13 January 2013
(All photo credits to Brett Kvo!)
Twice a week my small town of 15,000 people becomes flooded with thousands of horses and donkeys packing vegetables, clothes and animal hides. These pack animals are led by thousands of more villagers walking slowly towards Adaba’s central market which occurs every Wednesday and Saturday. Ethiopians do not use grocery stores as they depend on weekly markets and small corner stores called “suks”. Market days are a big event for everyone but especially the rural people (the other 155,000 people in my larger district) who are easy to pick out because their faces display shock and disbelief at the perceived “modernity” of my small town, which to many of them is the largest “city” they have ever visited.
Market products vary slightly from town to town because of local farming practices, climate and culture. Because my town is near to the large towns of Shashamene and Hawassa I am fortunate to be able to purchase a variety of fruits and vegetables. Some volunteers are restricted to cabbage, potatoes and carrots as their only available produce. There is coffee from at least 4 different areas, herbs and spices for every dish or health ailment and so many types of natural incense that your nose becomes unable to discern the subtle aromatic differences.
Most everything is sold by the kilo including shoes, honey, onions and coffee. There are limited handicrafts such as baskets, pottery and decorated gourds to purchase while other more popular items such as sugar cane and rancid butter are always abundant. My purchases tend to be produce and coffee, and when I have the patience and energy I enjoy wandering around to see what other obscure items or vendors can be found. Typically my patience is exhausted after 30-60 minutes because my presence quickly encourages followers, mostly children, who indiscreetly go with me from one stand to the next exclaiming on my every comment and purchase.
After the market I confine myself to my small compound for the remainder of the day because going out only welcomes a mild anxiety attack. Even a short trip to the corner suk invites several rural people to gawk and yell at me or a near collision with a high speed horse taxi. Because my town is predominantly Muslim belligerent people are not common but on Wednesday and Saturday drunk people are everywhere and public urination seems to become an unspoken completion. Butchers toss out vertebras, skulls and hooves for the dogs and massive hooded vultures that squak, steal and scrounge for the best meal of the week. Speakers on the verge of short circuiting thump as kids dash through the bumpy streets, past the busy foosball and pool tables and through crowds of men shaking hands, hugging and stroking each others’ beards. A joyous party for everyone, but me, who prefers to read, cook and wash until the chill of dusk encourages people to return to their villages and anticipate the next market day.
(All photo credits to Brett Kvo!)
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| Squeezing mangoes and avocados only 11 cents each! |
Twice a week my small town of 15,000 people becomes flooded with thousands of horses and donkeys packing vegetables, clothes and animal hides. These pack animals are led by thousands of more villagers walking slowly towards Adaba’s central market which occurs every Wednesday and Saturday. Ethiopians do not use grocery stores as they depend on weekly markets and small corner stores called “suks”. Market days are a big event for everyone but especially the rural people (the other 155,000 people in my larger district) who are easy to pick out because their faces display shock and disbelief at the perceived “modernity” of my small town, which to many of them is the largest “city” they have ever visited.
Market products vary slightly from town to town because of local farming practices, climate and culture. Because my town is near to the large towns of Shashamene and Hawassa I am fortunate to be able to purchase a variety of fruits and vegetables. Some volunteers are restricted to cabbage, potatoes and carrots as their only available produce. There is coffee from at least 4 different areas, herbs and spices for every dish or health ailment and so many types of natural incense that your nose becomes unable to discern the subtle aromatic differences.
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| Dry peppers to make berberry with. |
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| Cardamon pods. |
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| Salt from the NE area of Ethiopia, Afar. |
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| Coffee by the espresso cup only (2 birr = $0.11)! |
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| Incense! |
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| Sniffing some incense and learning about the local medicinal herbs. |
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| Honey is abundant, but very dirty because it's only used to make mead (honey wine). I'm trying to start a women's cooperative to clean the honey and start a edible honey market in Adaba. |
Most everything is sold by the kilo including shoes, honey, onions and coffee. There are limited handicrafts such as baskets, pottery and decorated gourds to purchase while other more popular items such as sugar cane and rancid butter are always abundant. My purchases tend to be produce and coffee, and when I have the patience and energy I enjoy wandering around to see what other obscure items or vendors can be found. Typically my patience is exhausted after 30-60 minutes because my presence quickly encourages followers, mostly children, who indiscreetly go with me from one stand to the next exclaiming on my every comment and purchase.
 |
| Weekly market produce all under the price of $3. |
After the market I confine myself to my small compound for the remainder of the day because going out only welcomes a mild anxiety attack. Even a short trip to the corner suk invites several rural people to gawk and yell at me or a near collision with a high speed horse taxi. Because my town is predominantly Muslim belligerent people are not common but on Wednesday and Saturday drunk people are everywhere and public urination seems to become an unspoken completion. Butchers toss out vertebras, skulls and hooves for the dogs and massive hooded vultures that squak, steal and scrounge for the best meal of the week. Speakers on the verge of short circuiting thump as kids dash through the bumpy streets, past the busy foosball and pool tables and through crowds of men shaking hands, hugging and stroking each others’ beards. A joyous party for everyone, but me, who prefers to read, cook and wash until the chill of dusk encourages people to return to their villages and anticipate the next market day.
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