Fabric!

I have been admiring the gorgeous fabrics worn by the women here for weeks. My coworker kept promising me that she would take me to by some “tomorrow”. In this culture, I have found that expedient behavior is unusual. I considered going into the market by myself, but was reluctant for the fear that I would be overcharged since I am a foreigner. One morning however, after I had run errands at the bank and my co worker was still occupied at a different office, I decided to venture in. I walked to the edge of the taxi rank and found a path which lead into the market. I vaguely remembered some of the lanes from my prior visit with Joy. I had no idea exactly where the fabric was sold however so just walked straight. I was absolutely the only foreign person in the market. I nodded and smiled at the numerous “hellos” and “good morning” greetings I got which it took me awhile to realize, were only directed at me. I instead began greeting people with the local “desaba” and responding with the “Naahh”. This elicited yet more giggles and gossip about this lost looking white person daring to enter the marketplace. I continued walking straight, past the vegetable stands with onions, tomatos, yams, some other type of root vegetable, cabbage and chili peppers. The smells alternated between the putrid odor of human and animal excrement, to the enticing smell of chopped garlic and other spices.

On my left I finally saw the exciting hues of the local fabric. I explained to the man that I wanted to photograph the cloths to show my friends so that they could pick some out to be bought. He frowned and asked me which ones I would buy. I did see a few nice ones and soon became over zealous and began selecting not only ones that I loved, but almost any that I didn’t dislike. The fabrics are almost all bright colors with bold contrasting colors. There are abstract patterns, geometric designs, birds, shoes, purses, flowers or butterflies printed on the background colors. Most of them are a similar texture to stiff linen-maybe there is a name for it but I don't know much about cloth. Some fabric has glitter on it, some has dots some has criss crosses some has squares some has a pattern which looks similar to Indian paisley. There are bright, loud colors and some pieces which are pastels, there are ones that have an obvious background color and others that are a whole mix and swirl of colors. The man charged me 7 cedis a yard, which is less than the 9 I paid in Accra. I bought about 4 fabrics, 2 yards each and promised to return. I was so pleased with myself and happy to finally have some cloth in my hands. I called my co worker to see if she was ready to go to work but she was still busy at the other office. I knew we had planned to visit the seamstress soon but also was aware of how vague a term “soon” was. I knew we had walked from the market to the seamstress the first day, to drop off the pieces I had bought in Accra. I headed in that direction, and texted my coworker for the seamstresses number and how to get there. I knew her office had been in a small yard within a neighborhood which seemed sort of like a village in the middle of the city. I knew I was around the right latitude because we had come onto the street across from the big white mosque. I asked someone in a local shop if they knew Perfect, the seamstress. He shook his head but suggested I ask at the tailor down the block. I did and one of the men nodded in recognition. I was relieved and asked for directions. He explained that while it was not far, it was hard to get to and I would never find it alone. He offered to take me and I thanked him profusely. I waited as he put on sneakers instead of his flip flops. He was a tall man probably in his 40s, the woman in the store had also nodded so I took that as a good sign of safety. I followed him as he turned into a small path away from the street.

The area was made of mud and wood buildings, built around wide lanes of dirt. A group of cows stood nonchalantly in the middle of one space and we gave them a wide berth. I couldn’t control my gleeful smile when I saw two baby goats playing with each other and pointed at them, the man gave me a sideways glance and continued walking ahead of me. I nodded and greeted small boys lounging on a tree root, and smiled at an older woman at the front of a store selling various packaged foods. Women made jeering sounding comments to my guide and he asked me where I was from. When I told him he just nodded once. It was a challenge to keep up with him as he wound deftly through the neighborhood, and I agreed that I never would have found my way alone. I marveled at how kind it was of him to interrupt his day to show me around. I wondered if I should give him a tip, if that was expected or would be considered rude. I recognized the fence and door of the seamstress and was relieved to see her open the door. Perfect, is a chubby woman with a broad smile, probably in her 30s. She chatted with the man and I explained that I wanted knee length dresses with various style tops. I saw some dresses that were finished, the work was well done with ruffles and bunches and stylish designs. I thanked her and followed the man back out to the main road. On the way I was seriously tempted to scoop up an adorable, puffy yellow baby duck, but couldn’t imagine what the man would say to that. He veered off to his store and said “goodbye” as I thanked him again. He made no pause for compensation so I was again in awe of how helpful he had been and wondering how often in the U.S. anyone is that kind.

