Market day on Kilimanjaro

By Young Hoy Kim Kimaro

In Mwika, Tuesdays and Fridays have been market days for as long as anyone can remember. These market days are absolutely indispensable to Mwika villagers. They assure income flow and bring to them daily necessities not otherwise available in the village.

The market grounds are located at Mwika’s business center, aptly called “Madukani.” “Duka” means shop. “Ma” added to the front of the word makes it plural ― hence, shops. “Ni” tagged to the tail end of the word turns it into a location. Madukani therefore means“ where the shops are.”

Mwika has no grocery stores as we know them. Tiny “hole-in-the-wall” (gu-meong-gagae in Korean) stores carry most widely sought nonperishable provisions ― tea, sugar, salt, cooking oil, flour, bottled water, soap, soda, candles, matches and so on ― but no meats, fruits or vegetables.

There are stores, but for limited goods ― hardware, farming implements and animal feeds, pharmaceuticals, stationary and clothing. Butcher shops carry meats from fresh slaughters of that day and close as soon as their supply for the day runs out. For clothing, shoes, fabrics, utensils, household goods, pots and pans and even phones and electronics, villagers look to the market on Tuesdays and Fridays.

Bananas are the main produce in Mwika. On a market day endless streams of whole banana bunches, almost a meter long and weighing as much as 15kg to 20kg are brought to the market, head carried, tied to the back of bodaboda motorcycle taxis or loaded onto wooden wheelbarrows.

As morning advances, rows of whole banana bunches pile up on either side of the road at Madukani. Soon trucks arrive and park alongside them and bargaining begins between truck operators and farmers. Throughout the day trucks, filled to the brim with whole banana bunches, take off one after the other for Dar es Salaam, the main market for Mwika’s bananas.

Demand for bananas seems insatiable. All bananas that farmers bring to Madukani on market days are likely to get sold. But at what price is the issue. Farmers haven’t yet organized themselves for collective bargaining. Farmers are left to fend for themselves. That leaves farmers competing with each other at times.

Since a modern milk processing plant came to Mwika five years ago, buying and selling of hay has grown by volumes. It has taken over the northern stretch of the road leading out of Madukani. The hay business is swift. Well before the day is over all that remains are sprigs of hay that have fallen astray from bundles that had occupied the space.

Inside the market proper in the food section, vegetables feature prominently. This is all important for villagers as there are no grocery stores in the village. On market days one can find a rich array of vegetables ― tomatoes, carrots, green peppers, cabbages, potatoes, yams, cassava, onions, garlic, ginger, cucumbers, eggplants, zucchinis, okra and a whole variety of leafy greens. Much of these are grown within Mwika itself.

Vegetable vendors don’t use scales for vegetables. Instead of weighing, they sell their produce by volume. They use three units ― fungu, sado and ndoo. “Fungu” is the lowest unit. Vegetables are typically displayed, grouped into small mounds of three or four which make up a fungu.

“Sado” is a one gallon tin filled to the brim. The word sado probably came from sadolin paint. Perhaps it’s the empty tins were the first to be used to measure, and the name stuck. “Ndoo,” means bucket, which is literally what that is ― a five-gallon bucket.

Purchasing in larger units is cheaper but refrigerators being practically unavailable in the village fungu remains the most popular unit of purchase for the easily perishables. Leafy greens are tied into 500 shilling (250 won) or 1,000 shilling (500 won) bunches with strips of dried banana leaves.

Dried fish is sold in stalls next to vegetables. There you are hit by an unmistakable pungent smell of none other than… myo-ru-chi which the folks here call “dagaa.” As in Korea it is a popular soup base.

The market isn’t just for buying and selling of goods. It’s also a welcome occasion for socializing ― a chance to catch up with rumors and to spread a few of one’s own, an opportunity to link up with friends whom one seldom gets to see; for the young, it’s a place to go to see and be seen. They go there well groomed.

Women tie African print kanga cotton cloth ― 100 by 140 cm ― around the waist over their clothes to protect them from soiling in the hustle and bustle of the market. Kangas come in a huge array of colors and patterns and are sold in sets of two. They are often mismatched. Donning a matching set is reserved for special occasions.

On market days the scene at Madukani is dizzyingly chaotic. Laborers, weighed down by heavy banana bunches on their shoulders, cross the road in hurried steps to trucks waiting to fill up and be off. Bodaboda motorbikes weave in and out through a sea of humanity rushing about carrying loads, buying and selling. Women’s kangas add a kaleidoscopic touch to this highly charged scene that repeats every Tuesday and Thursday.

The writer resides on the slopes of Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania. She worked for the World Bank for nearly 30 years and her email is youngkimaro@gmail.com.