Getting used to the inconvenience of shopping has probably been one of my greatest adjustments. I truly miss the “one-stop-shop” at Meijer where prices are clearly marked and there is no need to haggle. Initially, shopping here meant preparing for war. I went to the market armed with a hand-made list detailing what fair prices might be for my usual purchases, a sturdy basket to lug all of my purchases, a bottle of water and an umbrella to avoid getting dehydrated or burnt, and most importantly a thick skin to deal with all of the comments.
Things have changed. I’m not so much an oddity anymore. I can roam the market fairly undisturbed. I can hear the whispered “she speaks Amharic” ripple ahead of me and most importantly I’m treated fairly. I no longer worry about being overcharged or having the “farenji tariff” applied to my purchases. The market has transformed from a battlefield into a place where I have a chance to catch up with the vendors that I have gotten to know. I also spend a lot less time searching for things. Although there are no “aisle markers” Meijer style, there is a bit of a system. The vegetable vendors congregate in one area, the grain sellers in another, and so on. I’ve also reached the point where I no longer do a lot of comparison-shopping. I buy vegetables from Addis, coffee from Getachew, string from Genet’s friend, kitchen supplies from Ghion, and odds and ends from the couple that I lovingly call my junk people.
I am fortunate to live in a town with a market that is open everyday excluding Sunday. Saturday, however, is the busiest day of the week. Hoards of people from the rural area descend upon town to buy, sell, trade and socialize…some walking as far as 4 hours by foot. Between the people, transport donkeys, and the assortment of livestock to be sold it is a veritable jungle. To preserve my sanity and avoid the hazard of getting run over by a wayward donkey, I avoid Saturdays like the plague.
Things have changed. I’m not so much an oddity anymore. I can roam the market fairly undisturbed. I can hear the whispered “she speaks Amharic” ripple ahead of me and most importantly I’m treated fairly. I no longer worry about being overcharged or having the “farenji tariff” applied to my purchases. The market has transformed from a battlefield into a place where I have a chance to catch up with the vendors that I have gotten to know. I also spend a lot less time searching for things. Although there are no “aisle markers” Meijer style, there is a bit of a system. The vegetable vendors congregate in one area, the grain sellers in another, and so on. I’ve also reached the point where I no longer do a lot of comparison-shopping. I buy vegetables from Addis, coffee from Getachew, string from Genet’s friend, kitchen supplies from Ghion, and odds and ends from the couple that I lovingly call my junk people.
I am fortunate to live in a town with a market that is open everyday excluding Sunday. Saturday, however, is the busiest day of the week. Hoards of people from the rural area descend upon town to buy, sell, trade and socialize…some walking as far as 4 hours by foot. Between the people, transport donkeys, and the assortment of livestock to be sold it is a veritable jungle. To preserve my sanity and avoid the hazard of getting run over by a wayward donkey, I avoid Saturdays like the plague.
A view of my market on a slow day
My vegetable lady…Addis.
While I purchase veggies from Addis, a crowd gathers round to listen and watch.
My junk lady.
Just a picture that I like of a part of the market that I don’t often frequent.
I love this picture and trust me, it’s not posed. I suspect that this kiddo and his donkey are waiting to be hired. I love how he not only protects himself from the sun, but his donkey as well
Genet and I are standing outside the stall of my bunna supplier...Getachew.
Isn’t the egg guy a cutie? He was so excited to have his picture taken, but needed to do a little primping (i.e. he combed his beard) before Smith and I were given the “all clear” to take his picture.
