The Shopping Ogre

I had a sudden and strong urge to shop last week - it was an attack of the Shopping Ogre, a creature that lurks just beneath the surface of my psyche and rears its monstrous head when I least expect it.

Just to be clear, The Shopping Ogre doesn't goad me into the goody-goody sort of grocery shopping which I normally do but the other kind of shopping - the guilt-inducing kind. It has previously been responsible for a host of unnecessary (but oh so lovely!) purchases such as Aldo shoes, Zara outfits and yet another book that will soon sit on the "I'm meaning to read it sometime soon" shelf at home.

Fortunately (or unfortunately depending on how you look at it) I'm in a place where malls are a distant dream. The reality consists of dukas* lining dusty, orange roads with, what often looks like, second-hand clothes within.

That didn't stop me though. There's this little duka that I pass by every day because it's right near my apartment. I've noticed that, of late, the clothes hanging on its glass doors look rather attractive. Last Wednesday, I finally caved and paid a visit.

Just so, I wouldn't forget that I'm in Tanzania (as if I could!) I stepped in to find that the air-conditioner had broken down and the inside of the little duka was approximately the same temperature as the centre of a furnace. This very Tanzanian picture was made complete with the presence of a fundi*, trying in vain, to resuscitate the dead air-cond.

Determined not to let this bother me, I browsed through the goods the young lady, whose shop it was, had hanging neatly on the walls. I thought it was truly ironic when she said that she gets her stock from Thailand. Here I am, a Malaysian, who can easily get clothes from Thailand at bargain basement prices back home, shopping for the very same sort of stuff halfway across the world and paying ridiculously high prices for it. I blame the Ogre!

I left 20 minutes later with two new blouses in my bag - my own blouse sticking to my back because of the oven-like heat that I'd barely survived.

I thought I had quenched the thirst of the Shopping Ogre but I was wrong. I was attacked once again on Friday while driving by yet another duka ( I told you there are only dukas here and no malls). There I was , minding my own business, when I caught sight of this, from the corner of my eye:



It was pretty, it was orange, it was a halter neck and I swear it was calling-my-name (maybe it was actually the Ogre again, whispering in my ear!)

Not one to ignore the call of Pretty Clothes I made a sudden U-turn, kicking up a cloud of orange dust in the dirt road and frightening the heck out of the taxi man behind me! I even endured this makeshift, flimsy changing 'room' (it's that thing hanging on the right - two rugs hanging from the ceiling!) to get my hands on the dress.

I ended up buying it and drove home quickly to try it on. I loved it so much, I went back and got the last one the duka guy, Eddie, had in stock. I have a bad feeling that Eddie and I are going to be good friends from now on especially since he explained that he gets his stuff from Zanzibar and that they are brand new (the labels on the clothes confirmed this)

The things Divas do to assuage the Shopping Ogre that lives within us...not even the looming threat of heatstroke, the risk of purchasing 2nd hand clothes (yech!) or the perils of dangerous U-turning will keep us away!

*Note to the blissfully unaware:
1. duka means shop in Swahili
2. fundi means skilled worker although the 'skilled' part can sometimes be a bit of a stretch!