Because my body is a country, a water confluence,
and a country is me and I am me with flesh and bones.
Because when we trace the marks on our faces and palms,
we find dust and ash in a rule of tussle between humans and jinns.
Because when I wear the Sari— either the Ghagra or the Pavada,
I let the Pallu drape over my shoulder freely, carelessly,
or tuck into my waist, stretching towns from Nepal to Tamil.
Because, 2, the Hanfu explores curves, tied with a Sash around the waist,
and the Kimono finds straight lines appealing, influenced by the Hanfu,
sharing an origin of drawings and designs— two hands that applaud.
Because when I put on the Sherwani, with the Sarong patterned
around my waist and the Tembel Hat almost covering my face,
I find a wedding in Rajasthan, moving my feet to the Khmer dance,
with delicious Hummus and Falafel dancing down my throat.
Because the Keffiyeh holds two races in one, a black and a white,
and the Jallabiyah, a long tunic garment, says in purity is peace.
Because when I attempt to wear the Boubou, the Pagne or the Danshiki,
I find myself ravened in tribes whose hearts are as pure as honey,
skins like iron, and eyes as valiant and aging as the eagle’s span.
Because the Buckskins and the Poncho have a long history
that cuts across the Andes people and the Native Americans,
and the Huipils of the Tlapanec people is a hundred panels in one.
Because when I wear the Sarafan with a Beret and a Klomp on my feet,
I see myself a Matador at the Eiffel Tower, overlooking the Red Square.
Because the Kilt, the Lederhosen and the Smock-frock have me
reminiscing on great warriors of the past, knowledgeable men
who once donned the wears for the unification of humankind.
Because Gakti is of the Sami people who are the people of reindeer
and the Tapa cloth can be used to decorate walls and for poetry,
and also sing the Tonga, sip Fiji’s Kava drink and the Samoan Vaifala.
Because clothes do not betray the thread, the yarn and the spindle
and do not negate the body when they cover its nakedness.
Because either good or worn-out, white or black, loose or fitting,
an apparel or a homespun, they are all made from animal skin.
Aremu Adams Adebisi is a Nigerian author of works distinctively aesthetic in forms, shapes and in components. His products cut across each genre of literature which he writes to proffer answers to the endless questions of life. He seeks to find depth, peace and tranquility in poetry while his prose often is punctuated with happenings around him. He believes in the sight and feel and sound of literature. Once he said literature is a social-science whose application only is of art. He can be reached on Facebook at Aremu Adams Adebisi and on Instagram @theantagonist__