LIFE BY LOUIS: The price I paid for a wardrobe makeover

When I arrived in the city the first thing that I noted was that my clothes belonged to the previous century. So, my good friend and I headed out to Gikomba for a wardrobe makeover. ILLUSTRATION | IGAH

What you need to know:

  • When I arrived in the city the first thing I noted was that my clothes belonged to the previous century.
  • Young men here wore expensive Savco jeans with side pockets, baggy Chicago Bulls T-shirts and such other designer items.
  • I decided I needed a wardrobe makeover and my friend and I went to Gikomba Market.
  • I selected a light green pair of trousers that seemed to have been worn by a movie superstar or a Formula One driver.
  • I could already see myself shining in it come Sunday, and I probably would later visit ‘Box’, the female hostels, later in the afternoon and gauge if the occupants would have a better perception of this village boy.

I recently visited the biggest open air market in the region called Gikomba to buy some garments that I won’t disclose because I am not authorised to speak on their behalf.

Due to its importance in the regional clothing business, the market should be renamed Gikworth Open Air Trade Fair for Previously Enjoyed Garments.

CLOTHES MARKET

My few years of living in Nairobi have taught me that it is not economically sustainable to meet all my clothing demands from the Moi Avenue ‘exhibitions’.

You are most likely going to encounter a critically bored salesgirl who will occasionally look up from her phone to ask you what you are looking for. If you are lucky to get her full attention, she is likely to put a random 150% markup on the shirt that you are buying.

The markup goes to finance her additional makeup and purple hair demands. When you wear the shirt as your Sunday best you realise with horror that half the men in church are wearing the same shirt, and you feel really flustered.

Gikworth has not changed since I paid my first visit there more than 20 years ago. I had just left Matimbei Village in a rickety pickup matatu headed for the city to commence my higher education in a prestigious institution located along Uhuru Highway.

When I arrived in the city the first thing that I noted was that my clothes belonged to the previous century. Young men here wore expensive Savco jeans with side pockets, baggy Chicago Bulls T-shirts and such other designer items.

Thanks to a man called Prof Chacha, who resided in Anniversary Towers and who specialised in giving unsecured loans to university students, I had enough money to do a total makeover of my wardrobe.

WARDROBE MAKEOVER

The first few weeks in college were set for orientation and we didn’t do much learning other than read our dictionaries and mathematical tables. We therefore had enough time to get acquainted with the new life in the city.

My good friend and I headed out to Gikworth to try out our luck. We didn’t know the place well so we asked for directions and found our way around.

The vendors who roamed the narrow streets in the market must have noted that we were newbies to the area and in dire need of initiation into the market.

At our first stop, I selected a light green pair of trousers that seemed to have been worn by a movie superstar or a Formula One driver.

I could already see myself shining in it come Sunday, and I probably would later visit ‘Box’, the female hostels, later in the afternoon and gauge if the occupants would have a better perception of this village boy.

The sale went on without much fuss, the garment was folded nicely and placed in a black paper bag, and we headed for the next stop.

On our way to look for baggy T-shirts, we were intercepted by a street vendor who enticed us into his clothes shed. He carried a sample of jeans and he promised us that there were more where that one came from.

Like sheep being led to the abattoir, we followed him. When we reached his shed, he handed us over to a group of men who seemed hostile and impatient with our slow interpretation of jeans designs.

LESSON LEARNT

In a sudden turn of events, they surrounded us and accused us of being broke impostors who were out to waste their precious time.

In order to be released, we were forced to part with a toll fee of Sh20 each, which was quite a substantial penalty then. After paying the disturbance fine, we were ordered to get out of the market and not dare come back.

We duly complied with the order and exited the market using the shortest route possible.

More shock awaited me when we arrived back to the hostels.

When I opened my package that contained my pair of trousers so I could try it on, I was met with a light green rag! Up to this day I have never understood how the vendor exchanged my nice pair of trousers with a useless rag. But there was no way I was going back to find out.

I only went back to Gikworth in my sophomore year after I had gotten more streetwise and enrolled in a martial arts class. Like the wise saying goes, this Nairobi has its owners.

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