I wore a black dress that ends a bit above my knees.

It’s a dress by Athleta with thumb holes in the sleeves and a hoodie-style middle pocket. It fits me like most dresses don’t: the sleeves are long enough, it’s not too short but I don’t look like a Quaker either and I just love it. I met it’s equal in Rome and googled the numbers on the tag so I could buy it on ebay. It has a v-shaped neckline but I wear a bandeau bra underneath so it doesn’t show any cleavage or plunge too low.

I love this dress.

I have to be aware of what I wear in country, especially in site, because women here wear very long skirts and wide-fitting woven shirts. Some women wear pants but they’re often times not from my site. Even the young girls wear traje típico, though it must be a pain to wrap corte and tie faja around a 3 year old. You have to tie the faja (woven belts) tightly around the middle, affording plegados/pleats for range of motion, otherwise all the women would walk like tin soldiers.

On the road to my aldea school (when you hear aldea, think: suburb or country), first the drivers of a pick-up truck stopped to give me a ride. A few minutes later, two guys on a motorcycle: “Where are you headed? Need a jalón?” Given the context, I assumed it meant a ride and pleasantly declined. They drove off as just as quickly as they slowed down, without pena. What’s a jalón? I wonder. I’ve lived here 6 months and I’ve never heard it before. The pick-up truck driver said it too.

I’ve walked this walk more than 12 times and I’ve never been offered a ride. I’m choosing to walk so I don’t want a ride. The tuc tucs and microbuses always honk as they whiz by, it’s friendly, but they see me walking and they must know that I want to walk. But it’s the first time my legs have been visible and I am offered a jalón twice.

The other night I didn’t have any pocket change left so I had to walk home. The sun was setting but it was not dark yet. (I was careful Mom, don’t worry!) And a man in a red, sensible toyota slowed to offer me a ride. As I politely declined, I wondered what was safer. Risking a 5-minute ride with a stranger or walking at sunset? But I decided I could control my destiny better with my own two feet. As I hoofed it home, I acknowledged that I was wearing my normal work pants and my visible legs didn’t motivate his offer.

I acknowledged that being a woman in a machista society invites some doubt. I acknowledged that being a woman anywhere invites a lot of doubt as to motivations. Questions like: how much does this dress affect how people interact with me and should I even wear it again? I considered all of our discussions around gender equality during training, I considered how very little the girls speak up in class and how the men often respond in meetings but the women of the same status stay silent. I made it home safely and ate dinner with my 3-generational household of capable, independent women.