The vegetable sellers of Kinshasa

Dotted around Kinshasa you will see women selling fruit and vegetables. They find a spot under a tree, often on the wide verges of an avenue. Their favourite products are bananas, avocados, mangos and guavas in their season, tomatoes, aubergines, cucumbers and onions. A small group have wooden stalls: they attract the expatriates who feel more secure in this shop-like environment, and who prefer the  large range available. Next to them are flower sellers. These are men: it’s always men who sell flowers. Rumour has it that that’s because men are gardeners, and what’s the best source of flowers? Their employer’s garden, of course.

As shown in the blog of 2010

Trial and error reveals which ones have the best avos, and the best prices. There’s one with a particularly good combination of these two. She has a built a small wooden platform a few metres from the entrance to the British Embassy in the no-go zone created by their vast rubbish bins. My beloved likes to go for walks along the banks of the river Congo, but to make a circuit goes along the road parallel with the river where the Embassy is situated, and thus past the said seller. There are two problems in this relationship. One is that even though her products are on display, the seller is often not at her stall. In that case a trust system applies: customers help themselves to what they need and promise the various hangers-on (street kids and the like) that she will pay in due course. The other is that walkers typically don’t carry money, so when they buy something they have to run up a tab. Neither of these seems to cause a problem, and if the tab is settled once a week everyone’s happy.

A doggy love affair

We have a particularly good relationship with a young woman who comes to our door on Friday evening. We first knew her as a young girl who accompanied her mother who sold us vegetables in our previous flat. She was already a sturdy worker, carrying her share of the produce on her head, just like Mum. (See blog of 11 August 2010) Her visits allowed her to cuddle our golden Labrador which brought him and her great pleasure.

We would never have made contact with her had she not rushed up to my beloved who was on her normal walk, and shouting her name in delight grasped around the waist and effortlessly lifted her up off the ground. Once the excited had settled the beloved was able to explain where we are now living.

The girl has had a terrible recent past. Her mother died shortly after we left, and last year she was abducted by thugs and kept as a sex slave in a remote spot outside Kinshasa for a month. Nine months later she had a baby which she (blush blush) embarrassingly named after my beloved. In spite of this she keeps a cheerful demeanor and continues to work as normal.

Compared to many people these sellers can make a comparatively good living, and they don’t see themselves as in the same category as some of the forlorn hawkers who prowl the streets of Kinshasa.

Just to prove the point we were buying some avos from woman sitting near the restaurant where we had had lunch. She turned awkwardly to serve us, and we couldn’t help wondering why. Peering over the pile of fruit we saw the answer. An itinerant pedicurist was just finishing his job. At his side was a little kit of nail lacquers in wide range of colours. He was just finishing his work by applying a brilliant green to her toenails.