3. Market Day

It’s my last morning here on the Amazon, and I’m excited to be in a skiff headed to the small community of Nauta for their weekly market day.  There’s a slight mist in the air, but it feels refreshing to me after the past few days of intense heat and humidity.  I’ve been warned that when we arrive, there will be a slippery 25-foot climb up an embankment.  It is usually submerged under water, making it easier to get to the shore.  I don’t think it will be a big deal, but when we arrive I see the people who have gotten off of the produce boats.  They’re struggling to carry their merchandise while trying not to fall downhill.  I change my mind about it “not being a big deal”.  I carefully get my footing and start climbing up the hill, stopping about halfway up.  I turn around and pan my lens across the scene.  I focus in on a boy who is carrying a huge stack of bananas on his back while trying not to slip and fall.  I hold my breath as he takes a few steps, readjusts and then takes a few more.  When he gets closer to me, I take his image.  I can hear heavy breathing as he passes by.  I watch him climb to the top, drop the large bunch of bananas and then come back down the hill and return to the boat.  He’s handed another huge stack of bananas, which he immediately hoists onto his back to start another climb.  He repeats this pattern over and over, and I think about how fatigued he must be.  It would be so much easier with a higher water level — the fruit could be tossed ashore from the boat…  I turn my attention from the boy to my climb up the hill.  Once at the top, I breathe in a wave of exhaust fumes from a passing tuk-tuk and immediately miss the pure air in the rainforest.  I shake it off and focus on how the vehicles are maneuvering through the crowd.  I remind myself to stay mindful of what’s happening around me so I don’t get hit while taking images of the people shopping on the sides of the road.  Eager to see the community, I start walking.  My eyes are first drawn to a man selling watermelons who is next to a woman selling palm leaves.  She is next to a woman selling mangoes.  The place is bustling.  People walk up and hop out of their tuk-tuks.  They leave their children safely seated inside while they load up their shopping bags and move down the row of vendors that line the dirt road.  My eyes and lens follow the action, and I work to stay out of people’s way, especially because I know they have only a few hours to shop and likely traveled a considerable distance to get here.  I think back to the market I visited in remote Ethiopia in January.  I was told that people walk for two to three hours one way to get supplies for the week.  I’m guessing that many of the people here have done that, or traveled by tuk-tuk or boat.  It makes me wonder about the women from the village I was in yesterday.  I think about how they might be here somewhere, doing their normal Tuesday morning shopping and trying to sell their baskets.  I wonder whether I’ll see them.  I cross the road and walk in the other direction, exploring with my lens.  A white bird is squawking and rapidly flapping its wings as it’s placed into a crate, and it grabs my attention.  I quickly take the bird’s image and then watch as two men work to unload the remainder of the chickens from a van and pack them into crates.  It looks like challenging work, but the men seem to have it under control.  I’m guessing that the birds will be sold in this market because I heard about an area for fish and meat on one of the back blocks.  I think about following the men with the crates to see what’s happening, but I decide not to.  Instead, I stay where I am along the riverfront.  It is much more interesting to watch life unfolding as people come off of the boats and join the flourish of action at the market.  My eyes drift back to the river, and I see that the boy is still bringing bananas up the hillside for people who are waiting in line to buy them.  I’m tempted to buy a small bunch, but then I remember that I’m flying to Lima this afternoon.  There will most likely be bananas on the breakfast buffet tomorrow morning.  When I’m in that city of 8 million people, I know I will miss this small community that thrives on its weekly market with street vendors selling what they can to survive.