An evening colourfull picture showing the Gondar Market, Ethiopia, at sunset. It is a dirty road, on both sides the stands of the market are overfilled with fruit, people dressing local trad clothes walk up and down. The sky is covered by dark clouds
Gondar Market (Ethiopia) Credit Rod Waddington

Market, a carnival for the senses

Hands as a swarm of butterflies, touching, checking, picking, eyes as a rain of crystal drops bouncing on the colourful surface of the market, voices and noises intertwining a funny melody of chaos. Markets are a carnival for the senses, a storm for the mind

A piece of sky and a fluffy cloud floating lay quietl in between a strange collection of old knick-knacks with no other value but time. I pick up the mirror, this simple gesture changes the reality, the sky vanishes and my little doppelgänger appears with the market on the background. I put back the mirror and the world hidden behind it, and I say good by to the seller. The old man is a bit disappointed for the trade he lost.

The girls of the bakery smell of cinnamon and flour, right in front of their sugary world the guy of the cheese’s stand looks at them lost in the sweetest thoughts. A vessels sails in a sea of books, a little child runs away happily with his new puppy, a piglet who does not look to understand what happens and why all that rush?

Gently the time caressed the picture, day after day, there was a house and a family sitting in front of it, now the picture shows just a light reflection in the mist, as the place has been a dream and who were persons just spirits of a forgotten time.

Vegetables as woods, I would be as little as an ant to explore such forests, but an earthquake of hands shakes the spinach and make me change idea.
The seller of the second hand clothes, as stroke by a heavenly inspiration, shouts the greatest deal ever, his own life looks bounded to the result of the trade.

A bartender, slim as a leaf, stretches his arm up to the sky, he is like a lighthouse standing in front of a storm of people, the tray swings, inclines, trembles but the cup of coffee arrives safely to the old lady selling wicker baskets.

The cunning fishermen with patience and constance took out from the darkness of the underwater, from the secrets hidden down the cliffs, from the sands where treasures chest and the spirits of dead pirates lay, the secret life of the sea, a strange collection of creatures waiting to be cooked.

There was the same darkness of a cave in their belly, but the knife of the slaughter brought light, and the finest crafts transformed the stomach of an animal in ham and sausages. Her name is lost but her beauty is kept forever: from the portrait she gazes with eyes full of mystery, we will never know her thoughts.

Hands as a swarm of butterflies, touching, checking, picking, eyes as a rain of crystal drops bouncing on colourful stands, voices and noises intertwining a funny melody of chaos. A market is a carnival for the senses, a storm for the mind. I would not be surprised if somebody is selling souls or exchange identity or trading with memories, nor to find an old witch who knows the potion of the eternal youth.

A Market is a mirror of the economy, the belly of the city, the place where everything gather, and the scenery of a dense human life, a place where we can see all the social stratas. All that goods travelled through time and places to gather here, in the market. We can learn a lot just strolling around the colourful stands. The origin of the product teach us about economy, the attitude of people is an insight on social life and cultural behaviours: markets are a resume of a country, a concentrated of knowledge, and a funny unexpected scenery of our travels.

 

Leandro Perez Zambullo

A bird took my father, and my mother married a fish. I was born one leg in the air, one in the water was. That day sea and wind pulled so hard, that in two broke my chest. My heart fell in a well, and when I want to know who I am, I have to drink a lot.
I am Leandro, content writer at OTW.

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