Making peace with the sweat nest

I don’t wear clothes in Tanzania. I wear a sweat nest. It’s here, in the damp textiles that hang limp from my shoulders and hips, that I carry 12 hours of human sweat daily, its weight and odour evolving as the cruel equatorial sun climbs higher and higher. I’m not bragging about my sweat nest. I’m just acknowledging it.

Air conditioning here and there temporarily relieves my burden but mostly, my sweat nest just grows, announcing itself about mid-day with the first whiffs of hygenic malfunction. My sport sandals are no longer wearable. Their scent is so offensive I must find vinegar to soak them before they permanently imprint their fungal essence on my tender soles. And oy vey, you don't know from chafing. I'm chafing in places that ought not to be chafe-able

This morning, at 7 a.m., it was 30 degrees Celcius and the humidity was 92 per cent. You can drink the air. It collects on your body, generously helping to augment the sweat nest. Salt lines appear across my chest and back like lace which sometimes make the sweat nest fetching, though sadly, not always.

Money, kept in pockets—the sweat nest inner sanctums—becomes pulpy as it migrates from one nest to another thus spreading human fluids liberally throughout the tropical population like TB, or olive oil. You pull soft wads from folded places, grimacing and apologetic, and hand them to street vendors who tuck them into their own sweat nests and then hand you your food.

Some Muslim women have supersonic sweat nests hidden in folds of black polyester which cover them from head to toe. My sweat nest is not nearly so impressive. But today, I watched a mosquito drown in my bosom during a mid-day phase of sweat nest construction. Take that, malaria!

Here's a snapshot of what people tie to the tops of buses. 

And here's what I thought would be the last thing I saw before dying in a head-on collison on the road to Mkuranga when I realized the car was being towed. My sweat nest got a good boost there, I can tell you.

Usiku mwema (good night)

Lisa