BON MARCHE

BON MARCHE: THINK GLOBAL ACT LOCO
Rwanda is a nation of acronyms, it is confusing when you encounter abbreviations longer than the words they are trying to abbreviate. Asking for directions is cumbersome “go to SAKIRWA, past BRALIRWA, turn left at SOPETRAD, then turn right at SONARWA, straight ahead to TEXRWA then left at SOPURWA. The last one is fictional, an in-joke meaning Societe de Putaine de Rwanda, if there ever was an society of prostitutes that the first thing they would need is an acronym. It is very important in Rwanda, these acronyms can be the difference between being a major corporation and being just another failed experiment. SONATUBE is a major landmark and reference point in Kigali, as are dozens of other acronyms, it is free advertising, branding, marketing and all the things a company needs.


Rwanda is a nation of imitators, which bodes well for the future, all you need is to get them on the right track and they will all copy to their hearts content. All the hardware stores are on the same road, most businesses are situated in on the same line, I said to one of the hardware shop owners, “why can't someone put up a store somewhere else?” He looked at me as if I had proposed something outrageous like wearing a steak for a hat. A Brazilian man I was talking to said his country had the same problem, as do most developing countries, when a pharmacy opens in a certain part of town and has a roaring trade, then an imitation store opens next door, then another, then another and soon it is the pharmaceutical district. As if there is something superstitious about that particular spot that makes it profitable. Then a genius has a eureka moment “People on the other side of town need pharmaceutical products too!” and with a splash of water a millionaire is made.


To truly understand a nation, you have to see its markets; in downtown Mogadishu you have AK-47's next to tomatoes and onions, that sums up Somalia. In the UK, a walk around Camden market, Smithfield market, Brixton market or even Tesco can make you understand the UK as a whole. I always love walking round markets, Nakasero in Kampala, City market in Nairobi, Bazaars and Souks in the Arab world are a pleasure I await impatiently. So when my uncle asked “Do you wanna come to the market?” I leapt at the chance. At last I could experience the true Rwanda, tourists jump at the chance and so I did too. It was pure theatre, and I forgotten the exuberance of the whole show.


We pulled up in a mighty 4x4, that was our first mistake as we were instantly attacked by what looked like a bloodthirsty mob. Dozens of dirty hands forcing their way into the car, pulling and pushing their way, all screaming at us. This angry mob was now turning violent, shouting and manhandling us but there was no need to call the police. These thugs for hire were there to carry our shopping, a human shopping trolley if you will. These men were like they were pumped up on steroids and aggression, they barked and yelled with the hunger that drove them to such madness. When we got out of the car it was worse, twenty thugs were now thirty, all claiming to be the most honest, trustworthy, as well being strong as an ox. They pulled and pushed us to prove their strength. It is very strange to be assaulted by someone calling you “Boss!”. It was the biggest contradiction I have seen “Hey Boss, come here, I'll show you!”. I shouted to him that as his boss I ordered him to stop beating me up, but my powers didn't extend that far.


We were pushed and pulled around, these thugs are part-trolley, part-salesman as they showed us to some shop which supposedly had the best rice you ever tasted, apparently. They begged and pleaded with us to buy this particular brand of rice, that particular brand of this and the benefits of buying more, it was easy to think that they were paid by the shop to trawl the streets for custom. When we finally bought the rice, ten of these thugs started fighting to carry the sack almost ripping it to shreds. Before we could turn, the thugs pushed us to the beans. “Hey Boss, come here. I'll show you” as the assault continued. Stacks of beans in sacks, as far as the eye could see, in all colours and sizes like a United Nations of beans. Now the problem was which type of beans to have, one of the thugs ended the debate. “These are the best, so delicious you can eat them raw.” and then he proceeded to eat a handful of beans to prove his point, there was the crunching of breaking jaw as his mandibles devoured the raw beans. We were sold after that, we ordered the beans before he could finish the sack. The angry mob walked with us to the car, kicking innocent bystanders who got in the way as if to please me, I walked along apologising for the excesses of my mob. “Sorry, Pardone !”


When we got to the car it was even worse, vendors were throwing all kinds of vegetables into the car, we were inundated with onions, tomatoes, coriander, garlic, peas, and all manner of greens. They were all demanding payment, even when we didn't know who had given what, so we started throwing money in the opposite way and more goods rained on our car. The thugs were all demanding payment for their thuggery, I don't know what the going rate is for thugs but they were rewarded handsomely. I was so irate and was angry at my Uncle for rewarding bullies but he just laughed, it was like a militia attack. He told me that it never used to be like that, so many boys are coming to town from the rural areas and loitering around town, for now they are seeking casual employment but soon they could be robbing and stealing.


As we went to Nyubugogo market I was struck by an unforgettable sight, a child was playing ball and his ball crossed the road, as he chased after it, it rolled and rolled. It struck the foot of this man, he didn't flinch. The boy picked his ball and carried on regardless as he passed a hundred men dressed in pink. These men were prisoners convicted of mass-killings in the genocide, what was amazing about them was how ordinary they looked, if they weren't dressed in pink they would have melted into the mass of humanity. The child played near them like they were not there, these men were guilty of the utmost evil and cruelty, they killed children as beautiful and innocent as this child. It was like a child playing in front of Jeffrey Dahmer, John Wayne Gacy, Jack the ripper, the Boston strangler and a hundred other such psychos while nobody batted an eyelid. Above them was the most beautiful ornate French balcony that would look at home in the Versailles or the Elysée, “they made that!” my uncle said. How could a killers hand make something so wonderful? Rwanda keeps surprising me. The same hand that kills, can make beauty.