Gwosi

The contrast of life in the States and life in Haiti is a topic that can span all sorts of subjects over many serious, thought-heavy hours. On the more light-hearted end of such subjects, body image is an area where popular ideas differ.

Yesterday, while sorting through things in clinic, one of the teachers came in for a blood pressure and weight check. She is a robust and feisty lady, loud and boisterous. When she stepped on the scale, it quivered a little. I read her weight out loud, but got my numbers mixed up and accidently took 20 lbs off of her real weight. Her face fell; she was crestfallen. "Oh, I had hoped... I thought I was.." I realized my mistake and corrected myself, giving back her excess 20 lbs. She started jumping up and down, arms raised in the air singing "thank you thank you thank you", face bright with smiles. I think my jaw may have been hanging open a little. I'm not sure I've ever done a happy dance after personal news from the scale. Especially over excess poundage.

Case in point. Sunday we visited a church we had once visited before in December. At that time we were eating one or two simple guest-house meals a day, suffering from diarrhea every other week and still trying to get adjusted to the heat which killed our appetites for anything other than salt and water. For me, it was better than Jenny Craig, South Beach and the "maple syrup cleanse" combined. Apparently I've come around since then, my gut has made peace with Haitian microbes, and I'm once again utilizing the healthy nutrition in the food I eat (and deeply enjoy). Sunday one of the church goers came up to me, recognizing me and said, "You are growing! You are BIG!" She meant it as a compliment, her face beaming. I knew this and therefore did not kick her with my enormously growing leg. I also refrained, however, from doing a happy dance.

I find it a bit fascinating, yet not surprising, this cultural difference in the picture of superficial beauty. Refreshing, really for frames favoring curves, that the skin-and-bone look is "out" here. Because, lets face it, that means you are hungry (and here, poor). In a country where people don't have the luxury of eating excess calories to compensate above and beyond their hard physical labor, the curves of a little "winter storage" are a sign of wealth and wellness. The secretary at the school is always excited to tell me when a shirt or pair of pants make me look bigger (a compliment mind you), which still takes me by surprise. "Wait, you aren't supposed to SAY that! Ask my husband!!"

Being publicly called out for my expansion, I hit the track last night with new fervor, laughing in spite of myself at how I can't seem to kick my own culturally-bound concepts of superficial beauty. BMI's and medically-related "healthy weights" aside, I still hail from the world of Cosmo and Glamour, a world of Hollywood red carpet affairs where it is publicly ok to rag a woman for a "softer" look and look the way when she's purging her dinner in the bathroom. In all honesty, I've always been angered at our American sub-normal, sub-healthy standards of what makes the runway. Regardless of my opinion, I've been influenced. And just like many an American females, I've been known to scrutinize my image in the mirror, looking past what makes me pretty and dissecting the things that aren't Hollywood material (ask my husband). In truth, the run was more because my head was starting to feel muddled and heavy from lack of exercise... but my pace was DEFINITELY influenced by post-church events, as was my choice of "passing" on the after dinner chocolate. Maybe one of these days, I will learn how to better celebrate my genetically-inclined tendency to "grow" at any opportunity I get. But really I should just celebrate the fact that my family and I have the blessed luxury of eating three meals a day, that I can choose tasty and nutrient-rich foods to put in my body, and that I can turn that nutrition into fuel both for my daily work, play and for recreational sports that keep mind and body strong.

Eat that Kate Moss.