there are two tuesdays each month that are special. they are the market days in mukono. basically everyone is selling everything and maybe anything. people seem to have come out of the crevasses of the town and have set up shop on the side street that parallels the main road. i actually stumbled upon it today when i went to buy vegetables and fruit, and found so much more.
this is the right place if you want vintage. like real vintage. like old american vintage. because mostly the market consisted of used shoes, old american tee-shirts and jeans, and then lots of plastic and tin household items. in between the piles of these things, were people selling dry rice and beans and olives, recently butchered chicken and small fish, and fabric. bota-botas (the motorcycle taxis) wove in and out between people and their wares. children were tied onto the backs of mothers and merchants took turns resting underneath tables that held their goods.
i admit i stuck out like a sore thumb. people wanted to practice their english 'how are you- i am fine!' or wanted me to 'please come and have a look!' it was impossible to be anonymous.
i was a little disappointed. i was hoping for a little more african and a little less old american. but in a way, what did i expect. in a way, africa is full of old american. it's second hand jobs, and left overs from other worlds- other wealthier worlds. old japanese trucks and cars, old american clothes and shoes. i once heard a story of a woman who traveled to west africa and saw a woman wearing her old sweater- one that she'd given away years before to salvation army- she asked if she could check the label and it actually had her name in it.
i'm a big fan of the vintage. some of my favorite clothes have come from second hand stores in the mission or haight street in san francisco. some of my favorite furniture and table clothes and art. i like them because they are different, they stand out, they are unique, they have histories behind them that go back farther than i do. but what if all i had was second hand- what if that was all there was- or all i could ever afford? i think it would be less cool. i think i would dream of new, crisp, folded, pressed, unwashed, unworn items with the tags still on. i think i would dream of not having to have other peoples histories wrapped up in mine. i would dream of being the original owner, i would want to be the first history maker.
so i bought the vegetables and some fruit and headed back up through the maze and i wondered if i'm the only one at the market thinking these things. this is this town's normal. this is probably mukono's 'target'. it's all relative and i'm bringing my histories to it.
i think in two weeks i'll come back and dig in. no really, i'll dig under the piles of tee shirts and find some good african fabric. but as the months wear on, and the kids grow and our clothes wear out from harsh soap and hand washing- i'll be back to buy some vintage- and i'll probably be so home sick i'll be glad it's old american.
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| looking up the street |
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| looking back |
this is the right place if you want vintage. like real vintage. like old american vintage. because mostly the market consisted of used shoes, old american tee-shirts and jeans, and then lots of plastic and tin household items. in between the piles of these things, were people selling dry rice and beans and olives, recently butchered chicken and small fish, and fabric. bota-botas (the motorcycle taxis) wove in and out between people and their wares. children were tied onto the backs of mothers and merchants took turns resting underneath tables that held their goods.
i admit i stuck out like a sore thumb. people wanted to practice their english 'how are you- i am fine!' or wanted me to 'please come and have a look!' it was impossible to be anonymous.
i was a little disappointed. i was hoping for a little more african and a little less old american. but in a way, what did i expect. in a way, africa is full of old american. it's second hand jobs, and left overs from other worlds- other wealthier worlds. old japanese trucks and cars, old american clothes and shoes. i once heard a story of a woman who traveled to west africa and saw a woman wearing her old sweater- one that she'd given away years before to salvation army- she asked if she could check the label and it actually had her name in it.
i'm a big fan of the vintage. some of my favorite clothes have come from second hand stores in the mission or haight street in san francisco. some of my favorite furniture and table clothes and art. i like them because they are different, they stand out, they are unique, they have histories behind them that go back farther than i do. but what if all i had was second hand- what if that was all there was- or all i could ever afford? i think it would be less cool. i think i would dream of new, crisp, folded, pressed, unwashed, unworn items with the tags still on. i think i would dream of not having to have other peoples histories wrapped up in mine. i would dream of being the original owner, i would want to be the first history maker.
so i bought the vegetables and some fruit and headed back up through the maze and i wondered if i'm the only one at the market thinking these things. this is this town's normal. this is probably mukono's 'target'. it's all relative and i'm bringing my histories to it.
i think in two weeks i'll come back and dig in. no really, i'll dig under the piles of tee shirts and find some good african fabric. but as the months wear on, and the kids grow and our clothes wear out from harsh soap and hand washing- i'll be back to buy some vintage- and i'll probably be so home sick i'll be glad it's old american.
