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Kassoua
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will be added in the following weeks. If you would like to be notified
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One of the defining points in the collective history of civilized life
is the centralization of goods and services in a predetermined location.
It is this place around which a community is built and around this date
that life is centered. Such organization gave birth to the notion of a
market and still today such is the way of life for millions of people.
Here in Benin the marche must be the strongest thread common to every
community and, as a foreigner, it is of endless fascination to me. To
explain the reality of the modern African market to someone without first-hand
knowledge would be a task of great difficulty. In an attempt to present
the clearest picture possible of the marche here in Ouake, I have decided
to do a series of studies on the market and present them in increments.
My hope is to gradually convey my overall impressions of the market and
the way of life it generates.
The series will consist of four successive essays, each based on what
I see as the key components of the total marche experience. The essays
will each be attributed to a specific date on which the market did take
place although, I must admit, not all material was completed on the exact
date to which it is attributed.
Part I of the market series 9/22/98
Today a line of people flows along one side of the street under the mid-day's
sun, stretching as far as the eye can see, the masses on their way to
mingle with the mass. They hope to exchange what it is they have for what
it is they need, for today is Kassoua (ka-swah). Today is Tuesday and
Kassoua is the marche. Today is the most important day of the week in
Ouake. Today is payday.
They come from nearby villages, some farther than others, even from across
the border in Togo, to buy and sell their goods. They come with a religious
regularity that says more about the importance of the market than anything
else. Like pilgrims on their way to Mecca, they move forward in a constant
stream winding its way through the village to the center, to Kassoua.
Most people make the trip from their homes on foot, walking in small groups
or pairs. Women, women and children, old men in straw hats or knit caps,
and still more women. For the market is a woman's world both to buy and
to sell. With their wares piled in bowls on their heads, they do what
seems to be an impossible task, by carrying up to a third of their body
weight, sometimes for several miles. Between their heads and the bowl
they place a small coil of cloth as their only form of buffer.
The marche is a seemingly endless procession over the rain-roughed road
without so much as a stumble. There is no real hurry in their pace because
at the market time is not much of a commodity as there is always sure
to be plenty. Much more important than the hour of the day is the tone
of the weather which is read by over-head glances and the sound of distant
thunder. Even the worst weather, however, would do little to diminish
the crowd or end the flow of vendors that passes by from early morning
until late after noon when the flow is reversed and the homeward march
begins.
It is with a simple and direct determinedness that all of this takes place
yet it would seem that just as the collective whole has its objectives
for the marche, so too does each individual. Some go to make a living,
some to spend what they've made, and some go for want of something better
to do. Some have things they need, some have things to sell and the common
thread is the place they head. The place is Kassoua, the day is Tuesday,
and for what it's worth, it's the best we have to offer here in Ouake
-- a very real, a very central and a very important part of the lives
of this community.
Part II of the market series. 9/29/98
In the marche there are so many things for sale, all so well organized
that to my eyes it all seems like clutter. But it's true that there is
a sequence to what there is to buy and beyond that a place for everything,
or so it would seem, with very little to distinguish one place from the
next.
In this corner it's bread and vegetables, in that it's bicycle parts,
and then chickens and eggs, and then goats and fried foods, and of course
the farmer's tools and tchouk, the farmer's beer, and so on in such complete
and total order until it become confusing in its obviousness. The vendors
do no real advertising of their goods. They simply lay out what they offer
and wait for the business to happen along.
As I wander along the aisles trying to find a few things I need and trying
to find the true things that explain the experience, it occurs to me that
there is a general division of the sexes in terms of what women and men
sell. The women, who make up the majority of the vendors, sell vegetables
and household items, other foodstuff and fabrics, while the men sell livestock,
meat and hardware of various sorts. On the surface it would seem to be
somewhat similar to the gender division of labor found in my own culture,
but I would hazard a guess that it's deeper than it would seem.
In African culture, the division of gender roles is not necessarily to
enhance a position of male dominance but to make use of traditional knowledge
that has been passed only along the established lines of the sexes. In
this vein, as it is women who sell vegetables, so it may be that women
best know how to buy the vegetables, what to look for in texture, how
to tell when ripe is too ripe for the intended use. The same would follow
for men and, indeed, it may sound like a sexist argument. I am simply
trying to look beyond the obvious and see things in terms of the traditional
culture and how that may have evolved into the modern experience.
While the initial impressions of the market on my mind were that it is
a scene of chaos, the experience of buying something at the market can
be even more unnerving. The prices of most things in the market are negotiable.
In the buying and selling of goods in the market, there comes a point
when the two parties participating in the transaction must discuss the
price. The moment is often a bit tense, and filled with suspicion as each
vendor names the price for each buyer based on a quick estimation of the
buyer's financial capacity. If the person appears to be capable of paying
more than the next, then the initial asking price is raised as high as
possible. In my case, being white, I'm assumed to be rich and the sky
is the limit. I am obligated to make a quick estimate as to how much lower
the vendor would actually be willing to go. This is followed by a brief
bit of subtraction, bringing me to propose a price that is actually a
bit lower than I hope to pay and that sometimes is even offensive to the
seller. We haggle back and forth towards middle ground, giving in like
increments and in every transaction someone comes away feeling somewhat
like a loser.
And such is the way I buy the things I need to live by and large on the
marche grounds. For me the experience is one of interesting proportions
that amuse and challenge me in varying ways and degrees. For women and
men who make their living during the week and earn it on Tuesdays, it's
just another day at the market.
Part III of the market series 10/5/98
In most respects the marche that meets every Tuesday in Ouake is no different
than any of the thousands of other markets in Benin, but from what I've
seen in my time and travels so far, it's very different in at least one
way. For behind all the rows of vendors selling vegetables and household
goods past the place where you'd find parts for your bicycle, dead center
but out of the way begins the other side of Kassoua, the part that may
be the real reason people come from miles around. Here the aisles are
just as occupied as anywhere else in the market and what is being sold
and consumed with equal speed is called tchouk.
Made from Mille de Sourgo,* it tastes a bit like a rough red wine, looks
like muddy water, and has about the same effect as beer. It's served out
of massive buckets by at least 50 different vendors who ladle it out in
50 cfa increments to the crowds that sit circling them. The typical tchouk
hut is a thatched hovel with a gravel floor that is usually packed elbow
to elbow, anxious customers one and all. The vessel in which it's served
is half of a hollowed-out gourd and lucky or favored customers are offered
a small stand on which to rest the calibas, as they are called.
Most of the patrons are older men with thick harsh hands and brown or
rotten teeth. There are some women and a few younger boys, who usually
are noticeably drunk, but the majority are tired old farmers who work
all week for nothing more than the chance to drink a few gourds of tchouk
and the hope that someone else may offer to buy them one when they run
out of money.
The conversations to be had, if they are in a language I can understand,
are basically the same sorts of conversations one might find in most likely
any bar the world over. There is usually some talk of politics or news
events, and some funny stories. People talk about what they've accomplished
recently and what they hope to accomplish soon. They talk about people
who have died or things that concern them, but mostly they are there for
the tchouk and any opinions are of a secondary nature.
It is here in the tchouk section of the market that you'll find a combination
of all of the most interesting aspects of the marche every Tuesday and,
indeed, it is here that you'll find the true essence of the life of the
African peasant. To sum up the notion, it is in the tchouk huts of Kassoua
that some of the poorest men in the world have offered to buy me a drink.
*I tried to determine the name of the grain in English that tchouk
is made from, but had no luck. The best I could get was a combination
of French and the local language, so that is what I have presented.
END
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