Market Day in Musambira

Friday is market day in Musambira. Market goers travel from far and wide, mostly on foot but sometimes by bicycle or moto, carrying their goods with them, usually on their heads. Amongst these are women with babies strapped to their backs, old people trudging along leaning heavily on their long sticks and children in uniform helping their parents before going on to school.

Musambira has a new covered market, like many villages in Rwanda, as part of the country’s rejuvenation. There are also co-operatives in some sectors to support local farmers to sell their produce for a fair price. This morning, as I wandered among the throngs of traders and shoppers, I could see there were distinct selling areas of the market square. As I approached the centre, I came across around fifty goats, and a few sheep, with banana leaf collars and leads waiting as a noisy bleating group for sale by their owners. One young man offered his young black kid for me to buy.

Next, along the narrow rutted street was the tailor’s shop with two treddle machinists sitting outside, deep in concentration as they worked. I took my two pieces of wall hanging fabric to be hemmed. Using basic kinyawanda skills, I negotiated a price of 400Rwf, about 40p. I would collect them on my way home.

Many clothes and fabric sellers were just setting up as rain began to fall from the leaden sky. Those not able to pay for a stall under the covered area had tarpaulins or plastic sheets to protect their goods on the ground. At tables in the market building were cereal and rice and local flour sellers, displaying their wares in conical heaps. I watched one woman grinding groundnuts in a wooden pestle pounding it with a long wooden mortar. Sitting on her stool, she worked rhythmically for long spells at a time. We had a few words in kinyawanda, using hand gestures to create a basic conversation about what she was doing. The local people seem to appreciate, and are often amused by, my attempts to learn their language. It was at that moment that I met Immaculate, one of the teachers from the local school. She and I greeted each other warmly and then wandered through the market together. She wanted to show me the best produce and helped me to barter for a good price. I bought onions, tomatoes, green peppers, celery, garlic, bananas and a pineapple from the myriad of fruit and vegetable choices.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Moving on to the tools and household goods area, I bought a small traditional handmade hoe for 500 Rwf from a serious looking young man. This will be useful for cultivating our new garden which, as yet, has no flowers. I also got a small broom for 100Rwf (10p) which consists of a bundle of thin twigs tied at the bottom with a thin strip of rubber inner tube (everything is recycled here). It was then I spotted an old woman selling traditional clay cooking pots. I bought one for only 500Rwf (50p) to use as decoration the house. For the locals to see a ‘muzungo’ carrying home such an item caused a great deal of comment, such as do I know how to cook with it?

 

 

Bidding farewell to my teacher friend, I called at the hardware store to ask for thin wooden poles or bamboo canes on which to hang my net curtain and newly hemmed wall hangings. However, it was explained to me that I have to go to the village carpenter to have them made. The lady proprieter and her son recognised me from the week before when I had been to buy a spare mattress for our overnight guests. They greeted me warmly.

Wandering home with my purchases, I reflected on how village life for me in Musambira is a mixture of curiosity and warm friendliness. It’s similar in so many ways to life in Bollington.