Diary of a Broke Kampala Fashionista – Part 10

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 on her own. 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.

See part 1 here, part 2 here, part 3 here , part 4 here, part 5, part 6 here, part 7 here, part 8 here and part 9 here.

……..

This was one of those weeks you want to forget; I went back to the firm and Boss Lady has worked me like I owe her. To be fair, it has nothing to do with her, we are now in court with three separate cases and the pressure is on. One of them, which I was lucky enough to help with was for a one Kiiza. Apparently, he’s suing his former business partner for breach of contract. He started a car service business and his buddy was trying to play games. That’s as much as I can talk about it. The only plus to this whole fiasco at the office is that I get to be around him, sometimes.

Around Thursday, when I had already forgotten what outside life felt like, I got a text from Akello, saying there’s this chill event happening on Saturday, and we should head over and hang. Much as Boss lady was driving me nuts, I knew she wouldn’t make us come in on a Saturday, so I happily said yes. Akello said something about muchomo which made my taste buds do push-ups immediately!

Later that night as I was lazily scrolling down the internet, I chanced upon the event poster on of the blogs. It seemed funky, there was a healthy buzz around it (not too much though-those over hyped events turn me off). I got more and more excited as I went down the feed browsing through pictures from the previous edition of the event.  The theme had something to do with shorts, and you know how I love a party with a dress code.

I kept on mentally checking through the clothes in my closet. I decided on a pair of casual mid-thigh denim shorts, my wide-brimmed hat and a spaghetti strap top. I’d carry a cardigan, but as always, it is my civic duty at such an event to be the muchomo you cannot eat (wink wink). I decided the rest of the outfit would come together before I left those Kitenge print sneakers would be a good add-on.

So guess what. Saturday rolled by and I realized my sneakers were dirty. Not dirty like you can pass it off as a dusty boda boda ride, but dusty like ‘I walked through the jungles of the Congo and barely came out alive’ dirty. Sigh! I grabbed a rug and tried to wipe it clean but it kind of made it worse stamping the dirt in, and wouldn’t even blend in with the prints (because you know a girl would’ve rocked it like it was intended but this case was different). So, I just gave up. I spied Mutesi’s shoes in the corner and said a small prayer not to get caught, I could deal with the repercussions later. They were black and cute.

I found Akello at the right place; the cocktail stall. This girl is never late, damn! I had already told her how exhausted I was so when she saw me she just smiled and said to the bartender “U-G and Minute Maid please,” ugh I love this bitch.

Well, the place smelt like well-done goat meat and smoke, which was included but was not limited to the area around the grills. The crowd was a comfortable kind; people who were effortlessly having a good time. Akello and I settled into a cozy little corner where we could attack the meat and talk about everything on the face of this earth and beyond. We weren’t left in our world for too long because after about an hour, three guys approached us and joined in the conversation.

I remember seeing the clock reading 2 AM when I stumbled in at home that night. I know hard work awaits me next week, but what’s hard work without hard play?

Look out for part 11

Cover photo by William Stitt on Unsplash

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