San Juan Market Sunday Morning

Is every Sunday morning since ah was twelve years, aunty Milly send me in San Juan market by mehself. The first time I started going, ah didn’t like it atall. I used to say that the market wasn’t a place for me to go because ah did find de people an’ dem too noisy and de market to dirty and smelly. Not to mention dem fish vendors, ah used to hol’ up me breath because ah couldn’t take the smell of de fish.
Ah remember this man they call Payol, he used to sell fish, he was a red skin man with short blond kinky hair. He always wore a pale blue denim farmer brown suit, I knew it since it was new til it was ready to burn. People always said that they doh care how Payol keep hisself nor the tings he say because he use to sell he fish most reasonable and he fish always fresh. Sometimes I asked myself, ‘how could they buy from him?’ Payol clothes always stained with fish blood and guts and sometimes when he cutting the fish yuh bound to see guts flying all over he face.

I would never forget de time when ah see he quarrelling with old indian lady from Bushe Street and he talking loud, loud And he piece ah cigarette in he mouth and he jus’ pick up de chinee chopper and buss ah chop on the haf ah redfish that he had on de table and a big lump ah guts fly on he rusty brown mustache and if yuh see what Mr. Payol do!
Payol take he tongue, pass it on he moustache an’ suck in dat piece ah guts. Meh throat start to jump, ah wanted to vomit. Since that incident, everytime I see Payol I always have ah upset feeling.
San Juan Market have two entrance, the first entrance is opposite Second street next to St. Mary’s bakery and the second entrance is next to Budget Drugstore.
From the time you enter the first entrance, you see at least five doubles vendors and talk bout crowd round dem. And Mrs. Seetalal, she like nothing better, her face, looking down in de double box, her hands moving quickly as ever, putting her channa and kuchela and other ingredients in the barra. Mr. Deen, he use to get the most customers, fuss he have plenty to sell, sometimes he had to hire people. I used to buy from dem once in awhile, it taste good although they still couldn’t touch Ali’s doubles. Anytime yuh hear people talking bout good doubles, bet yuh bottom dollar is Ali’s doubles they talkin’ bout.

Sometimes ah used to meet up me Aunty Maria who used to sell vegetables, mainly cucumber and lettuce. She was a sick woman, she didn’t have any children, but she was very gentle with them. Aunty Maria was very fat and she had very long black curly hair and she was always smiling. I remember ah time I spent an August vacation with her. She lived in St. Joseph and she spent most of her hours selling in the market.
She would wake up early on a morning and head down to the market and late at nights she would head home to sleep. Aunty Maria used to take me down to the market with her to sell. I never felt embarrassed or anything, except one morning when the market was crowded with people buying and selling, and she sent me around to sell celery and water cress. It really did bother me, I walked around praying for one of my parents to take me home.

On a Sunday morning in San Juan you tend to hear all sort of things. Sometimes I laugh till I cry. It had this man, I never knew his name but he was tall, dark and very ugly. He sold lemons, sweet peppers and pumpkin. Next to him there was a woman called Jean, a middle-aged Guyanese woman who sold pumpkin and ripe plantain. Sometimes if dark man saw people buying out Jean’s pumpkin he would curse and say things like, “why all yuh buying from she for, she pumpkin ent good. Check out mine, look how nice and yellow it is. She own scrawny and dull, days now she have it.”
Miss Jean would start to curse him back with her fine mumbling voice and say “eh, eh. Leave meh customers dem alone, if you continue so ah go bring the police fuh yuh. And if they ain’t come ah go bring meh husband.” And so the dark man will get vex about the husband talk and there would be a big confusion between the two.
Passing through the market, most times you would see vendors behind covered stalls or you would see them with wooden tables on the passage way. And it ain’t have a vendor sitting or standing with their teeth covered. Every ‘man-jack’ shouting something like “all yuh get all yuh green fig here, $1.00 ah pound” or “dasheen bush here $2.00 ah bundle. Tanty yuh want any dasheen bush today.” Aunty Milly used to say, “nah. Ah not cooking that this week.”

There was a fat man who always troubled me when I passed. He sold hot peppers, cucumbers, seasoning and tomatoes. He used to say, “Frien’? Yuh want hot peppers? Yuh could sweeten dem for meh, fuss yuh so sweet.” or “Family ah want to married yuh. Ah would give yuh anything yuh want.” I just smiled and said to myself ‘he should try and take care of himself before he starts taking care of anybody.’
Sometimes it touched my head with sadness and admiration to see little children, 4 years go up, walking up and down selling vegetables and other things – they always tried to speak very loudly with their tiny underdeveloped voices. “Tanty yuh want chive? Get yuh lime $1.00 for 10.” Marcus, Pancho’s youngest son, was only 9 years. He had been selling in the market since he was 4 years old. he sold seasoning and it seemed like he used to sell out faster than his father. Pancho used to smile and show-off by saying “that’s my asset. That’s my asset.”
San Juan Market Sunday morning. A place where buyers and sellers meet. A place of culture, a place of love and war, a place where I loved to go. I loved it because of its people, the things they sold, the way they sold it, the funny way the communicated with each other.

Kelly Bonette