Tamale

Kate Abaam concentrates as she takes measurements: arm length, shoulder width, hip size. Everything between the collar and hem of the skirt has to be just right. For almost nine years, the 29-year-old has had her own little business on Mariam Road between the Gifted Hands hairdresser and the Internet café.

The sign above the sky-blue container that houses her less than ten square metre sewing shop says “Sister Kate’s Designer Shop.” Kate produces just about everything according to the prevalent patterns, from simple skirts to complicated special-occasion dresses with sashes and turban-like headdresses.

The majority of working women have one of three skilled trades: hairdresser, secretary and tailor. Not all have them went through the complex training for these, but Kate Abaam did. Although she was only able to attend six years of primary school, she completed a three-year tailor training about 15 years ago in Yendi. She sets great store in this for she owes her independence to this education.

With a steady hand and blue chalk, Kate Abaam draws the outlines for the dress front on red and olive coloured batik cloth on the cutting table, while her one-year-old daughter Bernice carries her finds – a plastic cup, measuring tape, bits of cloth – back and forth between the table leg and the dangling cord of the iron. Her three-year-old sister Genoveve is at school this morning. Both daughters usually spend their afternoons at the Designer Shop.

Every morning at nine, Kate Abaam arrives on her motorbike from the nearby district of Gumani with daughter Bernice in a sling on her back and normally with at least a handful of orders ahead of her. By the time she locks the container behind her between five and six o’clock in the evening, she has transformed seven, eight or more colourfully patterned fabrics into handsome garments, which not only suit the current style, but also frequently bear Kate’s very personal signature.

With a steep crease on her forehead and the pink measuring tape draped casually around her neck, she briefly runs the iron over the red and olive coloured batik front. “The customer saw a similar dress on another woman and described it to me,” she explains. Kate made a sketch and now must attempt to come as close as possible to the desired frock; tailor-made and in this case truly her own design. You can’t really get rich with this job, she tells me, but in the worst case, the lean income is enough to ensure her own livelihood and that of her children. This makes her feel secure. Kate Abaam will earn about four or five cedis for the skirt that she has measured, cut and sewed almost on the side. A customized project such as the designer dress brings in more money, but also takes up far more time.

Speaking of time, when there is more work than usual at peak times, one or two colleagues help her out. Then, two sewing machines – Kate’s most precious possessions – rattle under the hot tin roof. Her old, cast-iron Chinese Butterfly is rasping suspiciously this morning, the thread winds poorly and in the end, half of the seam has to be torn back out. The wheezy Butterfly will surely be given a loving extra dose of oil this evening. During the hottest midday heat, little Bernice interrupts her pottering for a nap lying on a cloth on the floor and Kate briefly dozes off over the sewing machine. But, she very soon spreads the red and olive coloured cloth out in front of her, measures, folds and quickly continues her sewing until in the end an elegant sheath dress can be hung up next to the other garments ready to be picked up to make Kate Abaam satisfied and the customer quite obviously delighted. Dreams? Prospects? The seamstress makes a surprised face: Things are good as they are, the young woman thinks. The listener readily believes her.