The Colour Purple

The first time I had the terrible misfortune of being let down by a piece of clothing, was in my private practice years. Then, the firm I worked for would have a cab ferry you to and from the office every time you had a court attendance. I wore a pitch-black suit, as was the standard practice to wear dark colors when attending court. It was one of my favorites too, proudly bought using the proceeds of my first salary, because one of the vital law school lessons was that you MUST look the part. And oh boy, did I look the part, it was made out of thick, heavy cotton fabric, with a pencil skirt that fell just below my knees and a matching jacket complete with a mock overlay that gave the impression that it was double breasted. Delicately placed buttons gave it an air of regality, you would be forgiven in thinking I was assured of victory the moment I strutted into the courtroom.

Now imagine YOUR favorite ensemble and the confidence boost it gives you, how when you don it, early morning as you are leaving the house, it gives you an extra boost, you feel invincible, as if you are about to take on the world. At my household we often discuss how the prize for “smartest student/pupil” that is given out at primary level, heck even high school level, astonishes the mind. I mean we all wore the exact same white shirt from Enbee, with a royal blue mandy skirt, 4 panels, sewn together by the same tailors who supplied Lady Tait Primary school. And yet, there always seemed to be that ONE golden pupil who would shine out from amongst the rest. Her shirt would be whiter than white, her skirt never seemed to crease, regardless of the fact that you were earlier all frolicking around in the red Kadoma dust. Suffice to say, we learnt, a long time ago, from a very early age, the power of dressing.

I digress, we are here to talk about the day this VERY dressing decided to betray me, to play Judas Iscariot to my ego and fly too close to the sun like Icarus. Oh, the horror, the sheer horror and embarrassment. It started off well enough, I disembarked swiftly from the cab, court was set to start at 9am and as fate would have it, it was 10 minutes before. I briskly walked through the courthouse entrance, bent on identifying which court I was supposed to be in. Now for anyone who has ever been to the courthouse, legal practitioners need not sign in, you simply flash your identity card and walk past the guards’ station, which I did.

In all these moments I should hasten to disclaim that not once did I feel any unfamiliar breeze on my hind parts. Not once did I realise I had an entire show on display behind me and cry my beloved behind, I had made the unfortunate decision to wear those delicate lady like foundation garments that only cover the very barest of essentials. I imagine when they designed these, they sat down, in a colorfully modern boardroom to answer the question”, What can we do to make sure it just BARELY holds up?” Like, we don't need anything else, just make sure it at least LOOKS like there is SOME resemblance of undergarments." So, I found myself, on this unfortunate day, donning this collection of threads and strands, fortified merely with front lace, in the most regrettable colour of a bright scarlet purple.

What I DO remember is the sound of running feet, and a man shouting “Sister, sister, mirai!!!” I was highly irritable when I stopped because did this man not understand that I was late for court? I had flashed my ID as requested; how dare he stop me!! When I swiveled to face him, it was with a furrowed brow to curtly respond “Chii nhai mukwasha?” Wherever he is, may the good Lord bless him because he did not leave me be, he leaned in close, regardless of my clearly unwelcoming demeanor and whispered, much to my chagrin, “Sister, zip yenyu yaruza.” Yup, you guessed it, que mortification and utter humiliation, to think, I had been prancing in my heels, all the way from the car, past the packed reception area, holding my head up high and ignoring everyone. If I had been capable of it? I'm sure in that moment I would have turned beet red. I only managed to stutter out a staccato “ma….maita basa mukwasha” and retraced to the nearest ladies bathroom.

The story of how I fixed is one for another day, I try not to relive this day often and imagine, with a sweat beaded brow, just how many people saw my bare bottom on that ill fated morning. Its best not to dwell on it, at least I got the court order. Two things are the result of that fateful day, I have a deep distrust of zippers, I now generally gravitate towards clothing that can hold its own WITHOUT having to rely on zippers, and secondly you could not convince me, even on the sunniest of days…. to wear the colour purple, inside OR out, if you know what I mean.