Market Magic

-->

The other day we had a really fun excursion to the market place. One of the initiatives I’ve been working on is an animal sponsorship program where American families can purchase animals for Haitian families in the La Croix community. The program has a little bit of a complicated structure, so most of the time I’ve spent working on it has been at a computer, but Tuesday was great because it took me away from my computer and off to the market where we got to buy the animals.

We got going around 8:00 AM. Tuesdays are market days for animals in L'estere, and there are people from all around selling livestock. We park the car in a less populated ally way and made our way down the street. There is no formal street parking in Haiti like in the US, but we found a spot sufficiently tucked away, and left the car hoping no one would bother it. We started walking around, and pretty quickly we were right in the middle of the bovine trade. The market isn’t as much of a place as it is an event. There is no one central place where the market convenes, rather it is a collection of open spaces all over L’Estere proper; each small square foot occupied by someone making, selling, or buying something. The large items (i.e. cows and goats) are sold in the large open spaces, while small shops selling produce and everyday goods occupy the sidewalks. Some shops consist of standing wood structures, but most sellers just sit out in the open with their goods in a basket sitting before them. Some goods, mostly small items, are sold by street hawkers traveling throughout the market with their goods in a cardboard box a top their heads. Some hawkers sell cigarettes and soda, some sell small bags of drinking water. Everyone seems to be sucking on these small bags of water, and the ground is littered with the used plastic bags. There are some hawkers with huge boxes full of medications. There isn’t exactly an FDA to regulate how prescriptions and medications are dispensed, so most every pill in Haiti is considered “over the counter” and sold on the street out of a cardboard box. In between every ally and on all of the roads there is a constant buzz of motorcycles flying in every direction. Each motorcycle is taking something somewhere. Some have four or five people on them, some have sacks of charcoal or corn, and some have animals tied up and sandwiched between two riders. Every now and then a large platform truck would come through, park, and unload its contents, never seeming to notice the masses of people moving around it. Every open space has something going on, and its all going on very quickly.

We were following Pastor Evans to an open lot filled with people, motorcycles, and cows. This was the area where all of the cows were traded. There was no designation of this area to be the cow spot, but it was one of the largest open areas sandwiched between two buildings, and through the magic of the market, all of the bovine herders congregated there. We then stood to the side while Pastor Evans went into the market and started bargaining with one of the herders. Once we parked ourselves at the edge of the cow area, we kept a safe distance from Pastor Evans. If we, five white people, were associated with a buyer, the price of the cow would immediately double. Pastor Evans started working the crowd and looking for the best deal. Buying an animal takes a fair amount of skill. First of all Pastor Evans had to appear to have no association with us. He then had to size up the cow without looking interested, and then inquire in such a way without giving his interests away. Sometimes he has to ask about another cow he’s not interested in, giving him grounds to ask for a reasonable price for the cow next to it. We sat by the side for about an hour or so while Pastor Evans selected four healthy cows.

Though we tried to be inconspicuous, our pale white skin couldn’t help but draw attention. We eventually moved back into an ally way, and were able to get up on a platform and see the entire cattle trading area. When we were standing in the middle of it, the whole place seemed chaotic, full of man, beast, and machine, pushing each other in every direction. Yet from afar it seemed to flow with an almost perfect rhythm, every buyer and seller moving with precision and purpose. We got the cows and then went to get some pigs. We had a few of the mission employees who took the cows back to the mission while we went to get the pigs, which was fortunate because the area where the pigs were traded was pretty small area right near a river. I can’t imagine that anything good coming from four cows sharing a small space with a bunch of rowdy pigs.

We got to the pig trading spot and Pastor Evans went and started working his magic. The area was  smaller, so our relationship was evident. We stood back, trying to give Pastor Evans some distance while we took in everything around us. I’ve never seen so many pigs in one spot, and I now have a new appreciation for the phrase “happy as a pig in slop”. As I looked around, a man came up to me and asked me what I was doing there. His English was choppy, but we started talking. I told him that I was from the US, that I was apart of a church, and that I was here to buy pigs. He then asked me for money. I told him that I didn’t have any money to give him, and then he started berating me. He said that he was from a church and was a good man. He said that he had a big church and that he needed the money for the church. I wanted to ask him what he, as the pastor of a big church, was doing surrounded by a bunch of pigs on a Tuesday morning, but resisted the temptation. The more I said no, the more he talked at me, saying that I should give him money because he’s poor and I’m rich. Now even if I did have money on me, giving him money would have been a terrible idea; everyone around me would have started asking for money, and before too long a riot might have ensued. Unfortunately this guy wasn’t the only one to expect a handout, because right as he started with me, Roland (the best translator and cultural ambassador I've ever worked with) started arguing with a few of the other swine herders. The guys selling their pigs blatantly told Roland that our party should give them money because we were rich and they were poor. Roland asked them what they wanted to buy, and they replied “Alcohol and something to smoke”. They then started screaming and gesticulating wildly at Roland. I know that my skin color makes me stick out like a ink mark on a white sheet and I know that white skin implies wealth in Haitian culture. I don’t know how many white people these men had encountered and how often they ask for money, but their attempt could not have been more poorly executed. I truly want to help the community around me, and I would love to try to help these exact people if I could, but I think that dishing out free money to angry swine herders looking to get drunk at 11:00 AM while standing in a congested market place might bring on a mess of new problems.

We didn’t get any pigs, but we avoided a fight so I think the over all trip was successful. We made one last trip to a less congested market place where John, an American baker who is mentoring a Haitian baker, could buy some flour. Flour is not a staple in Haitian cuisine the way it is in America, so the flour was sold at a higher end section of the market. This area had a paved road but no cars coming through, just a few motorcycles and a few hawkers moseying around. This section, like all others, had no specific designation. There were still people sitting on the sidewalk selling produce from their baskets, and there were standing shops with every day commodities. Yet some how the magic of the market designated this spot as the spot to buy higher end products. Some how all of the people selling the high grade flour and other luxury items decided to get together in the same place. There was no centralized logic to the market, there was no centralization whatsoever; there aren’t even any zoning codes. In the market nothing is really planned; people just coalesce at one spot and collectively figure out the most efficient division of space. The swine herders naturally gravitated toward the muddiest area near the river, the bovine sales were conducted in the largest open space, and the higher quality goods were sold in the most peaceful area. Without any single mind making a single decision, the rhythm of the market allocated the best spaces it could offer.

From the center of the storm, the Haitian market seemed hopelessly chaotic. There were all forms of man, machine, and beast demanding your attention, forcing themselves forward, and creating a sense of complete pandemonium. You can’t help but feel lost and almost threatened when you first walk in to the market. Yet once you take a small step back and look at the market as a whole, once you see the market as a single living thing rather than mess of individual people, the sense of irrationality transforms into succinct reasoning, the frenzied interactions between buyer and seller begin to reveal a sense of purpose, and Haiti’s noise becomes a unique melody. We tend to think Haiti is hopelessly disorganized and the only road to success is a series of complicated policies executed be from an outside force. But looking at Haiti's chaos from the center, and seeing it as a whole organism rather than smattering of different activities, conveys a different message. Everyday Haitians, when they work together, can do pretty well for themselves. Helping Haiti might mean helping Haitians do what they do best.