Custom kitenge at Kimironko Market

When creating a bucket list in Kigali, there are a few quintessential Rwandan things that can’t be missed. For instance: brochettes are a must, moto-rides are obligatory, and no matter how claustrophobic you are––getting clothes tailor-made at the market is an essential activity.

Although I live in the Kimironko area, I have only visited the famed Kimironko Market a handful of times. Why? You might ask. Let's just say it isn't exactly a place for the average wanderlust traveler looking for a carefree stroll.

The endless narrow stalls of fabric, fruit, and dried goods accompanied by noisily persistent sellers make "a day at the market," a pursuit to mentally plan for. You can't just casually browse the shelves of handmade earrings or trail your fingers along the sacks of dried beans––when you go to Kimironko, there are just two things to keep in mind: a mission and a budget.

Kimironko Market is situated just behind the bustling Kimironko Bus Park. As soon as you enter the market gates, there's a row of outdoor vendors along the wall that almost serve as a warm-up for the chaotic scene you'll soon encounter once inside.

After strolling along the outskirts for a few minutes, I made the executive decision to count my blessings and duck down one of the corridors into the heart of the bazaar.

As soon as I entered, the atmosphere changed to one of unfamiliarity; it was dark, cramped, loud, musty, and about five other words I'd use to describe the cellar beneath my 17th century Maine-home.

"Sister, sister!" everyone began to yell at me.

"Come visit my shop, I have many nice things, just take a look," the vendors pleaded whilst guiding me by the arm down a new aisle.

At first I tried to please everyone by complimenting their crafts and souvenirs, but after the twelfth "sister, come here!" this became an impossible task. The main objective of my market-visit, was to have a dress made, so naturally I began to gravitate towards the walls lined with patterned kitenge.

For some general context: kitenge is a traditional East African fabric usually made from cotton and wax. It's a stiff material known for vibrant patterns that almost every Rwandan sports on a daily basis. Hence my habitual subpar-fashion-sense on the streets of Kigali.

In the garment section of the market, women sat along the corridors at their sewing machines, hard at work assembling dresses, shorts, blazers, headbands, skirts, etc. (the sky's truly the limit when you have cash to spend and clothes in mind). As I meandered by the seamstresses, perplexed at their speedy skill, a man approached me and asked what I was looking for. Seeing as I had no idea what I wanted made yet, I asked him for a catalog of clothing designs. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through a Pinterest page of various garments––once I found one that seemed adequate (a simple, sleeveless pencil dress with a small slit in the leg) a woman named Jackie happily agreed to make it for me.

"It will be ready in one hour," she told me. I gave a thumbs up, but I didn't believe her.

The next step was choosing fabric. The same guy who had showed me designs on his phone guided me towards a wooden stall covered floor-to-ceiling in colorful textiles. Torn between a more cotton-like red and green design and a traditional yellow fabric patterned with blue fish, I agonized for several minutes. It's pretty crazy how difficult making a meaningless decision becomes when subjective variables like mesmerizing colors, disorienting patterns, stifling heat, and a clamorous volume get tossed into the mix.

Naturally, I opted for the brighter, more animal-friendly choice. My dress would use about 3.5 meters of fabric, so I decided to buy 5 assuming I could finesse a small shirt or a few headbands from the excess material.

As stated before, the second step of the market process is money. As shameful as I am to say, considering my dad is a professional salesman––my haggling skills have some room for improvement.

The prices started at 40,000 RWF. After shaking my head and remarking "oya, winyiba," or "no, don't cheat me," in Kinyarwanda, the seller settled at 35,000 for the fabric and sewing in-total. It still seemed substantially more expensive than the dresses everyone else had gotten made for 20,000, but apparently I had chosen the highest-grade fabric (not quite sure if I believe that, but it certainly helps me sleep at night). In any case, this guy wasn't budging. I hesitantly forked over half of the cash, a common practice within the garment section of the market to make sure you come back for your clothes.

After my measurements were jotted down in a notebook, I reconvened with friends and killed time by negotiating with craftsmen over woven jewelry and carved, wooden animals. After sharing with each other how little (or in my case, how much) we'd spent on our new clothes, it became very clear that I had most likely been ripped off. Determined to change my financial fate, I marched my way back to the seller and demanded that the price be lowered. As production of the dress had already begun and the price was essentially set in stone, my efforts were to no avail. After haggling for twenty minutes with three separate men all reiterating the same message: that I was indeed "getting a fair price" for the quality of material I had chosen, I gave up. At least the money was going to someone who probably needed it, right?

To my surprise, Jackie had finalized my dress, right on schedule. I tried it on over my khakis and striped short-sleeve and was thoroughly impressed by the accuracy of fit given such a short timeframe.

"I think I'm overpaying, can you help me haggle with the men?" I asked Jackie in my most feel-bad-for-me voice. She was sympathetic, but encouraged me just to go directly to her next time I needed any clothes to ensure I would get a fair price in the future.

I wanted to pay Jackie directly for the clothes, but the system unfortunately seemed to work top-down meaning the men selling the kitenge got paid before the tailors. Reluctantly, I agreed and paid the salesmen the remaining half of the money, but not until after pronouncing I would never be returning to buy any more fabric from them. I know, I know, a bit harsh but I swear Kimironko Market sparks an aggressive fire within you that you didn't even know existed.

Overall, I was happy with the dress. Jackie had made exactly what I wanted and had given me the extra fabric, but still something didn't feel quite right when I put it on at home. The way the gown fell down my torso felt too heavy and unflattering. Remembering that Jackie had urged me to return to her directly for any other garment-work, I starting brainstorming possible ways to alter the piece.

A few days later I shoved my dress and the remaining cloth into my backpack and once again ventured to the market. Amazingly, I found Jackie right away––which I believe can only be fate because finding the same face twice in that market is virtually unheard of.

I explained that I wanted to change the dress into a two-piece set consisting of a skirt with a more fitted waist and shortened sleeveless top. With the leftover fabric, I asked if she could put together a headband and a small shirt, perhaps a tube-top (I promise I wasn't consciously going for scandalous fashion, it's just quite difficult to make anything remotely conservative from less than a meter of material).

"Why not?" Jackie replied with a smile. She took down some more of my measurements, asked for a third of the cost in advance (5,000 RWF) and told me to return at my leisure later in the afternoon to pick everything up. We exchanged WhatsApp numbers in case of any mixups or miscommunications.

Around 3:30 p.m. I found myself back in the market only this time with a new skirt, two shirts, a headband and scrunchie––all exactly as I'd imagined them (and for less than half the price I'd originally paid mind you). Jackie had me try everything on, which aside from the slightly snug tube top, was a breeze. Five minutes of last-minute alternations later and I was hugging Jackie and thanking her for all her hard work.

I went on my way feeling as if I'd accomplished the ultimate mission. There really is something special about following a tangible product from a mere idea to its finished state. A real farm-to-table experience only for the textile world if you will (minus the whole not-knowing-exactly-where-the-fabric-was-sourced-from part of course). While the market isn't everyone's cup of tea––and trust me, it certainly isn't mine––should you find yourself in downtown Kigali, I highly recommend paying Jackie a visit.