While touring the city, I wore a traditional East African garment called a “kanga” around my waist to hide my legs and the shorts I was wearing underneath. I was pregnant. It was hot. It was against all my beliefs about how women in society should be treated. But I sucked it up and managed to deal with it.
That’s the whole story.
But it’s something I’ll remember vividly for the rest of my life.
And I thought it deserved an entry in my “Expat Diaries.”