A Trip to the Market

In true Honduran nature, María and Florita were not ready the next morning when I arrived. I expected it and waited patiently while they went to their houses to change. My teacher Anny agreed to drive us there, but we would all have to take buses back. Once the women were ready, we headed off to the market.

Honduran markets are a great experience. At Mercado San Juan, Thursdays and Sundays are the busiest, and we wanted to ask permission to sell pottery those days. We went on a Thursday, and when we arrived people were swarming in all directions. It was impossible to park the Land Rover anywhere near the market, but we found a spot a few blocks away, parked the car, and headed in. Before reaching the door of the market there were hundreds of people selling produce. Women, men, or children sat on the floor, with a two by two piece of cloth laid on the floor with fresh carrots, mangoes, avocadoes, potatoes, lettuce on display for sale. It was interesting that they were all selling the same stuff at the same price. There was no kind of product or price differentiation, and usually whoever screamed the loudest got the most customers. Imagine hundreds of vendors screaming “Tengo mangoes, 3 por 10 Lempiras… mangoes… mangoes… mangoes” all at the same time. (You can substitute the word mangoes for avocadoes, lettuce and adjust the prices for each product, but the screaming was all the same). They especially liked screaming when you were getting close to them, which made it almost unbearable sometimes. Add to the mix a good 150 customers, and the sight was surreal. People came from aldeas near and far to buy produce at the market that day.

As we walked through the produce vendors, I suggested that María and Florita look around for possible places where they could place their pottery stand.

When we got near the door we saw a security officer (security officers are easy to identify because they wield shot guns… in this case the word “wield” means openly display their gun hanging from their belt). We asked him where the office of the administrator was and he happily agreed to escort us there.

Inside the market is a completely different world. There are stands selling any imaginable thing: flip flops, clothes, candy, cheap kids toys, fish on display with no refrigeration, meat, cooked food, cheese, tortillas, and beans. The stands inside are more permanent looking and the vendors are not as aggressive. It would have felt like a quiet heaven in there, if only there hadn’t been so many flies.

The administrator of the market is a Honduran man in his late thirties or early forties. He sat back in his chair with a lot of confidence. I was a little nervous. Honduran men have a reputation of being machistas and disrespectful to woman, especially young woman. I gave him a firm hand shake and told him that my friends and I were there to find out what the requirements were to start a stand on Thursdays and Sundays. He looked at me with a cocky smile on his face and listened.
He asked who we were. Some sort of organized group? I explained the Caja Rural and said I was with the Peace Corps (I am not allowed to say I am a Peace Corps volunteer until after swear in, but I am definitely with the Peace Corps). The name Peace Corps carries a lot of respect in Honduras and that changed his attitude a little.

He said Thursdays and Sundays are a special day for cooperatives of farmers to sell their produce and that nothing else is allowed unless you own a permanent stand. Permanent stands are prohibitively expensive, and we did not want the commitment of selling everyday.

“Is there anything you can do for us?” I asked.
“It is not up to me to make exceptions,” he responded.
“Whose responsibility is it?”
“The Board of Director’s”
“How do I get a hold of them?”
“You can write them a letter. They meet every Thursday and discuss issues like that. If you have a letter here by 3pm today (it was about 10:00am) I can hand it to them and they’ll consider your situation.”
“OK, you’ll have the letter by 3pm today.”

We shook hands again and I headed out. Of course I was wondering how I was going to write a letter and get it there by 3pm with no computer and no car to get back. There’s also no bus back to the learning center and I had to be back in class at 12:30pm.

I also knew this was our only chance and I had to make it happen.