Me and my market bag, going to the market today

Take a trip with me to the Bertoua market…
So when I was in America and I had a day off or some time to go shopping I actually really enjoyed going out and getting groceries and odds and ends for the house. I liked heading down to the store and walking through the aisles and pondering something new for dinner or what fruit was in season. I think it was the feeling after you get home where you have big bags of accomplishment. It was like a tangible plan for meals all week with a little bit of spontaneity mixed in, in the form of fruit snacks or jalapeño poppers. Going to the market or super marche’ (white man grocery store) here in Cameroon is quite a different experiences so I thought I’d give you a glimpse of shopping in one the provincial capital of Cameroon.
Today I needed to go to the market to buy vegetables and ingredients for making calzones with some friends that are in town. I jumped on a moto with my market bag headed to the market. I’m slightly startled by the change when going from the Cos of the East or as I call it, “Little America” to the actual outside world that is so much busier than Ndelele. In Little America we watch American shows and do work on our computers (Right now I’m editing the Education Training Manual- it’s currently 138 pages!). We also read trashy magazines from two years ago and come together to eat things we have had sent from home. Recent meals have included Funfetti Cake, stove top stuffing, Wild Mediterranean Rice, and cheesy instant mash potatoes. So you can imagine that after wrapping yourself in the semi illusion of little America, stepping out into the real world is a fun surprise. You never really forget you are here- no water pressure, often no water, people yelling in French next door, all channels on the tv have Cameroonian soap opera’s, no air conditioning. But, it’s easy to be lulled in a sense of displacement from the everyday villageois lifestyle. Anyways, I go step outside with my market bag and my shopping list and head in.
Bertoua really only has one paved road and a lot of really crowded, poorly planned off shoots. We take the main road watching the hustle and bustle of people going about their spring break lives and signal to turn onto a dirt road heading to the market (the signal is my moto driver raising his hand and then choosing when he’d like to turn). We pass the street where they do wood working, making retro 70’s type couches with crazy fabrics. Then we pass the frippery- the Goodwill of the market with clothes that look like they were rejected by many countries before coming here. You can get a dress or a pair of pants or a crazy hat for less than a dollar on a good bartering day. Next we pass by about a half dozen stalls that just sell onions, garlic, and tomatoes. Then my driver stops me at the beginning of the vegetable market. 100CFA to my chauffeur and a remove of my helmet later and I am browsing looking for the best produce. Most people have a Mamma who takes care of them and who they go to religiously at the market. However, this isn’t my town and I feel like spreading my patronage. I buy 200CFA worth of beautiful green peppers (which every time I eat them I think of crappy cardboard pizza with everything on it from Peter Pipper, as a kid I guess the taste of green peppers was really prevalent on that that pizza). I buy lettuce from a woman walking down the street with a big bucket on her head. She gives me a cadeau or a gift of a smaller head of lettuce because I bought so much. When I am in Lele I dream about eating green vegetables so I make sure to eat as much as possible when I’m in the big city working. Next I go and buy garlic, basil, and limes. The basil is fresh and fragrant and the garlic is everywhere here and the limes a bit expensive but well worth it when we make gin and tonics later! As I walk around the market looking for avocados I begin to be deranged. People are yelling at me from all sides, “La Blanche” and “Nasara” and often I get “Cherie” or “My sweet”. I decide to take the “Diagon Alley Market ways” there are a maze of streets all intertwined together where you walk down narrow alleyways and all different types of wares are being sold. We choose a particularly shaded walk way and begin to make the trek back out of the market. We pass stores that sell only colanders and then a story that sells sweat bands, whiskey sachets, cheap gold jewelry, and thread. We are being yelled at to “Vien ICI” and “I have the good things” and we are being grabbed and steered into dark shops lit by backlights that make the proprietors teeth gleam white, creating an afternoon rave for one. We continue down the street and people are squeezing by with fruit on their heads and some women are sitting in the middle of the road cutting a green grass type food they call koki. I’m nto sure why you would be shopping for hoochie jeans, whiskey sachets, fruit and koki all at the same time- but multitasking is an art here. As I exit the market I am once again on the main street with motos whizzing past and the hustle and bustle again making my little village life seem very quiet and a little drole. I walk over to where the motos are waiting to whisk me home back to Little America but I decide to endulge myself and get an ice cream. A small cart sells soft serve ‘vanilla’ and ‘banana’ ice cream and though it really just tastes like “cold” and not a flavor, it is amazing and just the thing for a hot day. For 100CFA you can get a cone and for 300CFA you can get a big cup. I look around the city eating my ice cream and finishing my market trip, ready to go home and cook for the big group of people who will be eating tonight. Just another day doing errands in Africa.