27 June 2014: Kimironko Market

Of the things on my list from yesterday, most weren’t accomplished, but I did get to the Kimironko Market. It is really far away. Like, an hour’s commute. Kimironko is about as far to the northeast as urban Kigali goes, whereas Nyakabanda, where I live, is pretty nearly the far southwest. The map in the guidebook doesn’t even go that far, and the best it does is a half-hearted arrow of the right edge saying the market is somewhere over that way.

I had been nearby there last year, at the Kigali Institute of Education (where I will be returning on Monday)—or, at least, I thought this was nearby, so I got off of the minibus at that stop, or a little before. And then I walked in the direction of the arrow, thinking I didn’t want to miss it. I walked for about 20 minutes, with no sign of a market. Ultimately, I asked someone, who informed me that I had passed it a block earlier!¹

Last year I visited the markets in Kicukiro and Nyabugogo. What they had in common was a semi-open-air, and a wide variety of goods being sold; the latter was certainly larger, and I think Kimironko compared favorably in size.

It seems odd to call places like Food Emporium supermarkets, as though they are any larger, more varied or more expansive than these venues that have not been granted such a prefix. Perhaps the markets on which they are based were just substantially less impressive. There is definitely a difference in environment, and one has to appreciate the ease with which new American superstores can be built. Nevertheless, only the most truly massive Shaw’s or Stop&Shop really appears to outdo Kigali’s markets in size.

Kimironko Market takes up a whole large city block. The whole complex is under a massive, corrugated-metal roof supported by tall, wooden stakes that are evenly spaced several yards apart. It appears to be entirely naturally lit. “Inside,” one very large section is taken up by food vendors. Big platforms are set up in a grid, and almost all of them are piled high with produce.

It really seemed to be everything imaginable; one big area was all starches and powders, in huge, precarious piles, with salespeople sitting next to them ready with bags and scoops. Sometimes it was hard to walk in aisles because someone had almost blocked the way with a pile of potatoes; I squeezed past one woman, sitting against the wall, who looked like she had been there peeling turnips for hours if not years.

Most of the market was other things, though. People sold processed foods, tools, various supplies, artwork, souvenirs and clothing. In these areas, 20-foot-high wooden racks are set up, creating partial enclosures and a musty, dark feeling even in broad daylight. The racks are not reachable by hand, but vendors sit back on raise platforms within their enclosures and reach high targets with long sticks.

One of the more memorable parts, as I also remember seeing in Nyabugogo, was the multiple transverse aisles lined with women at sewing machines. They repaired clothing, and also made it from scratch, from cloth that was being sold just a few yards away. I had heard about this from a number of people, but I kind of thought they only made dresses. (I see lots of women wearing lovely, clearly-not-mass-produced garments all over the place here, and I know some Americans who have gotten themselves some too.) Someone told me they could do other things, too—which makes a lot of sense, you know—and offered ties as an option.

I thought that sounded cool, so I bought two big pieces of cloth, and asked a woman to use part of one of them to make me a tie. This experience made me realize that I really don’t know how to make decisions about these things; I tried to think which pattern would look good, and it wasn’t really coming… I hope the one I picked doesn’t come out looking too bad! She said to come pick it up on Monday.

Through all of this, I had a guide: a young man who approached me on the way in and asked where I wanted to go. He was wearing a green vest, so I think he worked there. It seemed I was expected to give him a tip, which was fine. And he did know his way around, which saved me a lot of time (albeit time I would have enjoyed getting myself lost). I told him I would explore on my own after awhile, and though I didn’t mean to buy anything, the avocado saleswoman did not have to do much convincing!

I bought two, at Fr. 250 each. That’s less than a third of the average price of an avocado in the U.S.,² and I was pretty excited, so I bought two of them. (My bag quickly became quite heavy.) Upon telling my host mother about this, she was surprised; she said they should have been 100 or 150, and that I had been overcharged because I was white. Her husband disagreed, saying it was actually more like 200.

Either way, I suppose it’s always slightly embarrassing to be profiled like that—but on the other hand, the implication is that I can get even cheaper avocados, so I am quite happy!³

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¹ I realize now that there is actually a bus terminal adjacent to the market, so I could have just taken the minibus to the end of the line.

² At current exchange rates, it’s about 36¢, whereas the Hass Avocado Board (whose website’s color scheme is wonderful) reports that the average price in the U.S. was $1.17 as of April.

³ The next day (Saturday), I ate one at lunch and one at dinner… ah well, guess I’ll just have to buy more!