Working in Pyamas

 Working in Colombia as a Belgian

“So you mean that you liked my pajamas?”

We had been working together for 6 months. It had been an intense period there in Riohacha, Colombia.

I went through the roughest culture shock ever in my entire life: frustrations, not understanding, questioning myself, not knowing what and who to believe anymore, self-doubt, anger. It was eating my trust in people in general, men in particular.

It had been great as well: people inviting me to their houses, or showing me around in their beautiful country. Making a friend, means becoming a family-friend.

My colleagues and I got close. Not as close as my regular friends in Belgium, my home country. There were lots of barriers, language the easiest one to overcome. I am speaking about religion, life-style, values and beliefs. This is also what made it enriching.

After my 6 month period, I asked my colleagues for an evaluation about what they had learned with me, where to tweak a bit, as feedback for future projects.

They admitted that they were perplexed that I didn’t speak almost any word of Spanish, and that I had to start training them. Absurd. I must admit, it was a challenge.

But as we started, they realized that I managed, much better than they could ever imagine.

At the end, one of the women mentioned that she would never forget that I was just so ‘normal’. I didn’t understand what she was referring to. 

‘Normal?’

“Well, you know; how you dress, talk to us, sit down on the floor, take off your shoes, start moving around…”

Of course, I had noticed a difference. They came on heels, with lots of make-up, jelly nails, styled, as if they stepped out of a magazine. Every day.

For me a bit over the top, as I would let them move around and let them do crazy dynamic stuff during my training. I always wondered if that really was their most comfortable clothing. Besides, going to the poorest neighborhoods where nobody felt at ease, where little shops protect themselves with iron fences, where young children have seen fights and killings. Why go dressed up? I didn’t get it.

The stress of the good-appearances must be very high.

“Ah, so you mean that you liked my pajamas?” 

They laughed.

Yes, I wore my pajama-pants to work. I love comfy while teaching, and I try to level up to the environment I’m working in. Why dress up for the slums?

Perhaps I should have leveled to my colleagues as well? 

Naaaah, I knew that as a foreigner I would get away with it. Being a foreigner also has its benefits.

Now they do think that people go to the office in their pajamas in Europe! ;)