Joy was still not ready by the time I reached the center of town again. Now my confidence had increased and I decided to explore the other side of the market area. Along the outside I found a woman who had some plain fabric for only 3 cedis which I thought would look nice mixed in with pieces of the bright colors. She only charged 5 cedis for the colored pieces and I felt frustrated with my earlier impulse purchases. I came across another cloth seller and was intrigued to note that these styles and even materials were totally different! Some had a plastic like feel almost like a placemat, which I decided would make a beautiful tablecloth. At this point, Joy called urging me to hurry up since we were late, a frustrating and common trend of waiting and waiting and then being called multiple times to suddenly be ready immediately.

The next day, Joy said we would visit the seamstress she had taken me to meet the first day. I was ready at 9am as agreed upon, only to receive a message from her saying she would instead go in the evening. I was annoyed at having woken up so early on a Saturday, and was dressed and ready to go. I read for awhile, watched some Ghanian TV and then decided to go back to the market since I now had specific requests from friends and family for particular styles. I also looked forward to improving my bargaining skills and to be more selective about the pieces I bought.
I had been meaning to wash my water bottle since I had been using it for a week, but was constantly faced with the dilemma of only having bar soap and the water being contaminated, I kept waiting until I could find some dish soap which I felt would be more sanitary. Hence, I did not bring any water with me, which would later prove to be a poor choice. Anita asked if I would first have lunch but, as I was ready to go already and didn’t think I would be very long, I declined.

I loaded on the sunblock, realizing that I would now be going out at the hottest point of the day, and added a hat to shade my face. I took a taxi to the central part of town, not knowing exactly where to get out. When the driver began to pull away from the market however I asked to get out only to be told that the car doesn’t stop here. Confused, because it had appeared that they would let you out anywhere you asked, I waited a few more blocks until he pulled to the side. I shouldered my purse and first headed to the ATM. It was currently out of service so I walked across the street to another bank, which was also out of service and even remembered a third bank I had noticed with an ATM only to find that it was not in working order either. I had some cash on me so decided this would be a good way to fight against the impulse buying since I would have to pick out a piece and return for it later.

I entered the market from a different side this time, smiling and greeting with the afternoon “antani” and responding with the same answer of “naah”. The first fabric booth I found was owned by an energetic and chatty young man who joked that he was from L.A. when I told him I was from the U.S. It actually took a few minutes for me to realize he was joking. I explained to him that I was looking for a piece that had a dark blue base with orange and yellow patterns. He had none so he picked up a lime green and red one, commenting on how nice it was. I informed him that I was also looking for an orange based one at which point he picked up a mustard yellow option and suggested it. I wasn’t sure where the communication breakdown was but thanked him and continued walking. I paused at the next fabric booth which was not as well stalked, and had to hold my breath while gazing at the patterns since breathing in would mean experiencing a ghastly fume whose source I could not identify. I moved on quickly and began to comprehend just how many fabric sellers there were in the market. Almost every block of every lane had a booth either dedicated to or featuring cloth. I chided myself for my previous naivete and wondered if I could exchange any of the pieces I had already bought. Reasoning that the mantra a friend suggested when I went to India was “buy as much fabric as you can and when you get home you’ll wish you had bought more” was just as valid here, I let it go. My only worry was fitting everything into my suitcases but if I had to donate some of my “safari” outfits and first aid supplies it would be fine. I spent the next hour wandering around the market becoming increasingly selective in which pieces I liked and how much I would pay. I began to consider if some would be better for dresses, skirts, curtains, gifts or if it was nice to look at here, but not something I would really use at home.

I visited the ATM and found that it was now working and withdrew money. This is always a nerve-wracking process because since I stand out so much I am always half expecting for someone to try to rob me as soon as I walk away from the security guard at the bank. I reassured myself by thinking how much I was contributing to the economy through my large purchases of fabrics. I had gotten pretty used to looking down or away whenever I passed the booths displaying large hunks of meat. Entire legs of cows and pieces of what I imagined must be goat, cruel I thought since there were live ones wandering around right in front, were sitting, uncovered on the wooden counters. I shuddered as I saw the flies buzzing around and the men casually flicking them away, and was sure that if I wasn’t already a vegetarian, the sight of that would convert me. I was looking down at the ground as I passed through a narrow lane with a butcher on one side, but right as I went by, I could see the man raising his arm high into the air, and felt more than saw him bring down a machete with a loud and vibrational thwack. I shuddered, noticing a hoof which had fallen on the ground, and involuntarily gagged. I held my breath as I walked as quickly as possible through the muck filled ground until I reached an area sweetened by the smell of perfumes from a cosmetics booth. I took a few deep breaths, wondering if I should call my shopping for the day over. I still had not found the fabrics requested by people at home so I resolved to continue. It was very hot and humid in the marketplace and I tried to remain in the shady parts as much as possible. Sweat dripped down my back as I meandered among the blocks.

