The skies here can change quickly; searing heat makes midday walks a test of endurance under a merciless sun, clouds rest far along the horizon; and then suddenly the puffy mist moves in like an advancing army offering reprieve from the blaze, the brightness only seeping through in spots. Then maybe, a shower, or possibly a total downpour. And finally coolness.
It’s never exactly cold here, but for Ugandans the chill after a rain can usher in discomfort. I was caught in such a rainfall, stuck in the kids’ small two room house in Namengo. Richard sat outside under the overhang staring at the shower with nothing better to do in their furniture-less, TV-less, radio-less, oftentimes electricity-less, essentially barren concrete room. He was shivering.
“Richard.”
His big eyes gazed at me.
“Do you have a jacket?”
“No.”
“Do you have a sweater?”
“No.”
I felt terrible. It was the closest to cold I had experienced in
“Okay. We are going to buy you a jacket.”
He smiled and I frowned, thinking of the long sleeved shirt I had given him when we first took him a few months ago. It was probably dirty and the only item of clothing he had that covered his arms. I was unhappy with his unease, but knew how quickly the skies would change.
Wednesday is market day in Lugazi. Between the dilapidated huts with falling, gapping slabs of wood that comprise the usual trading center, countless vendors set up shop and offer their wares spread for blocks; piles of second hand garments, racks of new more expensive clothes, black faux leather school shoes, plastic shower slippers, bags, skin care items, school supplies, cooking supplies, all of Ugandan soil’s offerings: cassava, maize, yams, beans, tomatoes, onions, greens, sweet potatoes, avocadoes.
I lead Richard through the endless stretch of vendors squashed together sitting in the dirt or standing next to their goods calling out Mzungu! Mzungu! You come! You want trousers? You need shoes? You like this?
I refrain from telling them, “No, I don’t need two dollar shoes or recycled clothes from American closets, but thank you.”
Sometimes the bolder vendors will just watch me pass and say, “Give me money.”
“Richard, look through these jackets,” I said pointing to a pile of a few dozen jackets before us. He flipped through them; the usual discarded items from
“Okay. Let’s try here.” I pointed to another pile across the way with more of the same. He picked up a pink and purple raincoat looking like it belonged to an American woman a dozen years ago. I didn’t say anything. If he wants to wear pink and purple, it didn’t matter to me. He set it back down.
I led him around the corner to a larger pile. Jackpot. Richard picked up a navy blue coat with white trim. He held it up then pulled it towards him indicating in his shy way that he liked it.
“Try it on.” It was too big, definitely for an adult, maybe belonging to an East Coast sea-lover in the nineties. He beamed.
“Okay. We get that one for you?”
He nodded. I gave the vendor 4,500 Ugandan shillings, or $2.25.
The week passed with more rain. The girls had sweaters to keep them warm, but did not have jackets to protect them from wetness. Agnes was outside their house in Namengo doing wash beneath the downpour.
“Aggie. We get you a jacket too.” She nodded and smiled typically bashful. I turned to the three younger girls. “You get some jackets too.”
The following Wednesday I left the house for the market just on the other side of our building with Agnes, Richard, Beatrice, Sylvia, Peanut and Beatrice’s friend, Ester, in tow. Rachel stayed behind in dire need of her afternoon kwebeca. The kids were excited; Mama Mzungu was taking them for the second time to market, an occasion like
dancing on the way to market
Sylvia’s jacket was the easiest find. It was lying on top of a small pile we passed. I looked at the dark blue raincoat and new it was the perfect size for her.
“You try this one on,” I said handing it to her. She put it on quickly and smiled. “You want it?”
She nodded.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded again, her eyes bright. I gave the vendor 3,000 shillings, $1.50.
We walked around the corner to another vendor, the one with the biggest pile of jackets, where we had luck finding one for Richard the previous week. Agnes picked out an unnecessarily thick, puffy, camel-colored monstrosity and B2 chose, with my encouragement, a navy blue, faux-fur-trimmed-hood, actually-pretty- cute, throw away from the Gap. I gave the vendor 4,000 and 7,000 shillings respectively, or $2.00 and $3.50.
