The Foreigner

I delicately unfolded the green and purple dress and pressed out the creases from it being in my suitcase all the way from west Africa. I wouldn’t normally pick green and purple together, but Juliette had picked it for me, and because of that, I loved it. 

Africans love to dress in bright colors, which works for me because so do I. Africans also take great pride in dressing themselves well, which doesn’t come so naturally for me. I have had to learn, and my African women friends have been happy to help out. 

Africans also don’t normally buy ready-to-wear clothes. It is actually much cheaper and economical to buy several yards of fabric and then take it to a tailor with a pattern in mind. Like this, you can have a beautiful authentic African complete outfit (skirt, top, and head scarf all in the same matching pattern) made for about $20 USD. 

For the last couple of years, I thought I was doing pretty good to buy an occasional piece of fabric and have a skirt made, which I would wear with a solid tank or tee from the United States. But then when I moved in with Juliette, she asked me why I never wear “complete” outfits. “You always have nice skirts, but you never wear the tops to go with them,” she remarked out of genuine curiosity. To me, having wild patterns on the skirt and the shirt was just a little much, but not to the Africans. On the contrary, not doing so showed a lack of tact, like I was dressing sloppily, only half way, like I didn’t care, or like I was poor. And in a culture where women especially, even the poorest of the poor, take pride in being able to dress themselves well, I needed a little help. 

So Juliette and Rebeca started “Mission: Dress Ashli.” 

When I unfolded and pressed out the purple and green dress that Juliette had chosen for me, I knew people here in the United States would find it odd, but I honestly feel beautiful when I wear it in Burkina. I remembered how excited she was to give it to me as a thank you gift for staying with her and her family. It came at a great cost to her because of her meager salary and the number of mouths she has to feed. She was extravagant for me. She splurged on me. She gave me specific instructions that she wanted me to make a complete outfit out of it: matching skirt, top, and scarf. “So that everyone will see how African you have become, and they will admire you,” she said as she glowed. 

Her oldest daughter, who is seventeen, happily rummaged through all her clothes and pulled out her favorite ones to show me so I could pick out a good pattern. “This one will look so good on you!” She exclaimed. She even took me to her tailor and told him to make the most beautiful and high quality outfit for her big sister. 

I should have given them a gift for letting me stay at their house, but instead they had given a gift to me as a thank you for choosing to stay with them. They had shared the roof over their heads when I didn’t have one. They cooked for me, fed me with their own food, and got water for me every day at the well. Now they were even clothing me and teaching me how to be like them and fit into their culture. Most of all, they were giving me a family. 

Rebeca did the same thing. One day when our team went on a day trip, everyone had dressed to impress...except me! I didn’t even have a matching patterned skirt and top, and Rebeca noticed. Afterwards, she said ever so kindly, “I’m going to help you dress yourself like an African lady!” She then bought me several yards of a gorgeous fabric, took me to her tailor, helped me pick out a pattern, and then added a necklace and earrings of her own to complete the outfit when it was finished. 

“Mom, you don’t even let us wear your jewelry!” One of her twin daughters said with a hint of playful jealousy. Rebeca attached the clasp on my neck for me and said, “This is for my first daughter.” That’s what she calls me. 

“I want you to take this back to America and wear it so everyone will see how we dress and how you dress like us,” she instructed me. 

I unfolded the purple tunic as well, pressing out the wrinkles and running my fingers over the embroidery design that Rebeca had helped pick out because she thought it would be beautiful on me. 

I reflected on all these precious moments and memories this morning when I read Deuteronomy 10:18-19. 

“He executes justice for the fatherless and widow, and loves the foreigner, giving him food and clothing. Love the foreigner, therefore, for you were foreigners in the land of Egypt.”

The Bible clearly teaches us to love and welcome the foreigner, to feed and to clothe him. Tears welled up in my eyes as I identified as the foreigner. I am the recipient of the faithfulness and obedience of the Africans to feed, to clothe, and to love me. I am humbled and thankful not just to be a friend to the poor, but a receiver of their genuine hospitality, which is the most direct obedience to God’s command in Deuteronomy that I have ever seen. I haven’t just seen it; I’ve experienced it, and it has changed me and challenged me to do the same.

So I wear my bright purple tunic and green and purple patterned outfit, even if people find it slightly strange. I’m not doing it just to take a picture and show it to Rebeca and Juliette to prove that I wore them. It’s not just to show Burkinabé culture, or to show how African I have become. It’s to remember and honor the hospitality, generosity, and obedience of my African brothers and sisters in Christ, who have welcomed me, the foreigner, and loved me.