The Market

Today Mark took me to the market in Jinja (est. pop. 200k).

The sites and sounds were overwhelming. Fish, grains, berries, pineapples, diesel, waste, mixed with sweat, heat, shade, voices, english, Lusoga, buzungu (White persons). You have to always watch where you are walking as a motorcycle might be hiding righ around the way. Trucks come zooming through with a dozen men in the back of the bed.

First glance, it's weird, hectic, chaotic, and downright intimidating.

People on top of people on top of more people.

But then I took the second glance that mystics talk so much about. And then I see him. Over in the corner, I see an older man, hunched over, with creases or crows-feet, around his eyes. He's weaving something together. I imagine myself walking over to him.

"Hello sir."
"Hello."
"How are you?"
"Fine."
"What are you making."
"I'm making tents. My name is Paul. Not here for long. Just here to encourage some friends. Trying to make a little money while I'm here. What can I make for you?"

"Oh," I think to myself. So much more going on than I normally allow myself to see.

"You've already made enough," I stammer walking away trying to dodge the S.U.V. driven by a married couple from Switzerland, on their way to raft the Nile.