Grand Marche

          Real, delicious, fully ripe bananas were for breakfast. Love! Here I was thinking I might lose some weight while over here, but the way everybody feeds me here…that’s not happening! This morning, we are off to the Grand Marche. The Grand Market is another impossible thing to describe and this time there are no pictures to help. I didn’t carry anything with me into the market. The market consists of about 15 streets wide and probably miles long. It is packed with vendors selling everything and shops in all the buildings. There were people cobbling shoes, getting their hair done, selling toilet paper and canned meat. However, the vendors aren’t stationary. They come at you from all directions until you acknowledge them. It was a little scary to be packed into these streets, surrounded by people speaking Lingala very loudly, wooden carts trying to run over you, and (inconceivably) cars trying to drive down the streets. Despite all that, my biggest fear was being lost forever in the mass of moving people and never finding my way back. To prevent this, I was usually holding Clement’s or Getal’s hand like a small child being led through the mall. The sights of African women dressed in their bright clothing, carrying everything imaginable on their heads could hardly be taken in because I was so determined not to fall down or trip over the broken pavement and massive potholes. The loud calling of vendors was easy to ignore since I don’t speak Lingaga, but Flory seemed to get endless laughs from what they were saying to me including “come look”, “I’m single”, and even “will you give her to me”. Mundele (“white” people) do not go to the market, so I was quite the sight apparently. I was pleased because I was able to buy some beautiful African cloth!

Getal

               We bought most of our supplies from a store run by Indians which makes me curious as to how they learned Lingala to start with, but they are indeed very industrious people! After this, we joined Getal in her search for the rings for her “white” wedding. There is an entire area dedicated to selling real gold and silver jewelry. Just when I thought we had seen it all and couldn’t imagine there being more to see…we walked into the food section…specifically the meat market. This consisted of living, dead, chopped, and cooked animals such as an assortment of fish, snails, turtles, alligators, caterpillars, goat and much more. The ground was covered in blood and slime, as soon as you thought you were safe, water was coming at you from a nearly bucket of eel-looking creatures! Clement bought a fish and you stand by to watch as the vendor takes a large stick and beats the fish head until it doesn’t move anymore….I don’t think I will be eating that one! However, it seemed fresh enough as there was little smell. Then we moved to the vegetable section, which was much more manageable. It was table after table of peppers, carrots, herbs, root plants, and spices. The market was dusty and crowded, but doesn’t seem as dangerous as I had been led to believe. I emerge unscathed with perhaps a little more understanding into life in Kinshasa.

               For lunch Clement and Getal prepare the fish that I politely refuse to eat. Getal’s sister came to braid Clement’s hair, which had been bought at the market. It was interesting to watch, but makes me grateful for my low maintenance dirty blond hair.