Let's go to the Mall

On Saturday, Louisa wanted to go look for some clothes. Wow, I thought, I sure could use a trip to the mall. Other than gardening, shopping has always been a stress reducer. Unfortunately, the nearest mall is a day's drive away. But being Saturday, our local market was in full swing not 500 yards from our front door. I grabbed my market bag, some Ugandan shillings, a hat and my oldest daughter's hand and off we went.
It was a beautiful day. The sun was out and crowds of folks were walking up and down the road. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood, happy to either be going to or coming from the market. We started at the clothing area. Basically all the clothes that aren't sold by the Goodwills of the world make their way here. The styles are a bit out of date (but so are our concepts of fashion in this remote corner!), the size and color selection is hit and miss, but the price is cheap and the thrill of the hunt is intense. Louisa and I sort through pile after pile of clothes heaped on tarps along the road. Different vendors pitch their clothes and prices in a non-stop stream of Lubwisi as we look for anything in a children's size 7/8. It feels a small bit like a bizarre combination of a yardsale and a department store. Lot's of small children brush against us and comment on Louisa's hair. Which is striking I admit. We dyed it red a few weeks ago and being naturally blond, it was REALLY red. Now it is an attractive strawberry blond, but still shocking. We lucked up and found a few long sleeved shirts (you can't be too picky) in great condition from Old Navy and Gap that are Christmas themed. Louisa was delighted and you can be sure this November and December she will be very appropriately festive. After 45 minutes in the sun at midday, we were both starting to wilt, so we headed to the "food court." With serious effort I banish an assortment of US images from my mind and concentrate on picking out several nice ears of roasted corn. An older woman smiles and takes my money (about 20 cents for three) as Louisa squeals with delight. This is her favorite snack and is not always available. Then we walk across the way to Iddi's shop. A permanent structure constructed of wood, with cement floors and packed solid with various food supplies and sometimes cold water. "I don't care if it is cold, Mom, whatever he has is fine." We both sit on the steps with about 50 other people and take a long drink. Louisa comments on the cool breeze floating past and we stop to gaze around at the hundreds of people in front of us shopping, selling, talking, flirting...
Then off we head to buy some beans. I have recently started to make these really yummy bean burgers and sometimes there is a woman from Congo who sells black beans. She doesn't seem to be there though, so we settle for some yellow soybeans. Probably there are 50 women settled on tarps in an area the size of a basketball court. Tomatoes, onions, pineapples, eggplants, beans, bananas, rice, potatoes, and green oranges are all sorted into neat piles or heaps and laid out on faded white tarps. Running through the makeshift aisles is a green slimy pool of stagnant water. It has been raining a lot lately and evidently this bit hasn't yet drained. Proactively, I look away and try not to concentrate on the cess pool like nature of this, our "grocery store." Instead, I see four perfect purple young eggplants and think about the yummy dip I could make with pita bread this week. I see onions that are as big as my fist, instead of the usual quarter shaped ones and bend down to select several heaps. Louisa and I discuss whether we should buy a cabbage, decide not and then we begin to head home. Most people are barefoot, which is an advantage when the market is so muddy. We carefully pick our way from solid ground to solid ground, squeezed against numerous people headed in the same direction. No personal space to speak of, yet somehow comforting... if we slip lot's of people will catch us. At the edge of the market I stop her and ask, "If we got lost, can you find your way home?" "Sure," she says. "We just go through the cassava flour place to the side road, then go to the big road and turn left. At the big mango tree is our school gate." As she turns to lead the way, an AK47 bumps against her leg. Two police-men push past with their guns swinging at their sides, casually walking through to the road also. I take a deep breath. She doesn't even notice. "Can I run ahead?" she asks. "Humph, not just yet." I reach for her hand and together we walk to the main road. As we come in the gate to Christ School, she dashes across the field to our house. The sun shines brightly, 20 or more kids are playing ultimate frisbee and my beautiful daughter is racing home to her daddy. Different from a similar trip in my parallel universe back in America, but no less exciting.