that I have gotten a lot skinnier. As one who grew up in skinny cultures where slimness was a sign of beauty (yes, even in Indonesia, they really don’t mean it as a compliment when they tell you that you are fat—not anymore anyway), I was slightly gratified by this because I had recently decided that I was eating way too much of Esther’s lovely white bread and that it was showing in my middle-aged tummy roll. But she was actually worried about my declining beauty. She mentioned the wife of her cousin, describing her as ‘a fat lady who is very beautiful.’ (Not, as we would say in the US-- "She is fat BUT beautiful [as much as it is possible to be beautiful and fat]," which is the opposite of "she is slim and pretty [nothing else needs to be implied in un-said brackets].") And she is not convinced that her slim willowy body would land her a modeling contract in our skinny-obsessed culture.

My BFF Yunis who thinks she is
smiling too big in this photo-
I think she's gorgeous

The day after my girl-talk-time with Charity, Repent and I were hanging out, waiting for the rain to stop so that we could go out and work. He was foraging in my kitchen for something to eat (it is rare that one finds success in such a venture, sadly). He was going to eat some left-over rolls that Esther made, but he decided that they had gone bad. Things seem to go bad more quickly during the rainy season.

Future beautiful woman Sugeeri,
showing me how to play
jacks with rocks--she's awesome,
I'm…not.

“Why didn’t you eat them already?” he asked.

“I thought Baby would eat them. “ I said. “I guess he doesn’t like the bread anymore.”

“You should tell Esther to make less so that they don’t go bad.”

“She DID make less. I just didn’t eat them all this time.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I eat them all I will become so fat,” I told him.

“Good," he said. “You need to become fatter. That will make you more beautiful.”

Esther came in about this time and agreed with him (“You really are too small, Amanda”) while I laughed at them both.

Friends in the market saw me heading out and asked where I was going.
"To get mandaazi (donuts) from my friend."
"Good. Eat them all so you can become fat and beautiful and get a man."
This conversation really happened. But it was in Arabic.

Esther is not only gorgeous, she is kind,
generous, talented, resourceful,
and I'm sure if she ever tried she could
bench-press more than you and kick your ass
with her garden hoe. Here she is cooking
cassava over our 4th of July slash-and-burn bonfire

The fact is that neither excessively skinny people nor excessively fat people are healthy images of beauty, though the larger women here, who would be considered fatties in the US, are most likely 10x as strong and fit as any yoga-pants-wearing gym-going twig who spends her life working out and eating gluten-free, non-GMO, Paleo, low-carb, fat free, organic free range food. I am definitely not healthier for eating lots of white bread, which I cover in sugar, jelly or honey because I love sugar in all of its forms (only gluten-free sugar, though). I also would not be healthier if I somehow found the willpower to starve myself. Well, anyway, I’m sure I will live my life being average stumpy-plump in the US and average under-fed in South Sudan, but if I were to choose a side, I think it would be more fun to be a beautiful fat lady in South Sudan, because, like I said, I really really love sugar.  And who would not love a beauty regimen that includes eating copious amounts of soft, chewy on the inside, slightly crusted on the outside, bread rolls, hot out of a coal oven?

Coal oven. Whenever I get it to work successfully, I feel so proud.
It doesn't happen often.

See how adorable they are?

You already know that I think that Joy, Repent's wife, is
one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen in my life.
Even when she's miserable-sick lying on a mat under the mango tree,
still loving on her mini-Repent daughter.

Ati is the one in the flowery shirt, and I'm the one in red-
in case you couldn't tell the difference,
because we are sisters.

I am not often serious, but here is a serious moment. Ati is my ideal of feminine beauty.

Once, as a child, I heard her referred to as 'homely', and I remember being shocked by that description. I'd never once thought about what she looked like, but I'd loved her and thought she was beautiful. By objective human standards, you might not think that. But if you know her, all you will see is Beautiful because that's what she is--loving, kind, caring, generous, so fun to be with always. In spite of hardships and betrayals from people who should have had her back, she still trusts the Lord with her future and loves everyone around her unselfishly. By age 19-20, when I first met her, she had already achieved the height of beauty, which she has kept with her 20+ years later. If I ever have a daughter, I will name her after Ati, and tell her to aspire to that kind of beauty, which doesn't need to diet or put on weight or use extra-whitening toothpaste or deodorant (I'm talking to you, China!) or clarifying shampoo or "hair treatment" or have plastic surgery. It transcends fashion, age, and even culture. I doubt I'll ever be as beautiful as her in my lifetime, but it's good to have something to aspire to.

Last side note: my tall small sister wrote a lot of serious stuff about Beauty here (or somewhere there). She's a Writer so she can be serious without being annoying. Also, she puts on photos of her cute kids. Seriousness is worth it with a picture of those cute faces.

Pick-up Lines and Proposals in South Sudan--Marriage Never Looked So Possible!

The face of an old lady and Ley

When I first started my solo international travels, I attracted a normal amount of attention from men of a certain age.  I would like to think it is my exotic beauty that draws them, but I know that is more likely the words “Visa to America” tattooed in invisible ink across my forehead. When refusing marriage proposals or answering shocked questions about my lack of a man, I always answered, “I’m too young.” Of course, that didn’t really work for them since many of my friends were married at 16 and many of my suitors had a wife or two who were 17 or 18 when they married. Here in South Sudan I have fewer elderly taxi drivers asking for my hand, and more ambitious young whippersnappers.  Now that I’m 30, I can just say that I’m too old for them—and that can sometimes work. I’ve yet to have anyone here remark on my "good body maintenance," as an immigration officer in India once did, surprised by the combination of my old age and youthful appearance.

