Bei Fifty

When I was growing up, fashion was hardly any bit of a

problem. What, when a piece of leso across my body was

enough covering. That, or simply shorts. Little girls

can get away without much covering above their waists.

Later on I’d come to be introduced to skin tights.

Hand- me downs from my rich cousins from the suburbs.

Then, kariobangi was actually spacious enough to

qualify for the suburb surname. My fashion sense

wasn’t any good then,and neither has it improved

now.Even with close interaction with suburbian folk in

my day today events like college. Perhaps I don’t see

or notice or care. But I think I care, a little. If I

didn’t I would still be shopping in places where the

minute you step out of the mat in town in your new

outfit you feel like you just stepped into a school.

Kenya uniform. I go else where; where I can get it

cheap and unique.

Back to childhood. So mother did have a fashion

sense,one that made her fit me into the most

interesting stitched items. Like these dresses I had

to wear. Orange and red material with lace on any

place that could take a trimming.The fabric that

these dresses were cut from must have been invented

for coffee pickers ,or coal factory workers.Coarse and

heavy.Almost denim.With the same texture both

sides.These you couldn’t wear with no underwear. I

wore a T-shirt and and shorts .The dresses were

alright, to look at. It was the underpants I didn’t

enjoy. Cut from the same matching fabric. With elastic

that could have cut through your mid-length. My older

brother called them mathuruari{big pants}.When we

were left together he’d tell me to use the pants to

scrub my body, especially by dark knees. The worst

turn off was that when I wore these underpants to

school, if I removed my pullover, people would see

orange peeping from the holes on the sides of my

school dress which had permanently absent belts.

There came; however, a solution to this worry came

when an aunt who sold ladies’ pants started bringing

me some cotton ones with –the-day-of-the-week printed

on them.These were neatly trimmed and had an elastic

that fit. Small in size. Actually the smallest in her

bunch. She told them these were called-tu-insides. Not

far from what mother referred to pants. To her they

were underclothes. ‘And it didn’t really matter what

color, size or fabric they were as long as one was

wearing some and keeping them on in the presence of

boys-and can you go and collect that mattress from

behind the house, it’s beginning to drizzle!’ Mother

wasn’t so much of a time waster especially if the

dinner was yet to be started and father had not

brought home the flour. So, mathuruari. I’ve seen

them, you’ve seen them. They come in large sizes,

bright colors and very trivial fabric. You see them

along the streets. Pilling up high on a hawker’s table

with the trader screaming bei fifty. There’s always a

crowd of female customers. Stretching a pair this way

and that way, trying to determine-will this fit? For

pants sake! They only come in two sizes. Free size,

I’m told, and extra large. This, I say is a betrayal

to fashion. A lack of manners too. From the several

people I’ve spoken to, I found out that many would

rather spend money on what can be seen. Nice clothes,

make up, jewellery. Lingerie is a French word for a

clean bathroom; many will inform you. These eyes sores

I call mathuruari have found a place in our society

and they are here to stay. No wonder the panty lines

even under jeans, the big flab of cream under pant

showing behind every three hipsters. It’s a disgrace.

Being so outwardly fashionable yet bei fifty is

sticking out of you? A nice comfortable, cotton or

silk pant is not worth a plot of land in Juja. It

could be worth two of your usual ones but what is the

use of filling your drawers with bei fiftys that could

embarrass you if you fainted and had to have your

clothes loosened? Yet you can afford it? Pant

shops/parlours are beautiful places to shop in with

pleasant staff, and you don’t have to worry that your

neighbour might be passing by and see you purchasing a

bei fifty. Good pants last and they don’t give you

bulk under your outer garments. What about thongs,

which are sold at the same price with our bei fifty?

That is for you ladies to decide. Of course after a

serious discussion with your purse. I used to sit at

the back in my lecture hall, but I moved. Shifted to

the front and nothing will make me go back. I got

heartbroken by all the suburbian folk who earlier on

intimidated me by their outward glitter. Until I saw

bei fifty peeping out from under their sprayed, waist

less jeans. Oh the shame. The absolute shame.
April-2006