|
A popular singer, Abdul, released a nostalgic song
about Mercato where he was born and bred. I went
there last weekend to look for a part of a door lock
set.
Stepping down from the taxi at what was formerly
called Eritrea Hotel opposite the Kagnew Hotel, I
was amazed to see a long line of Isuzu trucks
unloading freight at the doors of the shops already
stocked with textile and garments. Big bundles of
imported goods were being carried away in different
directions. All the shops and stores were full and
thick with imported goods and commodities.
I walked into one of the stores to have a glance at
the stock. Many of the large stores are wholesale
shops. One woman dealer of readymade garments told
me that most of her customers come from the regions.
They buy the textiles in gross. I could tell that
from the bundle of paper money she was carrying.
The big hall is segmented into dozens of retailing
stalls. Garments tied into bundles are piled up on
the floor. Displays of a few samples of garments and
footwear are suspended. There is hardly space to
step on. Almost all the goods are imports from
China. I went to other shops and retailing stores
and found the Chinese commodities flooding them.
Some customers were complaining about the lack of
options of items made elsewhere other than China.
I remembered the times when our elders complained
about the quality of goods and commodities
manufactured in Japan to be riff-raff. In fact,
there was a saying coined to infer cheap and poor
quality goods to be of Japanese make. Gone are those
days. It may not be too long before Chinese goods
and commodities are endeared like that of the
Japanese. There are consumers who are beneficiaries
of the globalisation and the fair trade competition
whereas there are those who are losers.
As I walked down the road, I felt that the
superlative adjective describing Mercato as the
largest "open" market in Africa is losing ground.
The openness is withering away with the times as
Mercato gets enveloped by new constructions growing
vertically utilising the open space that used to be
a virtue for Mercato. Every inch of space counts.
Transaction continues unabated even while
construction work is in progress. Ground floors are
temporarily opened. This holds true under all
weather conditions.
While I was there for instance, it was raining cats
and dogs. I had to take shelter at a small shop
beyond the Commercial Bank of Ethiopia (CBE) branch.
There were others doing likewise. Some consumers and
traders did not mind the downpour. Many held up
their umbrellas or plastic covers on their heads and
moved on when the rain started calming down.
The surface water drained down following its natural
course eroding everything from plastic bags to dead
rats. The sediment was like wastewater, dark and
grey in colour. An array of hundreds of people were
walking and running about up and down the labyrinth
and paths that led God knows where. The roads and
paths dried out soon out of the pressure. Normalcy
revived business as usual. The volume of noise rose
up to reverberate in the open air.
To a casual observer the hub of business starts from
below Mearab Hotel and the CBE branch office located
across the road that leads to the hub. The road is
very narrow and congested with people and vehicles,
most of which are taxis. You have to literally shove
and push the taxis and porters loaded with heavy
bundles trying to brave their ways out down the
alley to the large stall they call chid terra or
doro terra.
Chid terra
is where you find the largest jumble market in
Africa if not in the world. Doro terra is the
poultry stall where men and women traders endure the
foul smell of birds dead or alive.
Where do you think these traders dump dead birds?
Down by the river side behind them praising the Lord
that sends the downpour for hygienic services. I
have never seen or heard of any municipal official
ever visiting that wretched river, even during our
times of rhetoric on environment pollution.
The jumble market is where scrambles of all sorts of
man-made materials and their parts are quickly put
together or modified for sale. Of course it is also
a place where you can sell or give freely, if you
want, anything that you want to get rid of with
purpose. I would be surprised if there are no parts
of a boat if not a ship. Please keep on smiling
thinking that I might have gone too far as we are
living in a country that has no access to the sea.
But do not forget that we have boats at Bahr Dar
Lake, Margaret or even Lake Langano.
I was looking for a door lock set while a gentleman
was looking for an old knee-high rubber boot that he
would put on while tilling the land he has leased in
the Sululta neighbourhood. Mechanics or technicians
sit side by side on the roadside waiting for service
seeking customers. Some of them hammer and saw tides
and bits here and there. Further down there a
mountain of scrap iron and steel, parts of vehicles,
sawing machines, furniture and what have you.
On your right side you see a narrow path that
branches out into lesser tracks that slope down into
conglomeration of shelters that lean on each other
to stay put. Old pieces of corrugated iron tins,
broken but wrapped barbed wires, wire meshes, nuts
and bolts of all sizes all rusted are seen piled
here and there. I tried to venture a walk further
but stopped short as I encountered an unkempt
red-eyed fellow staring at me as if to finish me
from top to bottom.
I said to myself 'better eat cabbage and feel
healthy!' and left the place as fast as my old legs
could carry me.
|
