First thought: WHY WHY DID I TELL A BUNCH OF TWEENS THAT I WOULD GO TO THE MARKET WITH THEM
I need friends my own age and gender STAT.
The thing is the only people my age that seem to be around are guys, which is fine, except I keep getting warned that since the previous 2 generations of volunteers had boyfriends any contact made has a high rate of the guy just wanting money/a free ride to the U.S. SERIOUSLY. Like, cool, they fell in like or love and thats awesome, 2 years is a long time, BUT WAY TO MAKE MY ANXIETY LEVELS GO UP EVERY TIME SOME GUY ASKS HOW MY DAY IS OR WHERE IM FROM OR IF I LIKE TEACHING. Like, yes maybe they might be creepy but what if they are just being nice? HOW CAN YOU TELL!?
Whatever.
So I hang with the criancas and the teen girls and rely on Whatsapp, my sitemate Marilynn, and Blaine the Zimbabwean for friendship. Fine.
Anyhoodles, back to the day’s event: A trip to the big market, Ngwenya, with my tween squad.
Ngwenya is a BIG market located on what was supposed to be (is?) an airport runway. It is made up of tiny brick stores and straw stalls thrown together. Products from Malawi, like produce and capulanas, are available Wednesdays and Saturdays. The basics, like veggies and dry goods, are available everyday however everyone knows Wednesdays and Saturdays is where its at.
Well, this week some of the girls were doing that thing kids do when they ask too many questions when you are in the middle of something and are trying real hard to not loose your temper on them and will give whatever you can just to get them to leave. So yes, we could go to the market on Saturday. This was on Tuesday. Everyday they asked me and everyday the bubble of people coming grew and grew.
On Saturday I awoke to about a dozen or so creatures waiting for me to finish my Saturday chores. After making a list of veggies, the oldest sent their tiny siblings home and the squad of 8 girls, including my favorite toddler tied to someone’s back, and I left for the market. Halfway there it started POURING. I gave my umbrella to the toddler and we just chugged along, trying not to slip in the mud. Usually when I go to Ngwenya people stare but now I had an entourage of screeching tweens running about and laughing as they challenged each other to run down slippy mud paths. As we walked in single file through the maze of stalls I just smiled and greeted familiar market maes, acting as if these girls calling after me were nothing unusual. It was a specticle. After finding a HUGE eggplant, some pineapples, and a few other veggies we made our way out of the mud pit and splashed home.
Now, there are always drunk men just standing around near the row of bars that lead to and from the market and usually I just walk fast and ignore the initial ‘HELLO HOW ARE YOU’s and ‘BABY BABY COME HERE’s and after a few seconds the calling stops and they move on. Today was no different- except the girls thought it was hilarious that I was getting called after (omg so many issues that how women are courted here and all that) so they engaged in their banter as I tried to get them to walk quickly. Oh no. Then it came- the marriage proposals. Ugh. Like, I get that being fat and pudgy is its own kind of beauty here but COME ON. I have been able to avoid catcalls and forceful pick ups all of my college and post college life but the culture here is to the extreme that even I am not immune to it. I was so mad. After we walked out of there I told them that it was not funny and that when a man says things like that they are not respecting you. They didn’t really get it, but to be honest I didnt really care at that moment- I just wanted to get home and get dry.
We came home, I had them wash their feet, they colored, then I told them I had work to do and they left.
So, new lessons learned: Avoid muddy market days, or really anything out in public like that, when surrounded by 8 loud kids. Cool.
Continuing Mission: Make friends with people my age and gender. LADIES WHERE YOU AT
Adios Ale 