Morning at the Market

As I enter the market, women beckon me to their booths saying, “Madam, here” and “Sister, come.” Stalls overflow with pineapples, garlic cloves, rice, beans, peas, apples, zucchini, onions, dried vanilla, melons, peanuts and corn. I pause to negotiate the price of a bunch of bananas and then hurry past the stalls where meat hangs from the ceiling and hooves lay stacked on the counter.

I am the only muzungu meandering through the crowded aisles and people ask me my name, where I am from and why I am here (many ask if I am from Colorado or Texas, others assume I’m a journalist writing about CHOGM). Some, seeing my camera, cry, “Photo me! Photo me!” while others, mostly the older women, hide their faces.