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.
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