Market Studies

The market is a cacophony of scents. Flies buzz over the fish and chicken feet. Stacks of Maggi blocks and piles of pepper powder compete for space with raw onions, potatoes, collard greens and pineapples. Two boys, 10 and 11, stand at the back. Solomon balances a tray of tiny red and green peppers. His brother, Junior, in a navy blue Boy Scouts of America uniform shirt, smiles sheepishly. They each have pieces of old t-shirt wrapped around their heads like pirates. Tetee and I invite them back to the car, where we'll be able to hear their soft voices above the din. The market women in their bright-colored lapas eye us suspiciously as we lead them through the stalls. It's early afternoon and instead of school, here they are, like so many other children, selling rather than studying. Once in the car, after they're satisfied trying out the automatic locks and rolling the window up and down a few times, they tell us they came from Liberia's interior. The woman who brought them had been teaching them in exchange for farmwork. When her son died, she struck an agreement with the boys' parents to take them to the capital to help her and so that they could go to school. Well, she kept part of the bargain anyway. When we found her, crouched in front of her own tin of peppers, she explained that she was widowed and poor, and didn't have enough money to send the boys to school. She said she would, next year.