Spice market
Magnes and I
Spice market (this woman had been hacking away at something)
The Fab Five headed to the Merkato, the largest market in Africa. It really is an amazing sight. Street after street filled with row after row of everything under the African sun. Stalls filled with jewelry, rugs, knives, clothes. Here lye the first notions of organization. General areas where one might find a certain item. Clothing here, tourist souvenirs there. We arrived in late afternoon and really only saw a sliver of the market for ourselves.
At almost every meal Kate and Nati have talked about kitfo. It never fails that when opening a menu one of them would mention it. Kitfo is an Ethiopian dish made of minced raw meat which is covered in an authentic butter sauce. Nati says it's worth a try and Kate warns never to let anyone order it and not because of the raw meat but because of the butter. None of us ever did order it but many discussions were had about the terrible taste of the butter here and Nati coming to the local butters defense. We were always served American style butter and never had the opportunity to taste the local fare.
We ventured into a section at the Merkato that had stalls filled with local butter for sale. We're not talking stacks of filled margarine containers endorsed by Fabio. The smell alone would make you say "I can't believe it's called butter." A counter top against the length of the stall holds a tall white mound of the strong smelling concoction. I've never smelt anything like it before. It's difficult to find words and that's frustrating for me but I have no point of comparison to this. The best description I can conjure up is that the air was heavy with the smell, thick feeling. No sweetness to the scent but not quite vinegar either. Maybe what I would expect lard made in a meat processing plant to smell like? No that might not do this justice. It's unique and my teeth instinctively clinch to brace myself just at the memory of it. This is the butter section so I eventually have to turn my head away from the butter stalls to feel like I'm breathing fresher air. It makes an impression for sure. If ever tempted to try it I might have to order it as "death on toast please!"
We each wander and shop for souveniers. Nati is an excellent translator and haggler. He makes sure we're not being taken advantage of. I tried on a traditional dress that I might have been able to wear to church but couldn't pull the trigger. I bought a scarf, tablecloth, wooden cross, doylies and some jewelry at the Leprosy hospital. I found some extras here at the Merkato like necklaces for my girls and the traditional Christian wooden cross on black thread necklaces for each of my friends and Young Women who helped with the service project prior to my trip.
Our last stop is the spice market. Kate says it's one of her favorite sections. Along the way I stop and buy toothbrushes from a young man on the street. Ethiopian toothbrushes are actually short sticks that have been whittled smooth. You'll often see people walking down the streets scratching at their teeth with the "toothbrushes." I also bought some packs of gum which here they call masticka and come in interesting flavors like banana. This is how I met Magnes.
Magnes followed along with us down the way to the spice market. This section looks like a fenced in dirt parking lot. Vendors have set up make shift awnings as stalls against the fence line. Each has barrels filled with varying spices that fill the entire space with fragrances. I reach in my backpack for my camera to get some photos and video and Magnes, in her sweet small voice and with a meek smile, offers a warning "careful for your camera please." Magnes is reminding me that the Merkato has high incidents of theft. I've had plenty stolen from my bag just walking down the street so I have been cautious about drawing attention to myself by taking photos around the Merkato. The spice market is set back in it's own area so I thought this might be the safest place to snap some shots.
Still, her words snap me back into MY reality. While it's exciting to be surrounded by interesting and new things and people, trying to embrace the culture here, this isn't like a farmer's market in the U.S.. I've become more accepting of the facts of life in Ethiopia after being surrounded by this standard of living for the past 10 days. Now as I stand in this market, preparing to head back home I'm struck with the reality of the situation. Magnes is bundled up in a warm jacket selling gum on the street. She's been left an only child after the death of her sister and her mother is sick. The fence opposite the spice stalls is lined with makeshift homes fashioned from sticks and tarps. While my kids are always begging to hold lemonade stands in front of our house to feel empowered by their own enterprise and the joy of earning a little bit of money Magnes, like so many other children, is no doubt trying to provide food for herself and her mother. And here a ten year old little girl roams the market alone and offers a warning to me, the adult. If I'm at risk then what dangers lye in wait here for a young girl? It's a harsh reality. I'm glad she speaks great English and I compliment her on it. Glad when she says she attends school and lives with her mother near the market.
The sunlight dwindling in the sky is a our cue to head out and find a minibus as the shops and vendors all pack their wares away for safe keeping. I've read accounts of being at the market after dark. The stalls all closed up tight but in the streets another business coming to light. Starving girls taking to the darkened market streets in hopes of selling the last thing they have that might fetch a price. Some girls as young as maybe eleven. Magnes is ten. I wonder what the impending night sky means for her.
I say goodbye to Magnes as we exit threw a small side gate leaving her in the dirt lot. I hope that she's able to head to a safe home with her mother. Hope that she'll sleep warmly and with a full belly. I hope that it's not uncommon for perfectly well off kids to hang around the market after school and maybe sell some things in their spare time. These are the hopes of a perfectly well off foreigner that will never really know. I've prayed often for Magnes since our meeting. Prayed for all the children of the world who are put into such circumstances. Prayed for the world leaders and the everyday individuals who can and do make a difference in the lives of forgotten children. Sometimes prayer is all we have to offer. Sometimes it's enough and sometimes it's just the spark for action we've needed.
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