Fri 13 Feb, 2009
I have been visiting the Grand Marche on a daily basis. It remains a vast square of intensive economic activity that is criss-crossed by a series of straight passageways. In the center of this vast expanse is a police tower next to which are toilet facilities. The market stalls that line the passageways are stuffed with goods–spices, hardware, cell phones, electronic equipment, glassware, cloth, carpets and much more. You can’t walk quickly through the market as you have to weave your way around boys and girls, men and women who are hawking goods–sun glasses, phone cards that contain cell phone credit, grilled meat, costume jewelry and so on. At any moment your walk might be interrupted by a cart, pulled by a teenager, loaded with hundreds of cartons filled with soap or some other product. One section that struck my interest was the extremely narrow passage that cuts through the market’s pharmaceutical section. It is so narrow that only one person can pass. The men selling medicine sit in their cramped stalls, which are situated some three of four feet above the floor of the market. From there they sell skin cremes, antibiotics and other medicines at “market prices.” Given the bustle of the market, you are hard-pressed to think that there is a global recession that has brought suffering to a very large group of people. Given the the sheer bulk of goods, the idea that Niger is among the poorest of countries in the world drifts far away from you consciousness. And yet, when you leave the market and see destitute lepers, polio victims, people with genetic deformities or those whose paralysis resulted from an improperly administered injection, that reality comes crashing down on your head. And yet, amid this poverty, the people that I have encountered, beggars included, demonstrate an enviable vitality. Even those beggars to whom I say: Iri koy ma dogonaandi (”May God lighten your burden), which is a polite way of saying “I can’t give you a donation today,” respond with an enthusiastic “Amin.” Their perseverance in the hot, dusty Nigerien capital is inspiring and renders insiginifcant the kind of existential complaints that I routinely put forward.
More reflections on the way, especially on the nature of fraternal and sororal warmth that one finds here in abundance.
Nina says:
Super de te lire depuis le Niger! As-tu des scoops sur les Chinois sur le marche?
Bises, Nina
niger1 says:
A picture is worth a thousand words
we can t wait to see all of this in photos from niger1.com