Mike and Mamie go to General Market on the "water-side." (West Point, Monrovia, Liberia)

So much fun going to water side market, also known as General Market, yesterday with Mamie!

So much SO MUCH!

General Market sits on the water, on the opposite side of Mamba Point (where we live in Coconut Plantation), before United Nations Drive crosses the river bridge.  The water is the mouth of a moderate river that forms the peninsula. Unfortunately, the mouth leads to the giant shipping port of Monrovia (One of the main income generators for the Liberian government is the registry of giant tanker ships, having the largest registry in the world), and is home to large marketplaces and local Liberian housing who “choose” to live on the polluted water (river) side while foreign offices, compounds, and hotels line the ocean or “our/your” side of the point.

You can find the market on google maps: West Point, Monrovia, Liberia MAP

You can look and find that the market is tagged as an “area.” The market consists of a whole square block of clothes markets, one for housewares, one for hardware, and one of course for FOOD.

So Mamie and I got picked up by a local taxi service, which means one man, named Alfa,  who drives a beat up old blue, Japanese made, 1991 something, tinted window, mini station wagon. We got his number from a friend but turns out he is one of two reliable “taxi services” that are used by expats.

Alfa is normally hired in the evenings when expats no longer have use of their “official” vehicles and their drivers are off for the night, I have come to learn that Alfa is quite available during the day and for US$7 per hour – quite a luxury even if it is not a big white pathfinder with big black UN letters painted on the side (that is so 1996 Uganda – the blue hipster mobile is happening now).

Off we go and what a spectacular little ten minute ride around the point on United Nations Drive (which loops Mamba Point) instead of fighting “city traffic” through town. Past the hotels, and shop keepers, past the old US Embassy and the new US Embassy (yes your tax dollars are at work here in Liberia on SO MANY LEVELS-don’t tell the 99%), zig-zagging through the safety maze. In front of the embassies we climb a hill to reach the top of Mamba Point and start to descend to the other side!

In Alfa's taxi entering "water side."

I am so excited as Alfa takes us past the mechanic shops, the motorbike repair shops, and bombed out buildings, he literally knows everyone – and not just a hey man – but people shouting Alfa! Bah! (a term for friend). So I am already relaxing and feeling better and then we enter the market “center.” HOLY SMOKES what have I got myself into (have I mentioned you never EVER see police presence!)!?

Alfa drives around the one way loop through the center and drops us in front of the “food market,” which looks like an alley – no wait, it is an alley…no wait, it is the last time I am ever going to be seen again! And while this white boy with bright green shorts a t shirt (and a much smaller water bottle) enter the fray, only a few people look my way – most people are looking at Mamie – and at first I think she is being frowned upon for bringing me here, for being a housekeeper, for carrying the shopping bag – I am not sure. Later, I am come to realize by walking and talking with me she is actually getting “good stares.” Later a friend of hers approaches and asks to talk to me and we discuss the market and I see how proud Mamie is that I would walk with her and let her be my guide. Okay this is working for both of us: good GOOD.

Winding road of the General Market

So as we enter the alley, I must admit I did feel uneasy, as I could not determine an “entrance,” and as we walked a few hundred feet and turned the first bend, all that was up ahead was the next bend and as I turned around to see where I came from, there was only the bend: I was in the market. At first glance everything looked the same, dusty, women staffing all the booths, little tables and overturned barrels with wares, and produce in neat little piles. But as we continued to walk I realized the booths were different, some booths proudly presented whole raw, thick, heavy pink pig legs lined up looking as if they were in an examining room, not a dusty street market – the clean, pale pink, flesh tone of these legs was the brightest color in all of the market and a distraction every time I came across a pig leg seller. Near the front of the market women had buckets of live brown water side crabs – these crabs looked healthy but knowing they were from this side of town meant they were culled from the murky depths of the polluted river, I passed those crabs by.

The Market seemed to go on and on and all the market is run by women. There was so much noise and talking and yet it all came from the bustle of the moving crowd, motorbikes, carrying folks through, and men and women shopping.  I immediately noticed the dissonance between the quiet women who sat behind their booths versus the male “sellers/hawkers” who push wheel barrows of ice and water packets through the narrow path – yelling “Water, Water,” looking disdainfully at my water bottle.