Recently, I’ve started to take note of some of the clever pick-up lines being used on me these days to compare with those from other places I've lived. Mostly they haven’t been so original. Once we gave a ride to some soldiers into town, and as we were all standing in the back of the pick-up truck together, we struck up a conversation. Impressed by my Arabic ability and American-visa-like features, he said, “Ana der ita.” Which just means, “I want you.” But I was able to crush him with a “Young man, I am WAY too old for you.”

One morning while off for a lovely jungle bike ride, I nodded at a passerby in casual non-verbal greeting, and he replied verbally, “Hello, my wife!” I thought this was an interesting tactic—try to convince me that we are already together, I just somehow forgot about our wedding.

Actually, Mimi is so cute she can
make this messed up photo look good.

Another time at a Mundri Express bus stop, a man came up to me to have a friendly chat. In spite of the fact that I answered several times in excellent Arabic, he insisted on proving to me that he can speak English: ”I…you…husband or wife…” I answered, “No, thank you.” And he left. Politeness is a virtue. Though, he did give me a choice, and actually, being a South Sudanese husband isn’t a bad gig—you get your meals cooked, your food washed, your gardens tended, your children raised, and even sometimes your house built for you. But I don’t know that I could be the wife that does all that stuff, as we’ve already established my skills in the domestic arts are rather limited, and, last year at least, a casual observer of my garden would perhaps think that he had stumbled upon a patch of jungle in the otherwise well-tended backyard lawn.

I used the wifely deficiency tactic in another recent proposal attempt. One of the guys working on my house very subtly inquired as to my marital status thus:

“So, when we are done with your house, when will your man move in with you? He’ll come here then, right?”

Me: “Um, no. I don’t have a man.”

“Why not?”

You really want to married to this?

Pause for me to think of a good reason, because if this conversation was going the way I thought it was (it was), he really isn’t too young for me, I think we’re about the same age, and I didn’t want to open that door for him. So I went for, “Well, nobody wanted me.” (Let’s make him consider why it is that I’m not married and hopefully realize that he might not want to find that out.)

This has worked for me in the recent past because it takes the conversation to an awkward place that ends it faster. I mean, you can’t just ask someone “Why does nobody want you?” That implies there is something wrong with that person (which, in my case, could possibly be true, but polite people don’t want to imply that). But here in Mundri, I’m going to have to find another way or try to get out of this conversation because in this case, as in another recent case when I was offered 4 potential suitors in the space of five minutes after using that line, my house-builder Lothario said:

“Well, I want you. Marry me.”

There was a tiny brief pause, but you can’t keep me speechless for long—I decided that this conversation was just a hilarious joke between two friends, and I laughed and said, “Oh no, you really don’t want me. I can’t cook. I mean, people don’t like my food. I use too much sheta (hot peppers).”

Cassanova was undeterred by my statement, “No problem, I like sheta. I’ll try your food.”

My garden is going to be way better this year.
Probably. Maybe.

At this point, I realized that this conversation was getting way out of hand.  Fortunately, some other people came over and joined us and we managed to change the subject and put awkwardness behind us. But since then, this guy has been trying to prove to me how much he loves sheta. He came over one day while I was weeding my garden (I’m turning over a new leaf this year, no pun intended, and trying to do gardening things like “weeding” and “watering.” At least this year, I’m pretty sure I know what is grass that can be pulled up and what are the things that I don’t want to pull up). He sauntered over and told me he wanted to try the American sheta I’m growing in my garden. Since I’d only planted it the previous week, I told him he would have to wait, and that, really, there is no guarantee that they will grow here anyway. He swaggered away, glad to see that his potential wife has garden-working tendencies.

But really this is an example of how easy it would be for me to just get married already here. It reminds me of a conversation I had in India about this very subject (“So, what’s wrong with you that you aren’t married already?”).  Rakesh and I had a discussion about what people in our respective cultures think about the ‘unmarried.’ I told him that in my culture, people think you are sad and pathetic because you couldn’t find anyone to love you, and so they feel sorry for you. He said, “Oh. In India people just think you are lazy and don’t want to grow up and start your life as a mature adult.” It seems the latter is more my problem since I technically do have people willing to spend their lives working by my side at a cushy job I'll get them in America.

In a recent conversation with Baby, he said, “You could get a man to marry you easily around here. There are many people available.”

Baby eating honey and
telling me about his girl

I switched the conversation to him and found out he has a potential bride that he is considering right now. He hasn’t spoken to her about marriage or anything yet, but he likes that she is nice, respectful, helpful—a good girl. “Also,” he said, “She has a body. Not like me. I don’t have a body. But if I get married then maybe I can get fatter.” Since he is a scrawny guy in spite of eating everything indiscriminately (a running joke between myself, who won’t eat bananas, Repent, who won’t eat a food we have here called ambata, and Lexon, who won’t eat rice—but Baby will eat anything, even the instant oatmeal the Boss brought me that we all find disgusting), this was a funny thought. He shrugged off my laughter and said, “And whenever YOU find a man, you will get big and fat like the women here.” He puffed out his cheeks, held out his skinny arms indicating the future size of my hips, and gave a shuffling, butt-swinging walk, to show me what I’ll be like once I find my Man.

Well, anyway, I guess I better go out and try to find that guy who passed me on the street the other day and said, “Wo-man, how is it?” Because, his pick-up line showed that he probably has the right amount of creativity and aplomb to build a future with me. And of course, then our children will have great skin.

About 20 minutes after this photo with my
hippo guide in Burundi, he proposed marriage.
But that is a story for next time...