A Trip to the Tailor

January 7, 2008

Photos by Author

When I left Bay Ridge, I left a number of things behind, including tons of clothes that I dutifully dropped off at the Salvation Army. I was not entirely sure what I would need here in Senegal, but knowing that I would be spending a lot of time in a sub-Saharan developing nation not big on air conditioning, I focused mainly on lived-in khaki pants and comfy cotton T-shirts as safe bets, along with bathing suits. Anything too tight or too short or too revealing I got rid of, as Senegal is predominantly Muslim. So I arrived here with a toned-down wardrobe only to discover that I had, once again, done everything all wrong: the Senegalese are among the most fashion-conscious people on the planet (a vestige of French colonialism, perhaps?). Extremely pointy shoes are currently in vogue, so they are the only kind to be found anywhere, and virtually all are marked Dior or Chanel, as are the matching handbags. Any jogging suits are emblazoned with the brand names Nike or Adidas, any T-shirts with the Dolce and Gabbana logo.

Women will spend hours at the salon getting their hair braided or having fiber extensions put in to create eye-catching styles, etc., and virtually any extra income goes straight into one’s tailor’s pocket, as appearance is of an importance that is hard to exaggerate. Any holiday or festive occasion requires a new, usually hand-sewn outfit, as it simply would not do to appear in something the others (who assuredly are keeping track!) have already seen. Women employed in domestic positions will leave their homes in extravagant boubous with matching shoes, head ties, earrings and bejeweled shawls (accessories are where it’s at for the ladies of Dakar, a.k.a. les dakaroises). They will arrive at the home of their employer, change, clean and sweep and mop and scrub for hours, then transform like butterflies before they set off again for home, undergoing a metamorphosis astounding to behold. Even in rural areas, where there is nothing more pressing on the agenda than drinking tea with family members under the tree in the yard, the ladies are resplendently turned out in boubous and dangling earrings.

With all this emphasis on feminine appearance, I felt sadly underdressed in my cottons and khakis, and so I decided to accompany two colleagues to their favorite tailor Lamine in downtown Dakar. First I had to stop and haggle over some fabrics I liked. Textiles in Africa make a fascinating study, by the way, from vibrant Kente cloth (colorful fabrics in a basket-woven design) to the popular Senegalese favorite bazin, the handmade brocade incorporating subtly imprinted designs into a glossy finish. Not feeling quite brave or extroverted enough to opt for the really flamboyant prints, I rather shyly fingered the linens, which tended to be the most understated of the lot, wondering whether by the end of my time here I would finally be un-self-conscious enough to sport lime green and orange in the same outfit!

When my colleagues and I made a sharp right turn into a mysterious alleyway whilst clutching several meters of fabric under our arms, we suddenly found ourselves in another world. We entered a veritable warren of tailors, tape measures dangling from their necks, each occupying no more space than his sewing machine. I would say there were no fewer than 7 tailors cooped up in a space no larger than an average NY kitchen (a claustrophobic space, to all those of you who may think of spacious skies when you think of America). For the first time I could envision what might be meant by the word sweatshop.

All seven machines were humming at once on the Friday evening we entered – some tailors were working on the imaginative and intricate embroidery so beloved by the Senegalese, some were hemming pants, and then there were boys doing the ironing – not with the kind of iron you might know, but with a charcoal-filled device that is NOT temperature controlled (which leads many expats to despair when their delicate fabrics are once more unwittingly destroyed by the local girls who do their ironing for them). Model boubous hung suspended from the ceiling while the floors were strewn with bright scraps of material ranging from lustrous fuchsia, yellow and blue to fabrics with bold red and brown and green patterns.

The cuts of necklines are all much more interesting than your standard V-neck or round neck, as they are often cut on an unusual bias, as are the slits in the (usually) ankle-length skirts. Sleeve styles also run the gamut; the only limit here seems to be the tailor’s imagination. Older women wear voluminous, loosely-cut gowns intended to conceal the shape of the body whereas the younger and hipper women wear more form-fitting tunics with plunging necklines. (Headties, shoes and handbags should all coordinate, of course).

Oh, dear, looks like I’ll have to leave myself in Lamine’s capable hands and kiss those khakis goodbye…!

About the Author : Tamara-Diana Braunstein brings us her stories from Senegal every week. She was born in Brooklyn, New York. She is a restless wanderer who earned an MA from the University of Freiburg and has worked in a youth hostel in the French Alps, a law firm in Montreal, the Metropolitan Museum of Art as well as in university press publishing. At the moment her home base is Dakar, Senegal, where she is supposed to be teaching but is doing far more learning, as you will see by reading her blog at www.senegalschoolmarm.blogspot.com