Bats in the Tree Over the Market

Half way through down the winding market I hear LOUD chirping sounding like a flock of birds, or surely crows waiting for droppings, and I look up and WOW: A Giant leafless tree, at least five stories tall, the biggest I have seen in the city absolutely infested with BATS! I WAS AWESTRUCK. Here over this terribly busy market you could HEAR the bats. That’s how loud they were! And neither community was disturbed: the bats, nor the market place – such an experience to notice that this was NORMAL. I love it – this was worth the trip – This alone was worth my little jaunt across town…I could come visit this very magical spot every day – Mamie nudged me and said take a picture and lets go – LOL! So I did, but I walked pretty much the rest of the way with my head turned up in awe of the BATS.

As we continued to the end Mamie jumped up through a couple of vendors into a building which turns out was the entrance to the fish market: AWESOME.

Here was row after row of plywood covered long tables, impossible to describe except that there were at least twenty rows the length of the market building, and the building was easily half a football field. The ceiling was pitched and high, but that did not help the smell, and light was limited to assist in keeping the building cool – because here lay on this wood – fish, fish I have never seen, fish I have only seen on tv, and fish that probably should not be eaten, each vendor had fresh fish or dried fish, or smoked fish or cooked fish, and then the chicken parts and then meat cuts and then things I don’t even know.

So after walking the market Mamie helped me identify fresh fish versus old fish – and while you think I would know – well “fresh” is well you know – everyone has their own idea of fresh.  And so finally I realize the fresher the fish the more it “flops” and is “loose” versus some fish that are stiff and hard – ah yes I will take some floppy fish. Mamie also tries to get me to smell the different fish which I do – but when I tell you, it was hard to discern fish smells in a building that had a smell that defies description, and after a while my nose had enough and just shut down.

Excellent Fish Vendor at the Market "cleaning" our fish purchase.

We find Mamie’s favorite vendor and learn that she does not have the fish we prefer and look to her neighbor and when (what I think is a quiet voice) ask Mamie if she thinks this is fresh, the burly vendor gets quite proud of her product, stands next to me in front of her booth, and starts tearing the fish apart by the gills proving its freshness and getting quite vocal…Ah, fresh indeed fair vendor, fresh indeed…we will take two of these large tube like fish. Well she was quite satisfied with that purchase and she and Mamie then proceeded in a dance of which two fish we were to take with us, and the fair vendor returned to her position behind her stall. Mamie then requested she clean the fish, to which she happily obliged. The price, I will quote the vendor, “You give me Ten US Dollars I will give you 250 Liberty (Liberian Dollars).” I, of course, am like wha? Look at Mamie, she discreetly nods, and I agree to this crazy arrangement: Two Big Fish that will feed the three of us (Vamsi and I for two meals and Mamie always takes the heads): US$5.50

Off we go to the neighboring building, a lot smaller, brighter, and the stalls are a lot closer, it is single file through the stalls – means a lot more bumping of each other. Here the women vendors seem to be younger and slighter, as they tend to sit on top of the tables next to their produce. Each table you find little mounds of vegetables next to each other. This is how they are sold, baby eggplants sit in little piles of 8/9 , costing 25 liberty or about US$0.35. I purchase 4 piles of baby eggplant for 100 Liberty; the vendor seems satisfied – win-win. Through the market I buy okra, onions, and full sized purple eggplant. Mamie and I are done she has what she needs and I have purchased extra vegetables for the weekend. 

On the way back up to the street, the bats now swarming overhead stirred from their roost, I catch a booth with objects not food and I find a barrel full of homemade graters. Here knives are expensive and not easily procured and folks tend to grate their food for soups and stews. Even the rough cassava leaves are grated, along with onions, peppers and so on. I decide I need one of these homemade kitchen utensils and look for the vendor only to find at the moment “Osun” (sp?) is tending to the booth. He is maybe ten years old at the most, and surely he does not weigh 50lbs. I can definitely tell that he has his smarts and so I am going to have to do some serious bargaining. I ask him how much is this grater, of course the cynic New Yorker in me is waiting to be gouged, I put on my best, don’t try to fool with me young man face, he immediately replies “15 liberty.” Of course I look shocked and start into a rant: how could this be the price - then it clicks - I ask him again and he repeats very assuredly, “15 liberty.” I look at Mamie she nods, and I hand the bright fellow his 15 Liberty, or US$0.16, and happily feel I have made the best deal of the day all on my own!

