Why the mzungu goes commando

The expatriate is a hygienic type, keen to see his clothes washed regularly, and returned, pristine, to his wardrobe.

Back in Britain, or whatever electronics-saturated country he hails from, he would himself place his clothes into a washing machine, followed by a spin in a tumble drier or (during Britain’s rare days without rain) a spell on the clothesline. He would finally gather everything together, iron it and place it neatly away. All very organised.

His chosen washing powder had gloriously classical names like Ariel, an alternative name for ‘Jerusalem’. But in Kenya, things are slightly different.

The brands are various and fascinating to the recently-arrived expatriate. ‘Sunlight,’ for instance, rings a bell with him, and on phoning up his grandmother, he’ll find that this sturdy old brand was one she used during her youth, and which may not be available any more in Britain.

More bleach please

But then there are the brands that he’s not previously heard of: ‘Omo,’ which might presumably be frowned upon in contemporary Uganda; ‘Toss,’ with its unfortunate connotations for the English speaker; ‘Gental,’ which may well have a letter missing; ‘IDP,’ which comes in a large sack, presumably so it can be converted into a refugee tent!

Not only will he find that his house help asks him to buy washing powder, but that s/he also insists upon him buying bleach, which he obediently does.

The expatriate in his innocence has absolutely no idea that his clothes are going to be washed in this bleach. Indeed, in lots of this bleach. In fact, in more bleach than washing powder or water!

It is a fact that he will have to come to terms with: Kenyan maids loathe colourful clothes, and consequently wash them in gallons of bleach. Within days, the expatriate’s entire wardrobe is bleached of all its colour. This is the real reason why whiteys in Kenya wear such dull beiges.

Matters of culture

And then, there are the cultural limits that he must come to respect. For the first months in Kenya, the expatriate starts to realise that his underpants are becoming smellier and smellier, and that they seem to retain their colour while his other clothes are swiftly fading.

It takes him a while to realise that his underpants are in fact being returned unwashed each time, because it’s unacceptable for his pants to be handled (to be fair, after months of them not being washed, he’d probably agree that they shouldn’t have to be handled by anyone).

Bad reputation

The expatriate must choose between one of two solutions to this problem. Either: a) he purchases new underpants each time he’s worn a pair (this can become expensive, and he will soon get a reputation in Tuskys if he keeps hanging around the underwear section); or b) he starts washing his own pants, which he is neither qualified to do, nor inclined to do, especially with washing powders bearing some of the names mentioned.

I must share with you any expatriate’s deepest secret: we consequently wear no underpants at all.

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