I had bought Beatrice two shirts and two skirts at market the week before since she always wore the same deep maroon, crushed velvet dress, which was actually an American girl’s former nightie, the intended purpose of the clothing of course not worth explaining to my child who clearly liked it.
Beatrice wanted another skirt and top. Okay. I figured I could spare the two dollars. I bought a new skirt for Agnes as well as a new school bag since her old one had ripped under the weight of her books; the bag was a splurge, sturdy, actually sort of chic, black with a single strap; a slightly business-looking shoulder bag. A full five dollars. She swung it over her back and walked through market with her head high.
Beatrice had lost her shower slippers, which are the only shoes she and the others own outside their black school shoes, which are only worn to school making the foamy slippers a necessary item in their meager wardrobes.
shoeless B2 with others kids in slippers
“Don’t lose these,” I said to her, handing her the $1.25 green foam sandals she picked out. She genuflected and thanked me; feet protection only a recent part of her existence.
Richard picked out a new shirt, one with an actual tag on it. All the kids got their needed school supplies for the term that was starting the following week. Peanut asked me for a jacket.
“Peanut, you already have jackets. You have more than all of these kids combined,” I told her. She pouted mildly. Ester’s daughter, Peanut, stays with the children and her mother in Namengo and has bags full of clothes given and bought for her. I am helping out Ester and Peanut, but new clothes the girl did not need.
As we walked wove through the market little girl’s dresses were catching my eye, adorable matching denim skirts and tops; pale, frilly dresses; bright skirts and pattered shirts. I thought of the two dresses that Rachel owned with broken zippers, no doubt hand-me-downs. I wanted a new one for her. I touched a white polka dotted dress.
“Mzungu. You give me 18,000,” the vendor directed me.
“What? No way. Too much.” I was being offered inflated mzungu prices as always.
We walked to another vendor. Beatrice was helping me pick out a dress, excited to give one to her little sister.
“Mommy! Mommy! This one.” She tugged at a design of chinsy yellow chiffon with too many ruffles and bows.
“Maybe.” The vendor looked at me.
“You give me 15,000.”
“Too much.”
“Okay. You give me what you have.”
“I don’t know if I like.”
The vendor shook her head. I stood next to the dress for a while as I waited for Agnes to purchase new school shoes for Peanut and Richard from a few vendors down, I sent her to avoid the hassle of negotiating.
“Okay. You give me 4,000,” the vendor said holding the dress before me. I eyed it again. I still didn’t like it. Then I noticed the same polka dotted dress I saw earlier, but in red. This was actually better. I abhor white or pale fabrics for the kids since Ugandan red mud and dirt grimes into their clothes within minutes of donning. The kids are always dirty by degree, but I attempt for them to appear clean.
“What about this one?” I asked holding the cherry garment.
“It’s okay.”
“Four thousand?”
“No. You give me seven.”
“Why not four like the other?”
“This one is better than that one.”
I didn’t see the vendor’s point, but didn’t feel like arguing. It was hard finding a dress that looked Rachel’s size and not quienceanera tacky. I gave the guy the $3.50.
The kids and I moved back towards the house: smiles, dancing, laughter. We opened the door and Rachel was awake.
“Rachel.” She greeted me customarily ecstatic. “I have a surprise for you.” I set the bags down and Beatrice moved towards them starting to grab the dress. “B2 not yet. Don’t show her yet.” I wanted to get a picture of Rachel’s face when we gave it to her. Beatrice was muttering something excitedly in Luganda as I went into my room for my camera. Rachel must have known she was about to get something special. We pulled it out of the bag for her. Surprise!
Rachel wearing dress for first time
kids in their jackets
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Love all the clothes, congrats to some very lucky kids! I know all about Mzungu prices too. It happens to everyone and they all knew I was Mexican, didnt stop them.
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