“The Apprentice”

I have been wanting to go into the Market in Cap-Haitien ever since we arrived.  In part it was necessity; most of my clothes missed the cut when I weighed my luggage (Photos (including digital photo frame that has not worked since I arrived), Alexa, PG Tips, rugby-ball were all non-negotiable).  However we also wanted to pick up some things for ‘work’ and items for our sanity too.  So also on the list were; two bases for beds, shoes into which a foot/ankle support would fit, cinnamon, T-shirts, socks, bananas (not plantain), vanilla essence, baking powder, flip-flops and an 8’ table-cloth. 

See, just like “The Apprentice” and as in the TV show as we shopped the trans-Atlantic culture and language differences between our physio from Louisiana and I surfaced.  Why did she not want me to buy cinnamon sticks?  Because ground cinnamon in a jar will last longer, and is easier to use.  Never heard of a grater?  We go to the indoor section and it is a torrent of hustle and bustle.  As we tip-toe between ever so narrow displays (on the floor), busy people push past, hurry us up and generally make clear their displeasure.  We buy some nearly new (well not too old anyway) Nike’s for 200 Gourdes (about £2).  We find some vanilla essence in a bottle, well it was labelled that anyway.  She asks if we can open and smell; there is a nod.  It smells to me like very, very sweet marzipan, so we move on.  But not before a laser-like death stare from the stall-holder.  Oh well, we did ask.  The gap between stalls widens as we near the exit, though it is soon narrowed as a guy on a moto squeezes past…?  Unfortunately the exit we chose leads straight out to the livestock section (well it’s all chicken actually).  Even to me it is slightly distressing.  I know how meat gets to my plate, and it’s not the smell, the legions of flies or the complete lack of hygiene.  I know our housekeepers shop here, so it’s that the actual meat on my actual plate came from this very place…

The people are so lovely in the market.  We ask a lot where to find different things, they grab us (well me if it’s a lady), our physio if the stall-holder is a man, and make us look and feel at whatever they are selling before giving direction and letting us go.  Other times a guy will grab us and lead us to his stall, with a cast iron guarantee he has what we want!  It is great fun, a real experience but sadly we can’t buy from everyone.

Every little thing is reused and recycled.  We come across a guy making cheese graters.  He has large (commercial sized) empty tins.  They have been washed a cut along their length into almost straight sections.  He is now making holes in them with a hammer and sharp nail.  They will soon be sold as cheese (or cinnamon) graters.  We have one here at the Volunteer Village!

As the day closes, I say to myself, “I could murder pint when we get back” and remember it’s still lent.