This little piggy went to the market

I just got a phone call from my coworker. She wanted to tell me that the market was happening this morning. This was her way to laugh at me. And then it made me realize I hadn't really explained the market to you all.

There are probably about 20 different little shops in my village. Most of them carry exactly the same thing, but very little food stuffs. If I went to a store on Sunday looking for avocados, I may have to stop in 10 of these stores asking for avocados before finally getting tired of this and going home. This is the frustration of shopping here. I like convenience and speed. Enter, the market.

The market equivalent is like if Meijer were only open every Wednesday morning (if you're not from Michigan, insert a grocery store equivalent). Sure you could run to the corner store to grab an apple every once in a while but they don't always have them and that unreliability is frustrating. So when Meijer opens it's doors every Wednesday morning, you are up and out of bed with a quickness. If you arrive at the optimal time between 7:45 and 8:15, you will get the good produce that comes early but not so early that some of the sellers haven't arrived yet.

I have my ritual, my optimal walk through the market. The market is held in an open field in town. As you descend the mini-hill, you'll see about fifty sellers with a tarp of vegetables laid out in front of them. Usually the vegetables are in neat little piles so you can easily decipher prices. Each little pile is 100 francs (ijana). There are also women selling salt, sugar, sardines, some spices, ground up peanut for peanut sauce, flours.

That brings up an important gender perspective. The women is about 97% women. The sellers are almost all women. The buyers are almost all women. The males you find there are from 8-16 years of age. They are looking for a job of carrying the heavy bags of women who are too old, too pregnant or too rich to do it themselves. One time I was having a conversation with my counterpart (a dude) about how I get my food. He was happy to hear that prices were cheaper in the village than in the city where he lived. I encouraged him to fill up on groceries while he was here and travel back with them. He promptly said - that sounds like a market for women. I can't be seen buying there. I thought he was silly but he's kind of right.

So let's get back to my optimal walk through the market. You have to bring your own reusable bag to put things in. I appropriately bring a Meijer reusable bag for all my groceries. After many weeks of squishing my tomatoes and bananas, I am still trying to perfect the order of buying my food and walking it home.

My favorite lady sells passion fruit, carrots and green peppers. I go to her first. Mainly because she always gets so excited to see me. It's a good way to not get too intimidated by the market - start with a friendly face. It also shows the other ladies that I have someone watching out for me. Sometimes she will rally a tomato lady to give me her best tomatoes since I'm her friend.

Lately I have found the perk and downfall of getting good prices at the market. As I said there is the standard pile for 100. But for customers they know, the piles quickly expand with a couple more handfuls. It's like the prices at garage sales. They are optimal but by no means portray the family and friends discount. Since I've lived here for about a year now, and try to put on my sweetest face for the market ladies, they have started giving me more and more food. It's great. They will always say - and more for my friend. It feels wonderful. The problem is I'm only one person! There is only so much food I can eat before it goes bad. At the same time I don't want to decrease the amount of money I spend at the market because I like supporting them. I need to start a food redistribution system…or just start eating A LOT.

So that's my market. There is rarely a week I miss the market, which is why my coworker is laughing at me. Going to the market is a 'villager' thing to do. Most people send their housegirl or houseboy. And none show the enthusiasm I have for the market.