It was not often that I ventured into the markets. In fact, it was not even ever. The cacophony of strong-lunged salesmen and smiling hagglers gave me a headache so pressing that no matter how hard I tried it was practically—and impractically—impossible to see any semblance of beauty in it.
If it hadn’t been for my friend’s insistence that it was one of the most wonderful places on the continent, I would have been quite content to never set foot in it for the rest of my life. We had shops and quaintly-kept flower stalls, smoothed cobblestone streets and elegantly written signage, display windows and smiling doorkeepers. We had no need for such uncivilized crowds that chatted loudly in clumps, uneven cobblestones that could send you lurching into an unceremonious pile, brightly colored silks that were drawn over wooden beams in an attempt to mask their splinters—all for half decent wares that spilled onto the pathway atop overturned crates.
Such a place was not only beneath me, but should be beneath anyone. No self-respecting woman would allow herself to be seen in such a place where men sat on rickety seats behind tables cramped with so-called goods, eagerly awaiting the next bright-eyed bird that would fly into their scams.
“Fresh batch of hair oil straight from Archonia, only five coins a bottle!” The man who stood with his hands cupped around his mouth quickly began handing out bottles as both men and women alike flocked to him.
“You put the price up, didn’t you? If you put it up again, you know you’ll lose all your business.” A woman laughed at him as she handed him a fistful of coins and took two bottles.
I didn’t know what to do but stand there and watch with bewilderment on my face. When all the bottles had disappeared and the crowd dispersed, I finally found the courage to walk up to stall.
“Sorry, miss. I’m all out for today.” The man didn’t look up from the bag of coins he was tying up.
“How could you make any profit from such a low price?” My headache had subsided as I tried to figure out just what living could be made from such a cheap price.
A bottle of hair oil from a shop went for around fifteen coins. It came in a beautiful glass packaging but was only half the size of the bottles this man was selling. There was no way that he wasn’t taking a loss.
It was only after I spoke that he looked up at me and then looked me up and down, in a way that told me I had certainly not dressed appropriately for such a place.
“You’re one of those rich nobles that live out from here, aren’t you?”
I wasn’t quite sure what to say, so I nodded tentatively. “I suppose so.”
He laughed as if I had done something as strange as jump onto his small table and begin showing him the gems on my shoes.
“I suppose you also pay that ridiculous price of…what was it again, twenty coins?”
“Fifteen.” I had no idea why I felt so protective of such a small matter; it wasn’t as if I had set the price.
“Right, fifteen.” He paused and sighed, sitting up straight and tightening the string on his bag. “I make about eighty coins a batch on this stuff. Enough to put food on the table, a roof over my family’s heads, and nice clothes on my children, with a little bit to spare if my wife fancies a stroll around the stalls. Your shopkeeper— cause there’s no way he’d be able to own a stall with those prices— makes around a string and two hundred a day, selling bottles half the size in those pretty little glass bottles you ladies go crazy over. Now I call that greed, others call it business.” He gave me a sympathetic smile as I stood there feeling as though a bucket of ice had fallen on my head.
“So, I pay… for a luxury item at an extortionate price, simply so that I can compete with others for social standing. When in reality I’m only being scammed and told that buying such a hair oil will somehow grant me status just because it looks pretty on my shelf.” I only muttered the words, but the man chuckled and stood up, patting my shoulder.
“Now you get it.”
But I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand how just by owning a small bottle that looked nice on my shelf and was a statement in my hand, I suddenly obtained a better image.
The man left, and I walked through the market with less headache than before. I curiously fingered goods, willingly placed coins in wary palms, and never forgot my manners.
It was as if I had stepped into an entirely different world, where the value of money tripled and getting a good deal was a sign of skill, rather than an indicator of poverty. No one minded the small flies that gathered around fresh fruit, or the turmeric dust staining their dresses as it was scooped into bags.
If a child tripped over a loose stone, everyone rushed to help. They bought them a small snack and made them promise to be careful; they didn’t yell at them for causing a fuss in public and make them apologize to everyone with their head bowed.
The pathway was filled with clusters of friends catching up whilst browsing all sorts of items. The gentle scent of incense filled the air, sellers laughing as customers managed to knock their prices, their words of flattery carefully weaved into their sales.
I began smiling widely, trying to bargain a few coins off a beautiful gold hairpin that I would have happily paid an extra ten coins for at least. The stones didn’t feel so uncomfortable under my feet, and the smell of freshly baked sweets was enticing enough that I bought four and then managed to get three at half price to take home for later.
“How much for this dress?” I asked a lady politely.
“Twelve. Twenty, and I’ll add a matching hairpin and silk scarf.” She winked at me, her own scarf wrapped loosely around her head. The silk looked beautiful.
“I’ll take two for thirty-five.”
“Thirty-eight—”
“Thirty.”
“Hey, you just went down!” She hit the table and pointed at me, but I could only laugh.
“Thirty-five.” I smirked at her and placed the coins on the table.
She didn’t answer, looking me up and down with interest.
“Take your pick.” She inclined her head to the array of hanging dresses, sliding the coins into her hands.
Maybe I’d come to the market more often.
Alisha Umar has a deep thirst for knowledge and a beautiful appreciation for learning. She spends hours pondering over her recent reads, researching for her own stories and scouring every inch of the library. When she’s not engrossed in her books or posting on her social media she can be found spending quality time with her friends and family, engaging in meaningful debates with her loved ones, taking down the next food destination on her bucket list and fantasising about which places she wants to travel to next- whether fictional or real. You can find her on TikTok, Instagram and YouTube @authoralishau.
Featured image by Roxanne Desgagnes on Unsplash.
