The Shopping Expedition

It was off to town to shop on Saturday afternoon. Along with everyone else! Every place was crowded. Guided by Mercia, who, as mistress of the wardrobe, aka "The Uniform Lady," knew all the special spots to buy buttons, blue socks, black shoes, and blue sweaters, have shirts and dresses made, and all the other necessary details of outfitting over one thousand students. First we four ladies (or "mamas" as they say in Swahili) went to the fabric shops. All lined up on one street, we went in and out of several small shops filled with rolls of beautiful fabrics. All these shops were owned by Arab merchants who I suspect have been here for generations. One shop was called "Dubai Traders." I picked out a flowery print. Next stop was the street filled with kanga cloth, or batik sarongs. We probably looked at fifteen shops, each one no bigger than my library office. At each place I asked for an Obama kanga, and eventually one was found. Shhh...I am bringing it home for a gift. Next stop was the dressmaker. On to another street, passing as we went the area for beauty salons. Women sat on the sidewalks doing elegant hair braiding and men were giving women clients pedicures, also along the sidewalks. Then Mercia lead us into a cosmetic shop, and she disappeared behind the counter. We hesitated, then she popped her head out and said to follow. Just behind the shelf of shampoos was a small, small room with three dressmakers. There were two pedal sewing machines, and a counter for cutting and ironing. On the wall was a poster of thirty or forty dresses, and the customer can point at a dress and mix and match necklines, length, style of sleeves, and so on. The seamstresses do not have patterns. They make the clothes according to what you describe. I had seen lots of men and women along the streets sitting and working at pedal operated sewing machines (all made in China), but in this dressmaker shop they had their own room. Quite special. I ordered my skirt ($15 for the labor) and after we all had our orders placed, we were on to the next stop-the tailor. Again, Mercia had us all puzzled. We went to a gas station, and I opened my purse, thinking to help pay for gas. But she drove to the back, where there was a car repair bay, parked, and said, "Come on, ladies." We followed into the back of the gas station office, up three flights of stairs, and there we were, in a spacious office with a view where the tailor worked. Several of my friends placed orders, after drawing pictures and discussing the design details.
After all that shopping, we felt we deserved a bit of a rest and something to drink, so we went to a nice hotel in the center of town, The Arusha Hotel, and relaxed with a cool drink. There was a wedding party in the garden taking photos when a sudden cloudburst made them scurry inside. (I was reminded of Balboa Park, and how, on weekends, there are bridal parties being photographed in the gardens there.) They took pictures inside, with all the rose bouquets in the hotel lobby brightening up the background. The waiter commented that he believed that the "small rains" had begun, and we can expect to have a daily shower. That is good news for the farmers. And after the rain, the dust has settled, and all is fresh.
Wish me luck finding my way back to the dressmaker!