The Jungle Seamstress

I fell in love with this story when my dear friend, Christa Grobbelaar, told it to me. I'm very excited to get to share it with you! Christa is a retired teacher, mother, grandmother and blogger. Go read her blog here. In 2017, while I was living and working in a jungle village tucked into the northeast corner of Thailand, my eldest daughter got engaged. In the vicinity there were a few silk worm farms, a project of the queen to uplift the communities and empower women, so exquisite Thai silk was available at ridiculously low prices. I decided that I wanted to have a dress made from Thai silk for the wedding.

Only one person in my entire Thai life could speak both Thai and English. Despite my reasonably successful efforts to learn basic Thai, Teacher Yod was essential if I wanted to discuss anything more than school matters or shopping. His English was less basic than my Thai, and his pronunciation, to say the least, unique. Nevertheless, the two of us had a very special relationship and he remains one of my most treasured memories from that precious chapter in my life. My friendship with him (and a few other very dear people) taught me that friendship is not deterred by a language barrier. When the agent who placed me at Yod’s school told me about him, she referred to him as “a man with a woman heart”. I did not understand then, but when I met him, I did. He was a gay man. His woman heart and mine immediately connected.

But back to the story of the dress. Armed with pictures from Google and the customary gestures and labored explanations, I shared my idea with Yod. With his typical endearing ladyboy enthusiasm, he contributed vast numbers of pictures sourced from the internet and magazines filled with squiggly, illegible (to me, at least) Thai print. He immediately offered to take me to his seamstress (Yod was one of the few people in our village who owned a car). For the first time he showed me some photos of some of the very elaborate creations this seamstress had conjured up for the ladyboy pageants on weekends. The ladyboy culture in Thailand is really big, and these men and boys are not only accepted but truly loved and respected in the relatively conservative community I was a part of.

So one early evening (our school day ended at about 5 pm), we set off to the seamstress called Lotus. To a Western tongue, Thai names are virtually impossible to pronounce. People all have nicknames related to what their parents wish for them (like Rich, Strong or Sweet), what they love (like Flower, Watermelon or Milk) or something symbolic, like a Lotus or water lily which they regard as the symbol of positivity and inner strength. On our way, Yod instructed me very emphatically that I should NOT call Lotus a dressmaker. "She seamstless, no dlessmakel. Prease to lemembel!" In addition to using the male pronoun for both males and females, Yod, like most Thais, had extreme difficulty producing the R-sound, except when it should be an L. Almost without exception, he switched the two around, often with humorous results, like the time we had a difference of opinion about whether a student was very naughty, or just playing a prank by putting a plastic snake in my drawer. (Try saying that while switching your Rs and Ls!)

I was still wondering why the woman would be so particular about her title, when we stopped at the house and I saw the seamstress sitting in the huge display window of the shop. Then I understood.

In the big window of the dressmaker’s shop, cross-legged in the typical Asian position, sat Lotus – my dressmaker. A male. Like Yod, he had “a woman heart”, and that explained why he insisted on being called a seamstress.

We took off our shoes, as is the Thai custom, and Yod introduced us. He repeatedly touched my arms and cheeks and complimented me on my beautiful white skin. Thai people love fair skin and hair. (When shopping, I soon discovered that most soap, moisturisers and even deodorants contain skin whiteners). I showed him the pictures I had brought, and with Yod’s help, filled him in on what I had in mind. I must admit, I was a bit concerned as a simple sentence from me translated into a stream of rapid Thai from Yod. I was worried that Yod was elaborating my fairly simple idea into something more to his own taste.

I have seen many talented people at work, but Lotus definitely ranks among the top five. After listening attentively to Yod, glancing at the pictures quickly and walking up and down his studio a few times, he flopped back into his cross-legged position on the floor, grabbed a sketch pad and started doing something very fast and with big movements. Whenever I craned my neck or approached him to see what he was doing, he held up a hand to indicate no peeking. After about five minutes, he turned his pad toward me. There I was, drawn in beautiful rough lines, but unmistakably me, wearing my dream dress! Even if I could speak proper Thai, I was speechless.

Lotus took different bolts of fabric from his substantial stock, draped it over me and spun me around, until he found one of which the colour suited me best. Then he slowed down his chattering and Yod started to interpret again, informing me that he wanted to combine the Thai silk with Japanese lace because “quarity velly good.” The next step was to take my measurements and write it next to the wonderful drawing. (To this day I am so sad that I could not bring that sketch home with me – when I went to pick up my dress, he had thrown it away, oblivious to how impressed I was and how special it would have been for me – at least I think so, as this first visit was the only one where I had Yod to interpret).

I wandered through the studio, flabbergasted by the fantastic creations on shelves, on rails, and some on dressmaker’s dolls. This all happened in mid-2017, and in 2018 Lotus made some of Miss Thailand’s dresses for the Miss Universe competition. After a while, Yod informed me, “We go now, she sew. She will call, you come.” I smiled, greeted, and we left. Yod always referred to Lotus using female pronouns.

That was it. I was summoned only once after that, to approve the Japanese lace that Lotus had received. I went alone, riding the green bicycle that was part of my package at the school. On the way I was a bit worried about the language problem, but gestures and smiles, nods and shakes of the head and my few Thai phrases saw us through. The next time I saw Lotus, the dress was completed. It fit perfectly. Back in South Africa I took it to a professional dressmaker for the hem. She could not express enough admiration for the craftsmanship. When I told her what I had paid for it (the Thai Baht is much weaker than our Rand), she almost fainted.

In March 2018 I wore my stunning Thai dress to my daughter’s wedding. I shed some typical mother-of-the-bride tears that day, but also a few nostalgic ones for my lovely seamstress with the astonishing talent, tucked away in a very special little corner of Asia. I will always cherish the fondest memories of my Thai adventure. This is just one of them.

Christa (right) at her daughter's wedding