Foreigners often find an African market stressful because of the bustle of activity that is found in the circle of stalls. I have found myself lost in many African markets and claustrophobic for release, finally finding an exit and gasping on the street for air. After many years and many African markets later I find that the chaos of the African market settles my mind and flurry of activity outside of my own world restful and intriguing. For those that love the American mall, the circus, or the state and county fairs may understand this love of activity and chaos.

Among the tables of the market place are sites of every color across the spectrum. Red habaneros, bright blue soap, iridescent fish, glowing and silvery in the sunlight, the brightness of women's dresses flash too and fro all around you. As you stand among the bustle your nose takes in the array of smells. Nothing seems familiar in this foreign place. In an American mall things have a new car smell and a mixture of perfume and Cindy's Cinnamon rolls. In the African market place the scent of spices permeate the air, along with the smell of overly ripe fruit, dried rotting fish, sewage dancing in the open gutter under the sunlight as the flies bounce on and off. There are the smells of the powders and perfumes for the ladies at the African wholesale “Perfumania.” I found a new powder the other day with a picture of the ugliest Indian I have ever seen wrapped in a towel on the cover of the bottle. Within all of these sights and sounds exists the hum of activity. Today in the market the price of fish was too high. The women crowded around the three tables with fish clucking to each other about the price. “800 cfa for 1 kilo absurd.” Ramale the cook and cleaner for the afluent Diatta family with whom I live, stands back and watches the sales of the fish. Considering what she will be unable to buy if she purchases the outrageously priced fish. She stands among the other women hoping that miraculously the price will drop. There was no weekly flier distributed to the women about the prices of the market. For them, each day is different, as far as I understand it no one sets the prices for the fish and the vegetables. Today everything just happened to be expensive, Ramele said even the onions were too expensive. Citing that Ziguinchor and Dakar are always cheaper. Yes its true, we hear this about everything, Ziguinchor and Dakar are cheaper.

Later after much discussion and crowding the women must buy the expensive fish, for meat is more expensive. So we buy less and use some of the fish from the freezer. We walk among the other stalls looking for okra for the soup we are preparing today. I do not understand the rhyme for which Ramele shops. She walks to a dozen tables only to return to the first one. When all the tables from the first to the last have the same items on them. At least to my eyes. To hers however she sees something different. We walk to the other side and purchase a spice, stop halfway in the middle for a couple of carrots. Return to where we started for bullion cubes. This dance between tables I do not understand. The moves are calculated and others understand their meaning. There does not seem to be offense to stopping at one table but not another. We know most of the sellers because there are only 35 sellers in the small hub in Oussouye. One woman lives next to our house and is the sister in law to Marcel, with whom I live. Her table appears to be our home base. We walk from her stand to others look and return. Ramale is plotting her purchases with great care. With purchases in had and $2 spent in the most careful way possible we have all that we need for the afternoon meal.

We leave the central part of the market and walk to the outer circle of stalls where household goods are sold. As far as I can tell most African markets are set up this way. The inner circle is the food portion while each concentric circle outward the goods get more expensive. On the very farthest circle towards the road and the shops in the surrounding buildings to the market are wholesalers of goods. Then in front of these wholesalers along the road you find the lowest on the totem pole of sellers, those with small roadside tables. Each evening all will disappear inside the shops and the only thing that will remain is the rubbish accumulated from a long days work buying and selling.