Back to the main street, Alfa loyally awaits outside his vehicle looking for us, waves us over, puts us in, and away we go! What a most satisfying hour, I look forward to my weekly trips to General Market on the water side!

Hand crafted grater.

Time to get in the garden!

Being down with malaise for the past couple of days is frustrating – I hate even a day going by without fully engaging it – the good news is my spirit is better today even if my body is not, so I will attempt to do some gardening today as Andrew, the gardener has gotten ahead of me and I don’t want to slow down the progress.

As an aside as much as I enjoy Mamie’s cooking,  I don’t appreciate the house smelling like fried fish – This is surely NOT going to work for me – Mamie and I will have to work out some means to cook her style whilst living without a household of fish smell – I am simmering lavender on the stove this morning hoping to over whelm the fish with a calming breeze of southern France -  we shall see.

All the compound staff seem to be in good spirits today – noticed all of them enjoying each other’s company this morning – like any job/office culture it seemed a little bit of normalcy to witness – but also once again made me feel like an intruder , in their day, a spy upon their freedom to do their work and be left alone – it will take some time for staff to trust that I am not an overseer or that I even worry that they are eating lunch, talking, or even goofing off – we all take breaks eh?  Communication between me and the locals is frustrating me – not only are the words different but my color gives way to suspicion, and I think the fact that I am younger than most of those living in this compound lends to an air of “richness.” The fact that I don’t go to work and can lay in bed when I am ill – is very suspect.  I am uncomfortable when I catch them staring/looking/peeking at me and then avert their eyes not because  I don’t like being spied upon but because I instinctively misunderstand their curiosity for spying – and am not worried that they are looking at me and hope they don’t get frustrated with me entranced by them and their lovely good spirits. I have yet to meet one Liberian who comes across as mean or uncompromisable – of course – again – the communication barrier may just be the great denier of my constructed reality - time will tell. So as I breathe in this fresh scent of lavender I am revived and will head to the garden for an hour or so before the sun drains me of all my energy…

Tomato and Basil Seedlings form old yellowed seed packets bought at the supermarket.

…Well seems less than two hours in the garden is like a day of work when you suffering from malaise and haven’t acclimated to the heat, humidity, and dust. But our little garden is coming along and I am quite happy – an outsider might find our rudimentary pile of stones and tiny seedlings in cut plastic water bottles disturbing I feel quite ahead of schedule considering I didn’t even think I would have a seed in my hand for another month let a dozen seedlings to play with! So the squash are coming up just fine – I have decided to plant one directly into the ground – an experiment – to see if that little fellow might be able to handle the hard ground tamped over time, by rain, wind, and disrespect . And so I hope the little guy has the strength to lead others into the ground – a day or two will tell if they can survive or will need western style intervention due to their weak genetic mutations brought on by the industrial need to produce. Good luck little guy.

Come on Squash Seedling! Make us all proud! 

And then as luck would have it I noticed a compound worker across the way strafing the grass with a long machete, whacking and beating the defenseless grass trying too cool the hard hot ground in the open area across the way. And so I politely asked what they were going to do with the grass and I was told “throw it all away.” Jeepers!  May I have some? – Apparently I could have it all! Serendipitously, I realized the chicks and chickens that roam the compound “fertilize” this area and thus why it is so green and thus why the grass is quick to grow! AH HA! Bonus Fertilizer as I gather the strafed grass I can smell the rich incense of chicken droppings – I am giddy! My garden now has fertilizer!

Burial Mound? No Chicken feces and dried grass covered garden bed.

And now – I love the chickens and hope to invite them to my yard daily  - I will look for them and train them with grains and bread in hopes they will learn to gather in my yard and walk amongst my plants! I had been so worried they would eat my seeds I forgot about the very importance of their biology – the creation of fertilizer! Dear God Thank you for creating a perfect world and apologies that it takes me so long to see it ! Of course, now I worry what kind of disease will I gather from this dust these droppings – again only time will tell. A day or two should surely provide symptoms in the error of my ways.  Or affirm that I need to gather all the strafed grass and accompanying droppings for every square inch of our temporary land and help the soil to be naturally reborn.

This is a good day = if only there was a shower to delouse me on the outside of the house like beach houses  back home…..