 |
| Bhekie in his shop. |
 |
| A bowl vendor in his shop. |
It’s 2:30 P.M. and we walk quickly back across the border without incident and take a taxi to the Victoria Falls craft market. The craft market is a sprawl of stalls encompassing several blocks. We begin methodically, trying to walk the grid of tiny shops, but each vendor demands that we stop and look at his wares; to support his craft and whines that he has not had any business that day. The market is almost void of tourists and I feel for their plight, but am uncomfortable with such pressure. Some days ago, the Davidson Camp used lovely, geometrically painted wooden bowls to hold fruit and to pass out the heated towels. I see similar bowls at this market and choose two at one of the first stands. The price starts at $35 each and we settle at $20 for two. Each shop offers slightly different designs and before long I have acquired 6 or 7 bowls. They are now nested and tightly bundled for transport and I have lost count. We mill around the market, many eyes watching, and a few vendors shadowing us. If I am momentarily absorbed in a possible purchase and John wanders off, when I look up, someone takes my arm and points to appraise me of John’s whereabouts. They all wish to be helpful: I surmise in the hopes of securing a bowl sale from me. John’s wish is to buy a carved chess set and he tortures the vendors with his discerning eye and eventually bargains for a board from one stall and chess pieces from another. Although, I would not have made this purchase, I am pleased that he is taking time with his decision and spreading out the wealth between two vendors.
 |
| Making friends at the Crafts Market |
I pop into a covered market arcade, leaving John to finalize his chess set purchase. My eyes adjust to the dim light and I realize that stalls in this arcade are operated by women only. They too pressure me to buy something to support them, but there is a different energy here. I walk halfway into the arcade and turn around to exit when a group of women in the back implore me to come see their tiny stalls; ” Just look please.” I walk to the back and am emotionally overwhelmed by the impossibility of it all. One young woman reminds me of my daughter Alisha, full lips and wide set eyes, but with a milk chocolate complexion. She is 25 years old with two children, the same ages as my grand children. I wish that I had made my purchases from these women and tell them so, tears welling up in my eyes. One of them holds out a set of 5 carved wooden spoons and quietly asks if I will buy these for $1 to help support them and to remember them. I gather up the courage to ask if I may photograph them; hoping not to offend them, and explain that for me, it would be a better memory. I feel very awkward and offer $5 to be shared between them if I may take photographs. They all speak quite good English and our photo “contract” relieves the tension. I take a few photos and they push close around me to view their images in the back of my camera and we talk and laugh for nearly 20 minutes.
It is nearly 4:30 P.M. and time is running short if we wish to walk to the falls at sunset. I urge John to finish his purchase and sit on a low dusty block wall to wait. We have spent nearly 2 hours here and the faces of the various vendors are now familiar. Several gather around me and ask what I do for a living at home? They know that I have made my purchases and stop pressuring me to buy more. I tell them that I am a jeweler and pull out one of my folding cards. I am down to my last two of these cards and tell them that I cannot give it to them, but pull out a “Marty Magic Safari” post card to leave with them. One of the younger men pulls my web site up on his cell phone and I try to explain that I too sell at “markets,” but that each artist has a unique product so that the competition is not the same as here. The conversation is fun and easy and I take a few quick photos of them gathered together. I wished that we could stay longer but leave with an e-mail address and promises to send the photos to them when I am back home.
It is nearly 4:30 P.M. and time is running short if we wish to walk to the falls at sunset. I urge John to finish his purchase and sit on a low dusty block wall to wait. We have spent nearly 2 hours here and the faces of the various vendors are now familiar. Several gather around me and ask what I do for a living at home? They know that I have made my purchases and stop pressuring me to buy more. I tell them that I am a jeweler and pull out one of my folding cards. I am down to my last two of these cards and tell them that I cannot give it to them, but pull out a “Marty Magic Safari” post card to leave with them. One of the younger men pulls my web site up on his cell phone and I try to explain that I too sell at “markets,” but that each artist has a unique product so that the competition is not the same as here. The conversation is fun and easy and I take a few quick photos of them gathered together. I wished that we could stay longer but leave with an e-mail address and promises to send the photos to them when I am back home.
John and I hurry away, needing to offload our purchases at the hotel before walking to the falls.
P.S. After returning home, I followed up on my promise and e-mailed Bhekie and Magret, the woman dressed in pink. I sent one large box of good used clothes to them and am negotiating a purchase of bowls and fabric place mats that will be shipped to me soon.