Diary of a Broke Kampala Fashionista – Part 1

Diary of a Broke Kampala Fashionista is a new series on Satisfashion UG. Kampala born Kirabo has a knack for fashion and in another life, she was born in New York City. She dreams of going there but is too broke to even live alone. She lives with her elder sister Mutesi, who treats her like a child because she spends and acts like one. The weekly struggles are all (unintentionally) fashion related. She narrates her story of trying to realize her dreams while sliding in tips of how she gets by looking like a million bucks on a very slim wallet. She interns at a law firm in Kampala. 

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There are some days that just start on a really bad note and continue like that until the very end. Yesterday was one of those, and unfortunately, I think it has seeped into today. It all started when I woke up 30 minutes past the time I was supposed to be at work. By the time I had picked out an outfit, wrestled with my curls and scoffed down some breakfast, I was panicking and an hour late. The boda-boda stage was empty so I had to lug forward in my heels on the whole street, actually till I got to the taxi stage. It was drizzling the whole time. One and a half hours late, I could feel Boss Lady’s anger from there. But, what could I do?

As I sat in the semi-damp worn out taxi seat, I silently wished I had a car. Then I checked my phone and it had 4 new missed calls from Boss Lady, and 2 from the receptionist. I felt sweat trickling down my foundation. When I finally (read: 2 hours later) got to work I had to sit through a shouting from the vile woman. She reminded me of the importance of keeping time in the field of law, she scolded me severely for choosing to do perfect makeup rather than getting to work early, and how the firm would continue swiftly without me (considering the missed calls, I think not).

If she’s so keen on time management can this lecture wait for a less busy time? Ironic much? Well anyway, I was loaded a huge pile of case files and headed on to my mini desk to comb through them. I still had work due from yesterday and now this. So I dove in. Halfway through the first file, Birungi came over to my desk.

“Gwe Kirabo, you’re still alive?” she squeaked, referring to my near firing experience in the morning.

Her voice reminded me of a mashup between a chipmunk and a young boy. I grunted back and she took that as a cue to give me the day’s news.

“You know the new messenger boy? Hmm. I hear he tried to ask that cashier in the restaurant across the road, remember her? Yeah, he tried to ask her out on a date, hahaha!!

“With what? Kale people can be bold,” I asked.

“Mbu he went on to tell her that he can be better than all the men she has seen in the past. Naye look at him. With his bu legs. Hahaha!” Birungi laughed.

This girl knows everything about everyone in the office, and out. She should’ve been a journalist. By the time she left, I knew the messenger’s history of dating women in a higher league than his and a full list of all the people he owed money.

I left work hungry, tired and considering changing my lifestyle. Should I leave this place? I’m not even getting paid for all this hard work I put in. I’m just an intern. Sigh. My nails are chipping.

“Oba Wasswa is at the salon?” I asked myself.  I gave Wasswa a call and he told me he had no customers, so I jumped on a boda-boda, mentally sticking out my tongue to all those who are sitting in Kampala traffic jam. I was grateful I didn’t have a car then. So I reach the salon and Wasswa started working on my nails, changing the color from a pale pink to something matching my mood. Grey!  He added a slim nail art line of gold, to brighten me up.

Then I noticed the hair stylist was looking at my head quizzically. I asked her what was on her mind and she pulled out some weird looking powder. Apparently, it was tint, and she said my hair seemed perfect for the colour. I thought it through for approximately 10 seconds before giving her a  gave a go-ahead. After a day like this one, I surely deserved it.

I smiled as I bargained with her not to charge me for this particular treatment.  Afterall, I’m her customer and guinea pig. She laughed heartily, her big braless breasts heaving up and down rhythmically.  “Naye Kirabo, you make me laugh. Free???”

We settled for 6000 shillings and the process started. She wore a pair of gloves and got to work applying and reapplying the stuff into my hair. I felt it burn. I had to sit. The chair got hot for me, I felt my bum getting a little bit flatter. I distracted myself from the discomfort with a plate of food; matooke with some white rice, Irish potatoes, and beans. The potatoes were a little burnt on one side though, ughh.

At the end of the evening, I went home with a platinum blonde afro. My sister Mutesi gave me one look and that was it.

“What the hell, Kirabo?!?”

“Looks good, no?” I replied, bouncing up and down unfazed by her reaction to my new look.

“I mean, yeah, but… that colour! How will you go to work? How will I even walk with you!”

“But it looks good, why are you making noise? Oh, I know, you’re just jealous”

Mutesi droned on for what seemed like 2 years, I don’t remember half of what she said. I went to bed and decided I wouldn’t debut my new look in a big all afro the next day, I’d start small. So, I made two cornrows down the length of my head. I could hear my sister complaining about me to her husband in the living room. I just chuckled. After all, I deserved it, after the day I had had.

Safe to say, I’ve never seen a black woman turn as red as Boss Lady did when she saw me that day. I just smiled goofily and let her shout at me endlessly. “I should be self-employed,” I thought.  Those are the professions for people like me. I’m just a girl who loves to look good, I just don’t have the budget to do so, so I’m trying to go through the system until I make enough money to be who I want to be. In the meantime, Boss Lady is going to be fine.

…….

Look out for part 2 next week 

Cover photo by William Stitt on Unsplash

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