The Market

Of all the things in Cambodia that I could choose to not like, it is the market that would top the list. I even dislike the fact that I cannot bring myself to enjoy visiting the place. For some, the proclivity for navigating among prices and sellers here is among their many attributes. I, however, cannot stand to be in there for very long. This is so despite the fact that I understand fully and completely that frequent trips to the market are among the essential parts of life in Cambodia. I will try my best to explain why.

The house where I live is not far from the market in Kampong. If you turn left from the front doorway onto the dirt road, you will reach the entrance in about thirty or forty meters. The main complex of the market is made up of about a hundred different stalls that are all under the protection of corrugated steel roofs. Sunlight is allowed to shine on the different paths that run through it, but it is particularly dark in some places. If you walk into the market from the national road, you can see a sort of courtyard set up that has a very large trash pile in the middle. From here, you can walk to different sections of stalls that sell anything from various food products, to clot, dresses, hardware, books, and medical supplies. When it rains, the water turns the dirt into a kind of black and soupy mud that will swallow your foot whole if you are not careful where you step. It is malodorous as well.

I often walk through the market, and almost notice immediately the dark brown faces that stare at you from behind their merchandise. They always have the same look on their faces. They are curious, I know, and I beginning to notice it less and less. But they always stare.

While some sections of the market are generally tolerable, there is one in particular that is unavoidable and disagreeable to my senses. It is section that deals in food. The meat that you find is always warm and putrid smelling. Every time when I walk into this place, I always see some display of butchery done to fish, turtles, dogs, cows, and most commonly pigs. Pork is usually less expensive than beef in this country, and its consumption is very popular. The market is usually crowded with dead pigs. I have even seen one that was carved in half and carried on the rear seat of a motorcycle.

Since our house is not far from the market, I can hear them being slaughtered sometimes when I wake up in the morning. They scream with a high-pitched squeal that is almost human. I cover my head with a pillow and wait as they are silenced one by one. When I visit the market and see them on display, I cannot help but feel a chill run up the back of my spine when my memory replays the audio of their last breath. Despite even this, I still eat their meat because I need the protein to survive. Going vegetarian in this country, although something of an appeal at this point, does not sound like a viable option.

I am sure that my dislike of the market will reside if given some time. For now, however, it is still one of the many things that I am struggling with.