Memories
To The Market
I paced up and down the stairs, wondering if there was something I had to take
with me. I touched my head thinking, "What else do I need.?' I knew there was
something I had to hold. I imagined being at the market and this helped me
remember my shopping bag. I had to hake my reusable shopping bag. As I always
complained about the plastic bags strewn all around the town, I did not want to be
part of the menace.
I had not been to Makola with nothing in my hands. I got a piece of paper to write
a list, thinking that would help me remember. I wrote down, "cloth or Kwame's
teacher, comb for me, slippers for Ama and Akua. I shouted for Ama, Auntie Sue
will be here soon."
Waiting impatiently for Sue, outside the warm drops of rain seemed to have stopped,
for a while. I thought how lucky we were as it had rained heavily all night. The
tropical rain falls in sheets and leaves puddles of water on the muddy, mushy floor.
Sue turned up late, apologizing, Ama and I were ready with our sneakers on to face
the squishy floor of Makola market. As the rain had stopped, there was no need for
any shade in the form of a colorful-topped umbrellas that usually got in the way of
the crowded, congested, overflowing market in Accra.
The ride to the market was always tiresome, lots of cars and pedestrians. Many
hawkers had spilt out onto the pavements and sometimes took parts of the road,
causing so much traffic. When they were evacuated they found their way back
there. So much indiscipline, I thought, but they felt it was their right to make a
living anywhere they had leg room.
You could tell we were almost there by the many sounds and smells. Sounds of
different sellers calling out their wares in many different languages and pitches.
The smells and whiffs of different spicy dishes mixed with the smell of heat!
Yes we were almost there, the collection of exotic fruits welcomed us, the bells
of cyclists crossing the cars received us. We had surely reached our destination.
