November 26, 2010
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One day, with Jennifer and Louay at work and the children at school, a rare opportunity fell in our laps. The housekeeper, Ramata, was headed for the local market to buy produce and we were welcome to tag along. The market is not a place we would have ventured alone --- not because of safety concerns but because of the possibility of getting lost in its numerous passages. Although she spoke little English and we even less French, as long as she was in sight, we felt we would be secure. The outskirts of the market were about a mile away, easily reached on foot. Here, with Ramata on the left, the pavement has ended and we are almost there:
We were appalled, at first, at the amount of litter to be seen everywhere in Mali. Thinking about it further, though, we noticed the absence of trash barrels and realized the local government does not provide trash pickup in most areas. The litter that you do see is truly trash --- everything that can be repurposed, has been. We suppose that someday when income from taxes picks up, the government may have the wherewithal to provide trash pickup service. For now, the government seems to have its hands full with more serious problems. On the plus side, we never saw any graffiti.
A left turn took us down another road, lined with vendors:
A right turn (or, was it left?) and it was pedestrians only:
The assortment of fruits and vegetables available for purchase was quite amazing --- all coming, presumably, from small farms and gardens along the Niger. We could not tell you how reasonably priced the goods were, though --- we did not see any price stickers.
Mrs. Livingstone, I presume?
Actually, we did notice one other white face in the market besides ours --- a man who probably spoke French, if not the more common Bambara. He skittered away before we could try “hello!” on him.
This young woman was delighted to pause a moment while I took a photo showing the source of those little feet out front.
This is a common method for carrying the little ones but, to me, it doesn’t look very comfortable for the mother..... of course, what does a man know of such things?
At this point, we recognized we were almost back where we started:
We noticed that Ramata had “shopped around” while in the market. She had also saved her heaviest purchases for last (like a watermelon). After that, a boy appeared out of nowhere with a little cart, loaded up all her new acquistions and took off on his own to deliver them to the house.
Almost back to the pavement, Ramata had one last stop. She ducked into a hut while we waited in the shade across the road. A curious “thwacking” sound emanated from the hut but, what caused it, we could not guess. Eventually, she came out, stood by the door and then motioned us to come over and have a look. We did just that, peered into the hut and --- still befuddled --- discovered how the sound was made:
With large wooden mallets, these two fellows were repeatedly striking a garment as if to drive out its demons. Later, Jennifer cleared up our confusion. What they were driving out was STARCH, not spirits. Ramata had ordered this garment be made for her. It was heavily starched, stitched and embroidered and would have been uncomfortable to wear if the starch remained in it. Their method of removing the starch used no water and, as far as we could tell, was very effective and provided long-lasting employment for two energetic young men.
On another occasion, I accompanied Louay to a different market in search of fresh meat. With Louay insisting he take my picture, I did my best to appear as inconspicuous as possible:
(Hint: I’m in the middle of the photo with sun-bleached hair.) The butchers are indoors, occupying one half of the large building behind me. In the other half of the building, new and refurbished motorbikes are for sale. Obviously, one-stop shopping is popular here, too.