If I lived at the market.....

I am in Dnipropetrovsk, site of one of the largest markets in Ukraine. In addition to teaching, meeting with colleagues and running an English conversation club, I spend time in the Azerka market. Ostensibly, I do this to improve my Russian – the dominant language in this eastern Ukrainian town. Since both my purpose (to look or buy) and theirs (to sell) are clear, the scene is perfect for practicing a few Russian phrases over and over. “What is this?” “How much is this?” and so on.

The market covers an enormous area – several large city blocks – and sells everything from meat to whey, socks to furniture, crafts to raspberry bushes. Babushkas are there side by side with Azerbaijani pomegranate sellers and bored hired vendors. As I wander around, the patterns of activity continue. Do they ever stop? Even when the market is closed, vendors are moving goods in and out, purchasing stock from other merchandisers, settling up accounts, gossiping with others. It seems like the Azerka market never sleeps, which allows the impression that hundreds of people live at the market.

If I lived at the market, who would I be? Would I be the six-year-old who runs to get a snack for his mother? The person from the Carpathians whose brother-in-law’s cousin’s doctor’s son painted the little boxes, personally? The broom-maker? The woman who sells tea to the vendors from a metal cart, and picks up the latest news as she stirs heaps of sugar into the plastic cup? Would I be the one in a blue apron who sweeps around the “tyalets”? Perhaps the strong sixteen-year-old who is happy to demonstrate his biceps as he delivers huge dollies piled with bagged merchandise around corners and down alleys to his aunt’s stall. The hunched woman in her 90s, dressed in five layers, dispensing dried herbal medicines and advice. The dog who waits at the end of the day for scraps of lard from a woman who makes this task her daily charity. The sparrow dodging the metal roof rafters of the dried fruit section. Would I be the sweater seller who doesn’t look up from her dog-eared paperback as customers enter her tiny booth? Would I be the one who fries delicious cheese pastries for a steady stream of patient customers? Would I be the charming gray-haired university graduate who assures each customer, “This coat would fit you”? The vendor with hands worn red who never forgets a face, “Do you want some more lavash . . . .how was it”? The wholesaler who comes to each of her vendors once a week to monitor sales and inventory? The armed guard in a bullet-proof vest? If I lived at the market, would I be the woman in the scarf who displays three horseradish roots and four eggs? If I lived at the market, who would I be?