Free Shirts

There are few things in this world better than a free shirt. The shirt could be unfashionable, ill-fitting, and itchy, but because it is free, it warrants no social repercussions. Out of all the shirts I own, the free ones are usually the ones I tend to like and wear the most. I have all kinds of free shirts from different events I've been to: Cal football games, triathlons, and swim meets. Or the shirts I get as gifts on birthdays or Christmas, with some ridiculous saying written on them. Yet to my surprise, these kinds of free shirts often find themselves quickest to be donated. Walk-a-thons for leukemia awareness (a deep purple always), blood drives, international woman’s day: these are all highly popular candidates for the donation box.

And they all come to Kenya.

I approached a teenager and read his shirt out loud, “Donde Esta Mi Cerveza?” with small English letters in the corner reading, “Where is my beer?”
“I think it is German.” He said, as I finished reading the small English writing.
I smiled amiably and felt it necessary to correct him. “Nope! It's Spanish. It's the same language the team from Barcelona speaks.”
“Ohh!” He exclaimed, as if very excited to learn the true language of the shirt he probably had for years. I mistook his enthusiasm to mean he wanted to know more about Spanish, so I continued breaking down the sentence to him, telling him exactly which word meant what. I was excited to read Spanish, the language I spent so many school years studying, but the teenager did not even feign interest and immediately changed the subject of conversation.

In general, Kenyans who wear these donated shirts have no idea what they are supporting. I remember one shirt worn by an older lady, clearly written, “BEER DELIVERY GUY” in all capital letters across the front. And I promise she was not going for the comedic effect. On another occasion I noticed a grandma wearing a shirt with huge bold letters, “Eat. Sleep. Play.” with a picture of an American football on the front. She obviously has no idea what sport she was endorsing (especially since it was “American” football) but her lack of knowledge didn't dampen her precious, nearly toothless smile. Another mama wore a shirt stylishly written, “Geek Squad,” and I bet none of those Best Buy employees on the “Geek Squad” knew that a 45 year old Mama who has never seen a computer in her life was a big supporter of theirs.

But my favorite so far is a very fast walking old man who I pass by every morning. He looks very grisly and determined whenever I see him, as if he had just lost his cow and was now desperately searching for it. Once he was wearing a very faded pink shirt that read, “Official Heartthrob” in playful, girly letters. The “o” in “throb” was in the shape of a heart, and the middle of each letter looked to have one of those reflective glittery gemstones. This shirt did not at all dampen his grim morning look.

What these shirts do for me is remind me of the people from back home. I saw a mama cooking who was wearing an “Auburn” shirt, and it reminded me both of my old swim coach and a girl I used to like. Whenever I see people wearing Pittsburgh Steeler gear, I instantly think of my father and how excited he would be to see a Kenyan “Steeler” fan. When I first arrived to Kenya, I saw a motorcycle driver wearing a hat that read “Cal,” and I reflexively blurted “Go Bears!” at the sight of paraphernalia from my Alma Mater.

I cannot help but think of home when I see references to California or Los Angeles. These shirts pop up at me like scribbled memoirs written of my childhood and stuffed in the pockets of different pairs of my pants – Mickey Mouse, Anaheim stadium, San Diego – all these places resonating with colorful memories. And I'm certain that many of the Kenyans wearing these shirts wonder why I feature a huge smile as they pass me by.

But the most nostalgic moment I have had over a piece of clothing happened in Mombasa. I saw a skinny teenager wearing an NJB (National Junior Basketball) jersey that was from Diamond Bar, California. Diamond bar is literally 12 miles north of where I grew up. And I played in NJB growing up! I could have very well played against that very jersey as 10-year-old. Perhaps I guarded the same boy who wore that jersey – and now I meet up with this garment of clothing 15 years later on the other side of the world.

I have come to find that clothes hold a certain sentimental value. I would consider myself a minimalist, and every so often I sort through my things for donation or recycling. But I must admit, when it comes to some items of clothing, as worthless as they are, I manage to return them to my wardrobe. I still have swimming shirts from 1994, and because I thought it was cool to wear baggy, extra-extra-large shirts back then, some of them still fit. If I weren't so sentimental about my clothing, I might have had a chance to come across one of my very own shirts here in Kenya.