Just Off The Boat

I wasn't sure whether or not I'd have something to write about today, considering I just posted last night. However that mindset changed while I was sitting in the market just an hour ago. I found myself trying to collect my thoughts and think of ways to describe what my senses were taking in. How can I explain what it is I'm seeing, the smells that are wafting up my nostrils, the sounds and voices that echo around me... Well I'll try.

I was excited to go into the Petit Marche (Little Market) with my mom, and expected it to be a reunion of sorts. We drove further into town than I had gone with Dad yesterday, and I caught myself feeling like a tourist - something I hate - looking around at everything. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that acting like a tourist means you're treated like a tourist. Me being white as a marshmallow and not speaking Hausa or Zarma doesn't help either. Being an 'Anasara' (White person) means that prices on all goods in the market are jacked up, you're constantly pestered for 'cadeaux' (gifts), and you become the center of everyone's focus as you walk by. Dear Jesus, why couldn't you have made us all the same color? It would have saved the world so much trouble.

Walking into the market means crossing busy streets with the previously mentioned crazy-taxis, pushcarts selling any ware you could think of, and pedestrians who truly believe they have the right of way. All around me, men are calling in French after my mom and I, "Madame! Buy my tomatoes! Madame, look at these tangerines! Taste them they're so sweet!" We shoo them of with, "Non, merci," and "Pas aujourd'hui." (No, thank you, and Not today.) Making our way into the stalls and shops that compile the Petit Marche, you see tables stacked with fresh (and not so fresh) produce, huge bowls overflowing with spices, wheelbarrows filled with potatoes and lettuce, and people everywhere. The tiny walkways between the vendors are blocked with children begging or selling small candies, women with babies tied to their backs, and men pushing their wheelbarrows piled with veggies. We make our way further into the center of the market and we pass the meat section. Entire goat and sheep bodies are hanging from hooks and nails on the stalls, skinned and ready for a leg to be chopped off. No one minds the flies because you know that it's fresh - that sheep was probably breathing at 4 am.

Our first stop is to buy baskets for the upcoming banquet. Mom wants there to be bread baskets on each table. We bargain the price down from 500cfa per basket to 300cfa. With the approximate exchange rate, we walked away with 20 baskets for $12.00. We enter a small store that has everything from disposable diapers to rice sacks to juice mix. Mom gathers what she needs and a boy is waiting at the door to help us carry our things to the car - for a small fee of course. We hand him our bags and he follows us around the market for the rest of the time we're there, becoming our own personal porter.

I don't like thinking I'm having a culture shock, but I might as well call it that. I've seen this all before, and it's not 'shocking' but it is a revealing reminder for what culture I'm in again! It helps some to be writing this all out, because I'm forced to look at it through the eyes of an outsider. Again, I don't have pictures to add because the part of me that wants to fit into the culture knows that's far too touristy of a thing to do. Doing so will label me as 'other'... maybe that's a pride issue I just need to get over. Really, my skin color is one of the main reasons why I can't 'blend in', as cliche as that sounds. The word 'Anasara' is what they call all white people here - whether or not you're a foreigner. It's not a racial slur, like singling out a certain race in the US usually is, but it is a separator. It's them saying, "You're different. We can see it." Yeah, I know, I can see it too. I'm glow in the dark - the only way I'd look like them is if I walked out of a coal mine. But God is doing so many redeeming things in the people here... I wish I had a personal story to share about it, but I know those will come. Praise God for his love!

Revelation 5:9-10 And they sang a new song: “You are worthy to take the scroll and to open its seals, because you were slain, and with your blood you purchased men for God from every tribe and language and people and nation. You have made them to be a kingdom and priests to serve our God, and they will reign on the earth.”