EACH morning, a small miracle happens at markets around this country. It’s the ‘dance’ that takes place among the vehicles, pedestrians, vendors and market workers pushing loaded hand carts or carrying ‘loads’.

Outside of Stabroek Market, on Water Street, the ‘ dance’ is taken to another level – from the continuation of Brickdam to Longden Street.

Here, between stands on both sides of the road, cars, mini-buses, trucks motor bikes, bicycles and pedestrians jostle for position as they wend their way, narrowly avoiding collisions and accidents from minute-to-minute.

And then there are the sounds. Horns blowing, music blasting from vehicles and stands, and vendors calling out to potential customers – ” Wuh ya shoppin mummy?

“Ah gat de leggins hey.”

I have heard reggae, hip hop, dancehall, gospel music and even Denzel Washington’s motivational talks, echoing in the air, interspersed with calls of, “good morning” , “Have a blessed day” or “Y’all move out de way ah comin thru”.

In the early morning, vendors, setting up their stands, talk about their children, the weather, fellow vendors, sometimes laughing uproariously, their bodies in constant motion.

They untie the ropes around their stands, unpack goods, arrange produce and generally prepare for the day’s business with the ease of people who have had many years of practice.

And the scene at Bourda Market is similar, though with the presence of produce trucks, coming from as far away as Black Bush Polder on the Corentyne and lining North Road, between Orange Walk and Alexander Street.

Produce is sold directly in wholesale or retail quantities from the trucks and the sellers’ calls are accompanied by the steady hum of traffic coming, travelling west on North Road, east on Church Street. A brisk trade is also carried out on Robb and Bourda Streets as well as Orange Walk.

The Port Mourant Saturday market mirrors the scene at the other two, with a quarter of a mile of stalls lining the main road outside the market, sometimes on both sides of the roadway. So the criss-crossing of the road takes place all the time, which adds to the general organised chaos of perhaps the biggest market in the country, when you combine the covered and uncovered parts.

On my first visit to the Port Mourant one Saturday morning, I saw a Muslim seller of ‘sweet oils and incense’ that I would regularly purchase from Stabroek Market.

We both smiled, me with surprise, as we recognised each other.

” Wuh you doing hey?”, I asked him. He told me that his Saturday sales made the journey not only worthwhile, but provided a welcome break from Georgetown.

“I does mek good money hey in one day, ‘mummy’,” he told me, adding:
“An is good fuh get away from de city sometimes”.

The first place I ate something called ‘fat top’, was at the Port Mourant Market. It is a delicious blend of cornmeal and coconut milk with the milk floating on top of the cornmeal along with the oil from the milk, hence the name. For me, there is no experience quite like a visit to one of the many markets our country boasts. I just dealt with three.

DISCLAIMER: The views and opinions expressed in this column are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the Guyana National Newspapers Limited.