(cover photograph direction: Ene Ochayi)
The traders are shedding their colours, on the ground,
in heaps.
You will find saturated men here – loaded with debts and
sacks.
Katangua market will chew you up and spit you
out, into the waiting hands of the one who thinks a
breadcrumb
is better than none.
You will flow like a steady, slow stream of indecision past
pleading eyes, and pitch your tent with triumphant glee.
Newness
and freshness
is an aberration here, it must be worn or at least torn. They
call this place the
market of darkness, because the sellers don’t know what they
sell and the buyers don’t know what they buy. Their secrets
are hidden in bales, in stacks, in layers of people’s thoughts,
in nuances.
And even egregious innuendos. Here two adult men are sold
at the rate
of a comatose
Mitsubishi car and bought with the price of a bicycle spindle.
What you desire is not what you get, the only things that
touch your hands are the ones you know how to
bargain for.