Sunday in Kampala. Bored out of my mind! No TV, tired of listening to radio, already cooked, washed and cleaned. What to do with my late morning? Why not go to market!
I love markets anywhere in the world, especially in South America and Africa. Owino in Kampala is pretty exciting. There you can find EVERYTHING under the sun. A great pastime if you have little to do and a small budget.
I knew I needed to get a few things still before leaving Kampala at the end of my contract and Owino was definitely the place to go. So armed with 40,000 shillings (about US$20, but I only planned to spend half) I hopped into a matatu (maxi taxi) and whizzed down the empty Sunday streets to the market.
Sunday in downtown Kampala looks like any other day. Full of people, cars, street vendors, garbage and red dust every where. I walked the half block from the taxi stage to Owino market. There it was, Owino, Shoppers Paradise. Picture a ‘post-armageddon’ Port of Spain National Stadium taken over by the Drag Brothers. Owino, for some reason reminds me of something out of a science fiction movie, like Mad Max or something like that.
I approach Owino, which is in fact a Stadium that has been swallowed by the market that started next door. There are several entrances across a ‘moatlike; canal. As you walk into Owino, you must be prepared, vendors, grab and touch, not harassingly, but that is their way of trying to persuade you to look at their goods. On this Sunday, one of the vendors kneeled and and blew me a kiss. I, for some reason, was VERY offended. I found the gesture a bit obscene. Then he held my hand, and said he knew me and couldn't understand why I was treating him like this. I slapped his hand and told him to let me go, which he didn't, again asking why I was behaving like this. I slapped his hand repeatedly. We looked like we were having a lovers quarrel, and I was very afraid that the man would hit me back and of course no one would defend me. Eventually he let me go, and I hurried away. Though hours later I actually did seem to remember him as someone I knew. A vendor who I had bought shoes from some weeks ago.
But I wasn't there for shoes, I was on a different mission. Owino, like many other markets in Africa is a place that you can get ANYTHING under the sun. I've bought predictable things such as fruit and vegetables, and shopping baskets, but there are more exciting things available there. Previous trips have produced miscellaneous items of new and used clothing, including designer labels, shoes, raffia for giftwrapping, an extension cord, a knife and even earphones for my walkman.
Today's mission was to find a leather jacket, some samples of nice shirts which I could give to my tailor as inspiration, and some good reading material. I heard that you can even find books at Owino, but I had never actually seen the booksellers myself.
I knew where the stall with the leather jackets was. I wove my way in and out of the narrow aisles, dodging soapy and muddy water, stepping over plates of lunch of matoke (imagine coocoo made of green banana) and beans, over piles of clothing being sold at 500 shillings a piece, until I found the Leather Jacket Man. Three of his jackets looked like what I was looking for. He took them down for me to try, while he got a pocket sized (!) mirror for me to see how I looked. They all fit well, too well. My guy didn’t understand I actually wanted to use my jacket in Autumn or winter when I had to travel, and not just for ‘style’. The jackets were too small. He tried to entice me with the price, going from 45,000 to 30,000 is 2 seconds. I was tempted, but left them.
I continued browsing, then it occurred to me, I had meetings in London on my way to Trinidad, and I had no formal business clothes. Maybe I could find a suit in Owino. Yes a suit at the market, this is Africa! I found the ladies who sold suits, and third time lucky. I found the suit of my dreams. Cream, nice microfibre suit, great fitting jacket, nicely designed trousers. This one had never been worn, it still had the original tags from a well known London department store, or maybe this was yet another Owino scheme for shoppers like me. I ask the price, and the tells me 38,000. I had no intention of spending that money, and had learned anyway ALL prices are negotiable. Our exchange went like this:
“Nyabo (madam), I’m sorry I only came to market with 15,000.”
“Oh madam, this is a good suit, nice fabric, you come, you try.”
I tried it on. It certainly felt good.
“Nyabo,” she said, “you are so smart, so beautiful!”
These women knew how to work it. She borrowed another pocket mirror from her neighbour and showed me how I looked. Yes it did look good. A little tight, but maybe I could eat less 'matoke' for the remaining few days in Uganda to shed a pound or two.
"So Nyabo, how much you give me for this suit?"
"Oh madam I only have 15,000, what's your best price?"
Our good natured bargaining went on for about five minutes. Eventually I got her down from 38,000 to 20,000. The bargaining always ends with the phrase "You bring cash money!"
So there, I had a beautiful designer suit, a steal of deal. I left Owino about an hour later laden with my suit, 3 shirts for my tailor, 5 novels, freshly made peanut butter, and just to remind myself that I'd been to the market, a handful of tomatoes.
