Pressed trousers and starched collars.

I caught this young fellow on his way to school in my neighbourhood. 

It’s quite possible that I am the worst dressed person in Kampala. People in this city know how to dress. And it’s not just professionals. It’s the merchants, the boda drivers, the students, and just about everybody else. Even beggars wear trousers, dirty ones, but trousers nonetheless.

Walking into the newsroom at the Monitor makes me feel like a pauper. I don’t iron my pants and all my shirts are soiled with the red dirt that covers this city. Back home, journalists are not known for their fashion sense, but the ones in Kampala would fit right in on Bay Street.

The temperature hits 30 C every day, and the sun is almost always shining. But the men still wear blazers, shirts and ties. It’s not uncommon to see women in skirts to their knees and long sleeves. Sweater vests are also popular among men and women alike. 

In Kampala, flip-flops are meant to be worn in the house. It’s generally a sign of poverty if they’re worn in public. Well don’t I feel stupid; I only brought open-toed shoes. Sometimes people catch a glance of my exposed feet and look at me like I’m a leper. A 7-year old boy caught sight of them at a party recently and couldn’t wipe the expression of contempt of his face.

Most students are very smartly dressed. School uniforms are taken very seriously here. One young woman confessed to me that she applied to a particular secondary school because they had a cute uniform. Pressed dress pants for the men and A-line skirts for the girls. Both wear crisp collared shirts and V-neck sweaters. At about 5 p.m. every night, kids of all ages leave school and flood the streets of Kampala (the little ones are adorable in their formal attire, of course). It’s a fashion feast for a poorly-dressed muzungu’s eyes.

From point A to B.

Driving a car in Kampala can be hell. So people in the city have to find other ways of transporting goods. Bodaboda are popular options, and you’d be amazed at what people can pack on these little motorbikes. I recently saw one carrying about 60 pairs of shoes. He had tied each individual shoe to the bike to create a bouquet of construction boots, dress shoes, sandals and runners.

Transporting furniture on the bodas is also popular. Yesterday I saw a young man load up a coffin-sized closet stuffed with a garbage bag of goods. It was enormous. Two of me could have easily fit into it. The driver didn’t look the fazed, though, as he skillfully maneuvered through Kampala traffic.

Bicycles are often loaded up too. They get so weighed down sometimes that they cannot be ridden. Instead men sluggishly push the bikes along the road, advancing at snail’s pace. This man was struggling in the morning heat to push his bike up a hill.

A bicycle bursting with shoes

The most common things you see on the back of the bikes are loads of charcoal (about two garbage bags worth), dozens of empty water jugs, huge bushels of plantains and raw sugar cane. If you’ve ever seen sugar cane raw you’ll know it’s about five feet long. They stretch horizontally on the back on the bodas or the bicycles and ride around the city selling cuts of cane to chew on. If you get stuck behind one of these guys, they are really tough to pass because the sugar cane is so long.

"Please let me pass, ssebo (sir)!"

Sometimes the things being transported on the boda or the bicycles aren’t particularly large—just odd. Other items I’ve witnessed include a windshield, brooms, about 30 plastic baskets, over 100 eggs, 20 or so wooden stools.

Up-country.

Mechanic's shop in Zigot. Needless to say, he didn't have the part we needed.

I met some guys from an American NGO who invited me to drive up-country with them. They were visiting schools in rural districts to pay school fees for kids they sponsored. Without hesitation, I agreed. I really wanted to see what life was like outside of Kampala.

We sped along the red dirt roads passing and vegetable stands every couple of minutes. Jackfruit, mangoes, tomatoes, green bananas, papayas, green beans and cassava lined the stalls. The colors were bursting. We stopped at one stall to take photos and a young man shouted something at me in Lugandan, prompting the girls at the stall to burst out laughing. The Ugandan I was with translated for me. "Muzungu, have you brought me some bread?" he was playfully shouting at me.

About an hour into our journey, our ancient Toyota van slowed to a pathetic crawl and we had to stop to check her out. Zigot was the closest village, and fortunately there was a working mechanic in town (see picture). Unfortunately, he didn’t have a spare compressor belt to replace our dead one.

So we puttered along at about 10 k/hour to the next city, Mityana. I spent two hours touring the city (essentially a series of little shops), chatting to the owner of the local bookshop and politely avoiding the fried meat that was being served for lunch. I considered ordering the "Sand Witches" from the menu, but decided against it in the end.

After ol’ Toyota was brought back to life we hit the road again and in about an hour we reached Kassanda, where we visited Nkoba primary school. The kids were out in hoards. They don’t often see white people, so they gather around you in a state of shock and confusion. They loved having their photo taken and got a real kick looking at the image on the screen. That occupied almost a full hour of my time at the school.

We stopped next at a secondary school, where I found two little boys hanging around the entrance. They were the children of a staff member, I was told. “Muzungu!” they screamed when they were nearly blinded by the sight of my pasty-white skin. I happened to have two toy racecars in my pocket, which I handed over to them. They screamed with excitement and we raced the cars around on the red dirt roads for a while before I was dragged away by our driver. Back to Kampala, he told me.

Grasshoppers for sale.

In the mood to have your weight read?

Kampala is a mobile shopping mall. Everywhere you go in this city, you encounter someone selling a newspaper, airtime for your mobile, cellphone chargers or sugar cane to gnaw on as you patiently wait for another jam to clear. Many young men slink through unmoving traffic showcasing their goods. Others, usually women, will sit on the side of the road with their goods laid out on a sheet for display. Their mats are packed with shoes, loose candies, magazines, key chains, toys, jewellery and cigarettes.

Every once and a while, you see something for sale that catches your eye. Grasshoppers, for instance. For the first couple of days in the city I couldn’t figure out what men on the streets were peddling in large Tupperware containers. Then a friend told me.

“Oh, grasshoppers,” I responded, pretending to know why someone would want to buy a handful of grasshoppers on the side of the road. Apparently, they make for a delicious snack when fried.

If you’ve eaten too many grasshoppers and you’re worried about getting fat, you can always stop to have your weight read. On the streets of downtown Kampala, you'll find a young boy who sits patiently with his portable scale, beckoning passers-by to step on. He sits unnoticed, baking in the sun as the crowds speed past him.

You want ‘em? I got ‘em! Other items for sale on the streets of Kampala:

- Inflatable Teletubbies dolls

- Manicure on the go (sit on the side of the road and have your toes done for $5!)

- Kenyan pears

- Plastic rattle for infant

- Single pair of pink suede shoes

- Dry-erase placemat

- Meat on a stick. Any meat will do

- Grilled corn on the cob

- Sliced pineapple