Before the Arabs and the Europeans first landed on the African continent, we were a naked people. We were free of the constraints of flowing garments and attires. Our maidens walked around bearing their gracious bodies all out.
Wearing only two pieces of clothing. One around the waist, covering from the hip to a little below their buttocks, and the other wound around the chest covering just their breasts. Sometimes their chests were left un-clad.
Then beads of ivory and cowries around their waists and ankles which made their walk jingle with elating luscious graciousness. This wasn’t indecent or an eyesore. We were fine with it.
We were a proud people comfortable in our own skins. It was like Miami beach in the jungle or the mythical Ogygia in ancient Greek legends. A true paradise. Simply beautiful.
Then the Arabs and the Europeans came with their civilisation and their religion. Telling us how barbaric and uncivilised we were for
showing our bodies to the world. How their gods had built their homes on our nakedness and how they hated having people look upon their sacred abodes.
We accepted their civilisation and their gods. Took their flowing garments and covered ourselves from the neck down to the wrist, and further down to the ankle. Now we too were civilised.
Fast forward to some four hundred years later. The white woman now walks around barely covered up. And the Africans are offended by it.
But we’re offended not because they took our mode of dressing and made it theirs. Not because we’re mad at their deception; for we weren’t truly the savages we were led to believe we were. Not because we were kings and queens with majestic sensual bodies and they envied us for it.
But because we think they dress ‘indecently’. Now their god has moved his home from our bodies to our hearts. “For it doesn’t matter what a man wears on his body as long as his heart is pure”.
So I ask you again, fellow Africans, what is indecent dressing?