On my way to work every day I
pass by the saddest, tattered, dusty bra on the pot-hole ridden dirt road I
traverse. It has been here as long as we have – so at least 6 weeks. It has
been walked on and completely flattened by motos, trucks and cars. How did it
get there? Why is it there?
It seems odd to write a blog
post about a bra, but it is now something that is on my mind daily- for a few seconds
anyways. It has made me think of other bra encounters I have had, most
frequently in the market. The traders throw out a rectangular sheet of cloth
and literally dump a pile of bras on it, welcoming customers to dig through
their selection while motos whiz by and dozens of passerby’s observe. It’s a
far cry from an air conditioned, private, pink colored dressing room with a
button to summon an expert to help find you the perfect fitting brassiere.
Speaking of perfect fitting…
I see many female patients every day. When examining patients everyone is quite
willing to disrobe without prompting so I can clearly hear their heart and
lungs. Many of them are pregnant or have given birth and are breast feeding. I’ve
been astonished by how many breastfeeding mothers do not have well-fitting bras.
I’m talking 3 to 4 times too small. Which is extremely uncomfortable and not to
mention unflattering, but probably more comfortable than going without (which
is perfectly acceptable here by the way).
These experiences have helped me realize how disproportionately poverty affects women. Poverty is why the streets are littered with trash, which includes a bra. Poverty leads to less access to birth control which contributes to more pregnancies and lactating mothers who cannot afford new bras and clothes to accommodate all the changes that happen during these times. And if they can afford it, the shopping experience is far from glamorous. Even the Viktoria Secret we snapped a picture of on our way to the capitol looked a little sketch. So when I walk by that bra that’s had a rough life I chuckle every time, but I also am thankful I won the lottery in life and got to buy my bra in Secret.
I read these wonderful missives faithfully, if not to share in the lives of those I love, then to be reminded to be very, very thankful. And as I read these blogs, my mind speaks in the voice of James. I hear thought provoking commentaries on the depth and breadth of poverty, the quest for solutions... or the sadness at the lack of them, all scattered about in the rich context of the awkwardness of cultural immersion.
ReplyDeleteSo I found it only mildly curious that James would be speaking of bras, but by the end, where he gets to buy his bra 'in secret', curiosity gave way to concern.
Admittedly, it took me too long to figure out my mistake.