Makola Market (this is negligent of chronology, so it doesn't get a cool "number" label)

I want to describe the Makola market in intricate, mind-blowing detail. I’m going to fall short, but I really want to paint a picture of what this place is like. Critiques, questions and comments (as always) are welcome.

First step is getting out of the vehicle – no easy feat considering the crowds of people pulsating down the street and sidewalk, spilling into the open stands, pushing and shuffling to move towards their destination. It smells like fish, spices, sewer and auto fumes  - these all blend together to remind you that this is a market, not some clean, wax-floored shopping mall or fluorescently lit grocery store. There is a parking lot on the right with small groups of people selling mostly food – some are frying horizontally cut plantains on chicken-wire covered charcoal grills, others are sitting with jars of unlabled groundnut (peanut) butter and still others are selling shoes or scrap pieces of material. There are people standing as you walk down the street to enter the market – they have neon colored mesh material for sale, power outlets, toothbrushes, cans of soup, flip-flops in dingy looking plastic wrap all for sale. Women are caring loads of these goods on their heads – so
me selling to you, some transporting goods from one site to another.  As we get closer to the market, there is a space by the sidewalk that is full of food – people preparing it to sell immediately and openly behind where they are selling it. Chunks of meat lie on wooden boards, metal buckets with live, sand-dollar silvery gray crabs crawling and struggling up the slick sides for escape and whole pigs’ feet stacked for sale. Smoked, whole fish are neatly and efficiently shoved into buckets, with their brownish, grey, metallic skin that Is just darker than the bucket they occupy. 

Passing under the strung banner that reads “Makola”, it becomes a little more organized, though no less alive. Upon entry, there are a few women selling miscellaneous food items, rice, beans, simple spices and groundnut butter, but these goods will be more plentiful further in.  On the main path in on the left hand side, huge metal pans are stacked literally eight or nine feet high. Any cooking utensil imaginable is for sale – bundles of silverware, five gallon cooking pots, serving spoons, measuring cups, skillets – it’s all there, mostly oversize.  On the right, in addition to silverware, Tupperware and other kitchen supplies, there are clothes. All sorts of clothes, from baby bibs to men’s undershirts, bras, stacks of underwear for little boys and cute, pastel colored shirts of adolescent girls are found stacked high on tables. Further ahead, there are shoes. Mostly manufactured looking, pleathery sandals and shoes, these are stacked one on top of another about three feet
 deep. There are about six consecutive stalls of this sort, taking the first right hand side path deeper into the market. Somehow, we’re under cover now. It’s dark and we ‘ve passed the shoes, and the pather is narrower – barely single file. On either side, there is material. Small stalls absolutely full of beautiful fabric. Organized usually by price and set up for ideal and maximized display, the women selling are eager to show and sell. A print catches your eye;  you go and ask to see it. She pulls it out, and unfolds it so you can see the full, vibrant color of it and then asks how much you want. It is a bartering system – a give and take, a back and forth, an exchange of expectations and demands. The fabrics come in every conceivable color, pattern and combination. Blues, yellows, oranges, golds, purples, blacks, whites, metallic; traditional patterns, stripes, circular swirls, symbols and everything in between. Each stall has a different selection – it’s impossible to s
ee it all, so weaving back through the darkest part of the market, you must force yourself to continue moving. 

Emerging from the fabrics, directly ahead on the main path is the food. More fresh meat (chicken, beef, pork, pig parts), vegetables, rice, beans, fish and spices. They measure the rice from an old coffee can, and the vegetables are being cleaned as you walk by. The meat is cool and freshly butchered (for the most part) and the spices are haphazardly bagged and tossed in a bucket. Stands upon stands, people selling tomatoes, carrots, string beans, every imaginable kind of rice and bean – making a left turn, more stands are to be found with more obscure looking foods for sale. 

Passing potatoes, yams literally the size of footballs and tubs of hot peppers that will burn your skin, all of a sudden you’re on the street again. There was no loop, and you’ve certainly not seen the whole market, but all of a sudden it’s cars zooming past avoiding the people selling toiletries, underwear and hosiery from the tubs upon their heads. 

Full of flavors, tradition, and livelihood, the market is teeming with the vibrant essence of trade and survival – it’s nearly indescribable, and nothing but experience can do it justice – but being able to fully absorb all that takes place is just as impossible.