Tonight, I had planned to write about the new market that just opened near my house. It is a building with a concrete foundation and a strong roof that should withstand the cyclones that come through each January. However, in the case of my neighbourhood market, there was a second incentive to finish by the end of September : federal deputy elections were this week and the current president lives nearby.
There have always been vendors around my house. Some sell in shops, some from simple tables, most from wooden shacks that line a steep, narrow cobblestone staircase. The families that run these épiceries are kind, honest, hardworking; when I come by for eggs or soap or rice they help me learn the malagasy words for each, and if I am out after dark a son or husband walks me home.
I wish I could write about the bright, proud faces of those vendors who moved into the new space. I wish the focus could be on the positive change in health and safety standards, on women’s empowerment, on ‘capacity building’. Instead I have to write about what I found this morning.
Crushed stalls, burnt tables. The broken bones of our fokotany. The old vendors and their merchandise has vanished overnight, and though I don’t have an answer yet, I suspect it has to do with the current government’s effort to ‘clean up’ Tana. These hardworking community members provided critical access to food staples for those who can’t make it to the downtown Zoma market, and many were saving up to eventually rent a stall in the shiny new space. Clearly somebody lost patience and instead of lending a hand, razed the block and with it the pulse of Anjohy, Trois Chemins.
What's in Season? Mandarins and strawberries are on their way out. Pineapple and mangoes are coming in....
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