I found one booth which had two ideal pieces, but there was no one apparently working there. I enjoyed the freedom to stare and take in the many patterns without having someone attentively watching me or suggesting colors. Once I had fully decided that these were the two I wanted I tried asking the girl in the booth across if she knew who worked there. She was about 12, and covered her head with a pink hijab. When I asked her how much a certain piece was per yard, she said, 45. Sure that we had miscommunicated, I explained that I only wanted to buy 3 yards so how much would that be. She stated that I would have to buy all 6 yards, showed me the label and said that she could not cut the cloth. When I explained that I did not want the whole piece and it was much too expensive, she suggested that I come back later when her sister was there. I moved on to the next booth. Two young boys, around 8, lay on the cement floor in the shade. I greeted them and stepped in to look at the cloth. I asked the price of a shiny green and gold fabric and one boy disappeared, returning almost immediately with an older man wearing a long robe. He eagerly cut me the two yards at 5 cedis and then invited me to come look at his shop next door. He didn’t seem to understand much English, and was missing most of his teeth. His beard was mostly white and his eyes looked watery. I was glad to find two types which I liked, but he said that one of them cost 10 cedis a yard. I had seen this same cloth before for 5, but now realized it was the best fit for my friends request. I argued with him saying that I could buy it somewhere else for just 5, and that I would just take the one other piece. He lowered it to 7, but I had no reason to pay more than I needed to and had every intention of going back to the other booth for a better price. After I had paid for the 5 cedi cloth, he cut the 10 cedi one into two yards and folded it up and handed it over. I said that I would only pay the 10cedis for two yards and he finally agreed. I felt bad since he was so eager for business, but I also did not want to allow myself to be ripped off.

I walked for awhile through an area in the market which seemed to be solely dedicated to food. I passed bowls filled with various types of flour, where women used a mortar and pestle to mash up maize, beans and other items into a fine powder. Pasta was displayed in a large bowl, available to buy in small bags of the dry noodles. Every time you make a purchase in the market, the sellers insist on putting it into a black plastic bag. When I explained that I could just put the cloth into my purse, they shook their heads and sometimes put each piece into its own bag. I chided myself for not bringing any of the reusable grocery bags so common at home now. I was getting better at navigating the traffic in the small lanes, girls ducking with large bowls on their heads, children crawling on the ground, and trying to avoid the spit some men hacked out as they passed. I also became more used to being the outsider and didn’t allow myself to be stopped and asked my name at every booth. I finally found an orange fabric that would suffice and asked for 3 yards. A teenage girl, considerably overweight wearing multiple pieces of mix matched fabrics around her waist and a striped tank top said that I had to buy the whole thing. At this point I was tired, hungry and ready to leave so I tried to reason that if I bought 3 it would still be good for her business. An older woman I would guess was her mother came by and seemed concerned. I began to walk away and the woman then asked me to buy 4 yards. I explained that it was for someone who was a different size than me, but not giant, so since I had been buying 2 yards for myself, 3 would be plenty. She seemed puzzled and kept saying I had to buy 4. I knew that was more than I needed and was relieved when a passing girl stopped to explain to her what I meant. The woman finally relented and cut me the 3 yards, giving me the expected price of 15 cedis total.

I was now exhausted and dehydrated. I was disoriented and wandered around asking where the taxi rank was. I was in no mood to dawdle and when some of the men asked me to be their friend I angrily snapped “I’m married!” and moved on. This seems to be the only line which will fend off their advances, saying you have a boyfriend means almost nothing and engaged doesn’t really count either. I finally found my way to the taxi area. I went to the general area where the SNITT taxis are and was told to get in. I was the first to enter which meant I would have to wait until the car filled up to go. A young boy walked past with a tray of water pouches on his head. I had been told that this water should be alright to drink, as long as it bore the official seal of the filtration company and was sealed. He walked past and I stared at it longingly, chiding myself for not bringing my water bottle. A wave of fatigue overcame me sitting in the hot car and I was momentarily afraid I would pass out. I had to make the difficult decision between dehydration and the possibility of the water being contaminated. I asked how much it was and he said 5 pesewas, basically 1 cent. I bought the water. It is a roughly 5 x 5 plastic pouch which you bite a corner off of and drink. I hesitated, wondering where the package had been and wishing I had something to pour it into. Sweat dripped down my face and I ripped into the bag. The water, somehow, was cold and the life force tasted delicious as I drank it up like a vacuum. I felt my body relax and revive as I finished the last possible drops of water. I sighed, satisfied, and hoped I wouldn’t regret it later. The taxi was now full and we drove back to my neighborhood where I spent the afternoon reading at my apartment.