THE GREAT MARKET OF MAN

The permanent building that housed it burned down in 1997, the day before the Tabaski festival. This is where most of the craftsmen, now scattered throughout the city, were gathered. Today, its stalls of Malinké weavers follow one another along the municipal stadium, offering mainly large tunics, boubous, dresses and embroidered cotton trousers, characteristic of the weavings of the north and those found in Guinea. Many loincloths, bazin and embroidered weavings are also found among the Senegalese.
The food sold on the stands comes from the surrounding villages: manioc, sweet potato, corn, rice, okra, but also avocados, papayas, mangoes and cola nuts are some of the main crops of the region. Then come the cast aluminium kitchen utensils, stacked in junk iron pyramids, as well as tools made by the town's blacksmiths. A little further on, past a small, dusty ford surrounded by corn plants, the corner of the poultry, all more or less plump and clucking, enclosed in their wooden cages and fine wire mesh. Still straight ahead are the loincloths and cheap rags. Most of them are fakes from Guinea. But the most fascinating part of the market is reserved for the end of the walk: it is the plant market, used either for cooking or for traditional medicine. Sold by the women pharmacists on the ground, mysterious bunches of branches gathered in small bundles are infused in decoctions that only traditional practitioners have the secret to, and which will cure malaria, while others will prevent diarrhoea or infant fever. Here, the small, rugged alleys are reduced to thin strips of earth, so much so that you have to stop to let the other side pass. Behind, the palisade that delimits the market enclosure reveals abandoned wastelands that are gradually covering up the memory of the small artificial lake that was once the pride of the town and the joy of tourists. At the time, dugout canoes glided over its smooth surface, but the pond's keeper, as his income dwindled, gradually abandoned his little protégé, which became a vast open-air dump and a wild fishing ground, before drying up in general indifference. Last stop after the plants: the corner of the blacksmiths and carpenters, peaceful and a little set back, punctuated by the sound of the iron that master and apprentice beat in turn.