Market Day

Monday June 7, 2010
The 7th of every month is market day for the entire district. There is a huge field just outside of town which becomes the district market. People start arriving in town the day before from villages many miles away, resulting in increased activity on the main street the night before. They come to the market to buy, sell, eat, drink, and meet.
We had a nice relaxed start to the day, as the market doesn't really begin happening until around 11:00. We told the kids to eat a good breakfast, as lunch was going to be a bit on the "different" side - nyama choma at the market (more about that later). We also put the fear of God into them about keeping safe at the market around so many strangers. We walked over in groups at about 11:00 down the road crowded with vendors pulling carts, women carrying produce on their heads, people driving livestock, and a general crowd of other participants. It was a bit strange to be walking down the street and look beside you at the cow being walked along, much like someone would walk a dog here in Canada.
As we round the last corner (careful where you step) and catch our first sight of the market grounds, some of the teachers' enthusiasm quails a bit. It's huge - people, animals, and merchandise as far as the eye can see. The students all take off in groups, buddy system firmly in place, walking confidently and with "attitude" - as recommended by Jean. Peter and I, posessing a little less "attitude," are immediately surrounded by craft vendors eager to sell their wares. It was a little like being a piece of raw meat thrown into shark-infested waters. These vendors were from villages farther away and were a little more aggresive than the ones we were familiar with in town.
We have soon spent every last shilling, and Peter trades his shirt (a spare, not the one off his back) for a batik painting. He then trades his shoes (the ones he's wearing) for a couple of wood carvings. I stopped him from walking around in his socks, noting the broken beer bottles lying nearby, so he managed to negotiate a replacement pair of cheap plastic sandals as part of the deal. For this, the vendor insisted he give up his socks as well. We stopped before Peter lost his pants as well. They REALLY wanted our watches, and kept trying to convince us that our sports watches would be a fair trade for a couple of bead necklaces. Peter finally hid his in his pocket so they would stop asking for it.
After a very difficult search, wandering through random displays of clothing (much of it bales 0f cast-offs from the US and Canada), fabric, tools, sugar cane, produce, and anything else you can think of, we found some of our CPAR friends. They led us to the tent where we were to eat our lunch of nyama choma (roasted beef). This is essentially hunks of beef (practcally a whole cow for a group our size) stuck on sticks. One end of the stick is buried in the ground to hold the meat at an angle over the open fire. When cooked, the stick is brought into the tent and someone, Japhet and Ndiringo in our case, will hack off small chunks and drop them onto a platter which is passed around with a small pile of coarse salt. Everyone takes a piece and passes it on. If the meat is too tough, you spit it out on the ground behind you and one of the ever-present skinny yellow dogs will slink up and gratefully wolf it down. A couple of the girls were a little disturbed by the carnivourous feast (one being Preet, our resident vegetarian), so I took them outside the tent and fed them soda and granola bars (thank goodness I filled my suitcase with several packages - they'd come in handy!). Jean also arrived with a few veggie samosas I had requested the night before and Oswald, one of our drivers, had arrived to feast with us so he let them eat in his jeep so they wouldn't be hassled by the vendors lurking outside the tent.
After eating (meat, salt, and soda pop, what more could you want?) we decided we'd had enough of the market (and had no more money) so we went back to the hostel for a break.
Most people headed into town to collect dresses or pick up last minute souvenirs. Susan assured us she knew where the bank machine was and led the group of teachers to a bank to perform a cashectomy. For some reason, the bank she selected was at the opposite end of town and a lo-ong walk instead of the one right around the corner - I have a suspicion she hadn't quite forgiven us for leaving her behind the day before. I discovered, as others had before me, that TD cards didn't work in Karatu - a big problem when you are devoid of funds and far from home. Fortunately, Janice's credit union card worked just fine, so she made me a loan. Nice to have cash again, even though I realize it too will be gone soon.
The vendors all realize that we are leaving tomorrow and want to make sure that we don't have any shillings left in our pockets that could be lining theirs. They are bartering everything they can from the kids - clothing, shoes, watches.
Back at the hostel we have our (thankfully) last supper. Same old - except the meat is lamb. After the lunch we had, most of us can't face the thought of eating sweet little lamb and opt for a very sparse meal before we retire to our rooms to begin packing.