I bought my favorite pair of sandals from an old, bearded man in a closet-sized shoe store on the streets of Saudi Arabia. Years of living in Saudi had sharpened my haggling skills to thwart his expatriate exploitation scheme: "Madam, straight from Italy. Gucci, I have. Madam, Chanel, I have." There was no way Chanel specialized in Saudi Sandals, I thought to myself. I bought the sandals for half price. Although these men's sandals remind me of an alligator's head, with the wide toe as an eye and the broad bumpiness of the straps as the head, I can't stop wearing them. When I recently went back to visit my family and friends in Texas, my sandals proved to be an indicator of the openness that people have towards my life.
True to her frankness, my Aunty Josephine initially noticed a few things about my appearance and then "my ugly shoes". "You lek am fo true, titi?" she asked sympathetically in Sierra Leonean Pidgin English, whether I truly liked living in Saudi Arabia. As I showed her a picture of my friends and I dressed in long, black Burkas smiling in a booth at TGIF's she laughed uncontrollably, wheezing, "Get out of here! First, the shoes and now the dress. You look silly, child. You really like it there, don't you?" I do love the strangeness I have experienced in Saudi- from the shops that close five times a day for prayer, to sand storms, and the fact that as a female, I cannot drive past the gates of our residential compound.
While in Texas, I also got to visit my best friend, Gen. Her reaction to my sandals was just as lukewarm. After hugging and reminiscing, Gen asked me to stand up and do a quick twirl insisting, "Let's see what living out there has done to you this time." I had almost passed her inspection until she caught sight of my sandals: "What the heck are those?" she scoffed. I knew that skeptical tone all too well. It was the same tone she used in asking questions about my life in the Northeast like, "Why do you go to boarding school if you didn't do anything wrong?" or "How could you ever leave Texas?" However, I knew that Gen wasn't really looking for answers; after all, I had explained my situation before. These rhetorical questions were her way of telling me that I was missing out on comfortable weather, great Tex-Mex food and most importantly a "normal" high school experience. In the same way that Gen is not open to my funky sandals, she has never been willing to believe that I genuinely love my strange boarding school experience: sledding with my teacher's kids in the snow, conversing in Chinese in the dining hall, or playing instruments on the dorm porch with my band, Trash Taxi.
While my friends and family in Texas may not appreciate my funky shoes, friends at school ask me with eager curiosity, "Where did you get them?" or "Can I try them on?" In my time there, I have brought back five pairs of sandals to very grateful wearers. I find myself relating naturally to the open-mindedness about the unfamiliar that I have found in my schoolmates.
The mixed reviews that my sandals have received have taught me a valuable lesson: Take ownership of what love you, regardless of what people think. With this as my mantra, I been true to my passions and have never been more proud to say: I play the bongos! I speak Chinese! I enjoy GoGurt! I watch Rugrats! I listen to Jazz! I love my Saudi Sandals!
True to her frankness, my Aunty Josephine initially noticed a few things about my appearance and then "my ugly shoes". "You lek am fo true, titi?" she asked sympathetically in Sierra Leonean Pidgin English, whether I truly liked living in Saudi Arabia. As I showed her a picture of my friends and I dressed in long, black Burkas smiling in a booth at TGIF's she laughed uncontrollably, wheezing, "Get out of here! First, the shoes and now the dress. You look silly, child. You really like it there, don't you?" I do love the strangeness I have experienced in Saudi- from the shops that close five times a day for prayer, to sand storms, and the fact that as a female, I cannot drive past the gates of our residential compound.
While in Texas, I also got to visit my best friend, Gen. Her reaction to my sandals was just as lukewarm. After hugging and reminiscing, Gen asked me to stand up and do a quick twirl insisting, "Let's see what living out there has done to you this time." I had almost passed her inspection until she caught sight of my sandals: "What the heck are those?" she scoffed. I knew that skeptical tone all too well. It was the same tone she used in asking questions about my life in the Northeast like, "Why do you go to boarding school if you didn't do anything wrong?" or "How could you ever leave Texas?" However, I knew that Gen wasn't really looking for answers; after all, I had explained my situation before. These rhetorical questions were her way of telling me that I was missing out on comfortable weather, great Tex-Mex food and most importantly a "normal" high school experience. In the same way that Gen is not open to my funky sandals, she has never been willing to believe that I genuinely love my strange boarding school experience: sledding with my teacher's kids in the snow, conversing in Chinese in the dining hall, or playing instruments on the dorm porch with my band, Trash Taxi.
While my friends and family in Texas may not appreciate my funky shoes, friends at school ask me with eager curiosity, "Where did you get them?" or "Can I try them on?" In my time there, I have brought back five pairs of sandals to very grateful wearers. I find myself relating naturally to the open-mindedness about the unfamiliar that I have found in my schoolmates.
The mixed reviews that my sandals have received have taught me a valuable lesson: Take ownership of what love you, regardless of what people think. With this as my mantra, I been true to my passions and have never been more proud to say: I play the bongos! I speak Chinese! I enjoy GoGurt! I watch Rugrats! I listen to Jazz! I love my Saudi Sandals!
