How Do You Pronounce Chic?
The president of the orphanage where I used to work invited me to a posh beach party this weekend; she was attending to schmooze with potential donors. I was told to wear frock, which she defined as being British for “chic, top Ibiza style, beach party evening gown. Sexy is good.”
That scared me. Clearly this woman didn’t know who she was dealing with. I used my slow, slow internet connection at work to Google “Ibiza fashion” and pondered how “beach party” could be used as an adjective for “evening gown.” I rounded up everything I have, raided friends’ closets, and still planned on being left behind at the hotel because I wasn’t stylish enough.
I settled on a purple sparkly tube top (½ of an evening gown) and black, flow-y, cotton pants (the beach part). The party was being thrown by the Lebanese-Brazilian owner of White Sands, a beach resort about 2 hours outside Accra. His chef was on one of his twice annual visits to Ghana from some small exotic island on the other side of Africa.
We arrived not long past 8pm; though Lisa may be a fashion expert (she used to be an editor of Vogue Spain and a model herself), she’s been living in an orphanage too long to know that’s incredibly, almost embarrassingly, early to show up to a party. We rolled in when it was mostly just family and close, close friends hanging out, still pre-showered and dressed. But at least we were there early enough to see the lawn catch on fire and a grown man grab hold of a table leg and beg as his two brothers tried to throw him in the water (retaliation for him picking on his nephew).
I was shocked to see this guy: the spitting image of the love I’d left behind in Egypt. Personality-wise, they were also similar: quick to smile, easy to laugh, always in good humor. Sunday, we built sand castles with some kids and for the first time ever I was attracted by the thought, “He’d make a good father!“ Why must the universe torture me so?!
The party was great fun, though the gourmet food wasn’t served till late and I left before everyone got thrown into the pool. There were a lot of great, inspiring married couples at the party and I got to practice a bit of Arabic (they were mostly Lebanese who have been in Ghana for a couple of generations…there are more Lebanese living outside Lebanon than inside and soon Brazil’s population of Lebanese will surpass the population of Lebanon!). These people were rich, but they didn’t act it. They were friendly and funny (rivaling the Egyptians in their humor, in fact!) and welcoming. I want to be a part of that family!
I was even wearing the right clothes. And if I hadn't, they wouldn't have cared.
That scared me. Clearly this woman didn’t know who she was dealing with. I used my slow, slow internet connection at work to Google “Ibiza fashion” and pondered how “beach party” could be used as an adjective for “evening gown.” I rounded up everything I have, raided friends’ closets, and still planned on being left behind at the hotel because I wasn’t stylish enough.
I settled on a purple sparkly tube top (½ of an evening gown) and black, flow-y, cotton pants (the beach part). The party was being thrown by the Lebanese-Brazilian owner of White Sands, a beach resort about 2 hours outside Accra. His chef was on one of his twice annual visits to Ghana from some small exotic island on the other side of Africa.
We arrived not long past 8pm; though Lisa may be a fashion expert (she used to be an editor of Vogue Spain and a model herself), she’s been living in an orphanage too long to know that’s incredibly, almost embarrassingly, early to show up to a party. We rolled in when it was mostly just family and close, close friends hanging out, still pre-showered and dressed. But at least we were there early enough to see the lawn catch on fire and a grown man grab hold of a table leg and beg as his two brothers tried to throw him in the water (retaliation for him picking on his nephew).
I was shocked to see this guy: the spitting image of the love I’d left behind in Egypt. Personality-wise, they were also similar: quick to smile, easy to laugh, always in good humor. Sunday, we built sand castles with some kids and for the first time ever I was attracted by the thought, “He’d make a good father!“ Why must the universe torture me so?!
The party was great fun, though the gourmet food wasn’t served till late and I left before everyone got thrown into the pool. There were a lot of great, inspiring married couples at the party and I got to practice a bit of Arabic (they were mostly Lebanese who have been in Ghana for a couple of generations…there are more Lebanese living outside Lebanon than inside and soon Brazil’s population of Lebanese will surpass the population of Lebanon!). These people were rich, but they didn’t act it. They were friendly and funny (rivaling the Egyptians in their humor, in fact!) and welcoming. I want to be a part of that family!
I was even wearing the right clothes. And if I hadn't, they wouldn't have cared.
posted by Jill at 9:04 PM
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