Owino Gold and the accidental hipsters

Driving down to Kabalagala from the office, a noticeably odd looking and exceptionally tall white girl gangled across the road, dressed in the classic Africa attire of sagging cargo pants, a pink, flustered face, and a droopy vest. The driver shook his head, and with an exclamation of AH ah!, turned to me and said, “you are not like these other Wazungu (basic translation: white folk): you are smart!” He proceeded to complain about how white people tramp around the city centre, as if they are on safari, and how previous volunteers had come to work dressed in the same way, taking no care over their appearance and looking unprofessional.

Generally speaking, Ugandan’s in Kampala are really quite a chic lot, coordinating their outfits with precision and care. I asked Brooke how the women sludge through the busiest bus park in Africa across the pot holed, trash strewn churned up earth, in rainy season, and still manage to look immaculate. She said a lot of it has to do with handkerchiefs. Looking down at my encrusted sandals the other day, on the way to a meeting, a NACWOLA driver indeed offered me a wet handkerchief to speedily rectify the situation.

Style is really valued here and even those with very little money invest it in keeping up appearances .I am referred to by one of our volunteers as “the designer,” which I assume is a compliment, unlike “designer lady” which actually means prostitute, or refers to those women who entertain older moneyed men for the handbag benefits. Of those women, there are two types-small c’s who are rewarded with chips, chaps  (meat patties) and coca cola, and capital Cs who aim for the bigger guns of cars, cash and cell phones. My usual response to compliments on my outfit is “thanks, I got it at Owino,” which always raises a giggle. According to one of a drivers, the ability to make low cost clothing look expensive is a god-given blessing, that should be praised. 

Owino market in old Kampala is the place to go to sort through the bales of second hand clothing that get delivered to Africa as the last stop on their retail journey. Some of the clothing here has made its journey via  Eastern Eurpean scam agencies who collect the clothes under the guises of charity, and sell them on at a profit (or even steal sacks for other charities: see here). Other clothes are apparently imported mainly by Indian businessmen. It isn’t exactly a relaxing place to shop, particularly due to the apparently east African custom of sharply shoving those who are in your way, out of your way. Bales are delivered on Monday and Thursday mornings, when shopkeepers arrive around 5.30 am to get first picking of the goods to take back to their stores and sell at a mark-up of up to 500%. Sharp elbows are required.

If you can artfully avoid the clothing stands near the chicken coops (smell coups), the experience is vastly improved. Clothes pulled from the bales coming in are sorted into categories of first, second and third, which refer not to first or second hand (new and old), but rather the quality of the goods. Items are usually shipped with others of their kind, so each vendor will have a different speciality-shirts, trousers, skirts etc. To select clothes, you can choose a vendor, who will lift up their pile of stock and start throwing the items at you one by one to “sort”, or alternatively start tossing the clothes up in the air with the energy of a kid at a ball park. If the vendors had even the slightest idea of what you might like (ie, probably not a polyster catsuit, with cockroach snacked holes in the crotch, or a pair of curtains fashioned into equally grotesque trousers), it would really be shopping heaven. 

Wandering through the labyrinthine paths, there is absolute vintage gold to be found. 80s wedding meringue dresses hang ghoulish from the rafters and many of the stands display what I can only describe as 90s floral curtain cladding to swaddle middle aged women. Admittedly, as much of the stock is 90s stuff it isn’t quite old enough to be considered vintage. However, 50s tea dresses emerge from the churning piles of clothes, as do 60s shifts, the odd Yves Saint Laurent skirt and other designer items. These items nestle among a host of stuff from Primark, Next and other British high street stores.

These newer items often come complete with charity shop and value village tags, which state an amount in dollars which is often less than what they retail at in the African market. Second hand clothes from UK, Europe and the US are often referred to collectively as clothes from “that place,” “your place,” or simply, “there.” The clothes from “there” are valued much more than the new clothes exported from China for reasons of quality,style and durability. This is reflected in the price.

The surprising thing about about Owino is how people emerge from its chaos with the most excellent outfits. Aaron and Christmas cardigans are bought and worn by boda boda drivers, teamed with helmets and wrap around shades for added street cred. Men wander around in ankle skimming turn ups, deck shoes, 1980s adidas tracksuit jackets and glasses frames from the 50s. The market has produced a city of accidental hipsters who wouldn’t look an inch out of place in Dalston. Wazungu meanwhile continue to walk around in clothes that no discerning Ugandan (with the money to choose) would be seen dead in.

Pics to come.