The Market Lady

Last week I went to the big market in Freetown. This is where people go for souvenirs and maybe a new door for their house. White people get accosted by merchants trying to sell their wares. After 10 minutes or so the attention drains you. But I’ve done this several times now, and I feel like a pro. I know some of the market people by name and I’ve been here long enough to know what is for sale and the reasonable price. Now I feel like I’m visiting friends.

Although Mohammed has the stuff I want – cool regional tribal masks, and he can explain to me what they all mean -, I try to spend my money on the market women. My organization concentrates great effort to increase the power of marginalized Sierra Leoneans – most specifically women. Economic empowerment is a key element in the battle for gender equality and overall development of the country. And it is so ironic that I see the women doing all the work – working at the food markets; carrying stacks of wood, coal or water; cooking; cleaning; doing the laundry, all with a baby wrapped to her back.

Last time I was here I purchased some stuff from this lady (pictured), and I promised to come back to buy from her and her lady friend. They don’t have the selection to match their male counterparts. Looks to me like most of their merchandise was found or self-made, which is really cool. Although the big-shot guys have giant Salone masks and carvings, they also offer bead necklaces from china and trinkets from outside the country. There’s nothing worst than coming home from Africa with a souvenir from China. To the women, I try to convey that “made in Salone” is what people want, pointing to her beautiful clothes and hand made necklaces with a big smile, and turning up my nose to her neighbour’s beaded necklaces. The same one’s you can get on Yonge Street in Toronto.

Looking at her items, she points me to small husks, turtle shells and monkey bones. I explain to her that I cannot take these items back home because of Canadian law. But I find them interesting. And I test her knowledge about national law (call it a unofficial survey) by asking her if she has chimpanzee bones. “No, hunting chimpanzees is against the law”. Nice. I will report back to Bala.

I ask if I can take her picture (see my blog entry “SNAP!” explaining why you should ask people if you can take their picture, and tell them what you will use it for) holding the monkey bones because I want to show my friends back home. She is happy to oblige, and we move on to things I can take home.