Don’t Ring the Doorbell

In the interest of modesty, I decided not to bring any swimwear to Bissau in the consideration that what I possess was purchased in a southern country where the cultural clothing norms are not as stringent (to say the least). Upon arrival in the 95-100 degree weather that greets you in Bissau, I suddenly began to wish that I could throw myself immediately into a body of water, ANY body of water, save for the trash-filled lake in front of the UN (these lakes are for fishing, not swimming). Determined to remedy the situation, I went on a shopping expedition with Janet and Sara, the Gender Adviser from Portugal. We found microscopic scraps of cloth called bathing suits. When I declared my dismay, the man poking around in his duffel bag full of bikinis shrugged his shoulders and said, “Hey! What can I say…Brazilian style.” He looked rather embarrassed. I was embarrassed as well, for in my hand I was holding the smallest piece of Lycra that has even been called clothing-what they called in Brazil “fio dental” (dental floss), but to make matters worse it was bright fluorescent pink, and had a strange attachment that both confused and repulsed me. On a long braided cord attached to the thong, a round plastic apparatus with a red tassel dangled, of resemblance to a gaudy Victorian doorbell or perhaps the clapper for a very unholy church bell. Thoroughly traumatized, we stumbled out of the store and back into the heat. That was more than a week ago and I haven’t been swimming yet...