Le Marché

There are really no adequate words to describe the marché experience. We met an older American couple here visiting their son, daughter-in-law and grandchild. He summed it up as follows, “Well, it’s not the St. Paul’s Farmers’ Market for sure.” So, if you think you’ve got a conceptual model of what the marché is, based on any American experiences, forget it. Not even New Orleans’ French Market approximates the ambiance of this place as things there are way too neat and orderly.

I’ve already described what it was like driving up to the place in a fancy vehicle reeking of disposable income with our kids in tow--definitely not the way to go. So, I returned with my friend Patricia via the bus and the previous welcome was non-existent, thank goodness. We perused the “stalls” virtually un-molested and bought everything from used clothing, to souvenir trinkets to fruits and veggies. We could have also bought hardware, cheap Chinese household goods, fabrics and tailor-made clothing had we so desired. But the urge for such items had not yet struck us and so we passed.

I’ve used the word stalls, but that really doesn’t do this justice. The covered surface area, about the size of two or three football fields does demonstrate some sort of organization, however. On the right, as one faces the building from the bus rank, are all of the fabric merchants. There are crude wooden structures built from ceiling to floor to display the goods. Brightly colored fabrics adorn the wooden beams and samples of embroidered, wildly printed skirts and tops are hung out for display. There’s literally about 2 feet of space between “stalls” and the stalls appear endless. If there are more than two people in the “aisle”, which is frequently the case, one is required to turn sideways and bump booties to get through the maze. In the larger aisle between the fabric merchants and the used clothing vendors, (used shoes represent an especially large segment of this part of the marché) tailors are seated at their foot-pedal Singer sewing-machines making clothing to order. Show them the style you want and they’ll make it in the fabric of your choice for a very reasonable price.

Moving right to left in the market from fabrics, then household goods, then hardware, one eventually reaches the fruit and vegetable “department”. First there are the ladies sitting atop stools at the manioc flour tables. The fine white piles reach about two or three feet in height like little pristine snow covered mountains, in between the valleys of which the shopper must walk to reach the vegetables. Carrots, tomatoes, onions, broccoli, cauliflower, etc. abound in huge mounds on tables that stretch for yard upon yard. Each merchant’s produce looks better than the next’s. It’s really hard to choose from whom to buy. Bunches of green bananas still on the stalk, as large as toddlers, line the floor of the aisles.

The colors, the smells, the noise of haggling merchants all lend to an experience approaching sensory-overload. One can’t spend too much time in there without getting a bit claustrophobic, but it is however, extraordinary. Patricia bought a whole kilo of an unknown variety of beans just because they were so lovely. I don’t think the marché in Yaoundé, Cameroon was quite as big as this one. Or perhaps I just didn’t appreciate it back then with the same eyes that I do today. (Pictured above, Patricia's lovely beans)