The Market

All week I'd planned to brave the "grand marché" "toute seule" today. All alone. But when it was brought up, Fiona and Ted wanted to come along, so the three of us set out on foot for a walk that I'd heard was "much longer than it seemed" but came to find out in the cool of the rainy season wasn't so bad. Although, had I been here for the real deal, I can see why paying the 75-100 cfa francs to get down there is well worth it. Mind you, we're talking 20 cents.

Streets of Parakou

[I have to add a side-bar here. Yesterday probably reached 85-90 degrees (I'm really getting more used to Celsius so for those of you who can convert it, it's not unusual to reach the upper 30s and I've heard talk of 45 in the dry, hot season. But, it has not been anywhere near that recently.) So yesterday I said to a friend I happened to pass on the street, "Il fait frais, eh?" It's a bit chilly, don't you think? He cracked up, glad to see that I understood and was properly acclimated. This morning it was maybe slightly cooler and babies were bundled in extra blankets around their mom's backs and wearing wool caps!]

The three of us made quite a sight and children laughed, smiled and greeted us. At several moments we had small entourages trailing along behind us before they lost interest and wandered back home. The perpendicular street (visual clarification, this is a dirt "street") before you enter into the large enclosed market is lined to the right and left with divided stalls, stacked with plastic ware in shining new purples, oranges and blues, western style cook wear with flowery designs in sets of descending sizes with matching lids, utensils that from experience bend at the slightest resistance and all manner of kitchen and home products and goods. We scanned them and wound our way through a packed alley into the heart of the market.

I was on a mission to buy material to have some clothes made in an extremely amusing futile attempt to blend in even the slightest degree for at least one day a week, Ted had a couple gift ideas and Fiona needed flip-flops that fit her better. Other than that, each of us was happy to wander the row after row after row of the mind-blowing array of products. You could find practically anything there and bargain down to a reasonable price if you just knew where to find it. Nail polish in every shade, mirrors in every shape and size, plug adapters, radios, baby mosquito nets, western soaps and perfumes and sports shirts, thermoses, underwear, matches, gold and silver jewelry, baskets and pottery, nuts and bolts, and once you've made your way to the center, the vast display of fruits, spices and vegetables awaits. Fiona and I stopped in stall after stall lined with perfectly folded and stacked rolls of cloth. Orange and blue seem to be the height of fashion and both of us agreed that that particular color combination is not our most favorite. The citron yellow, neon green, maroon, bright blue shades in circles, fans, patterns, splotches overwhelmed our eyes and my imagination couldn't see them becoming the beautiful skirts, blouses and head wraps that I saw stealthily maneuvering the crowd with a heavy tray of bundles of sticks or plastic condensation-covered sacks of ice water. In the end I made my way back to the first stall where I'd debated and bargained to what was cheaper than the cheapest estimate I'd been given by a Béninoise last week at my first market visit, so I was happy.