Norman Grindley
One of the new toilets featuring tank enclosed in grillwork.Barbara Ellington, Features Co-ordinator
Last Monday night, scores of angry, placard-bearing demonstrators joined the parade of nightly embarrassment that is now the norm for prime time television news. My first reaction was "Here we go again." But I wondered why it was that our higglers could not be disciplined enough to use the markets provided for them, preferring instead to crowd the sidewalks in defiance of authority.
With all the talk about removal of higglers from the streets of downtown Kingston, I decided to check things out for myself. So with flat shoes in case I had to beat a hasty retreat, I went to four of the facilities to which the synonym "market" has been affixed.
My first stop was at the corners of Church Street/Luke Lane/Barry Street where sections of a roofless abandoned building are now populated with tents held in place by cement and concrete blocks. The entrance was grilled and padlocked but to one side, the wall could be scaled by any teen.
It was not long before I realised that for anyone in authority to reasonably expect human beings to peddle their wares comfortably in the obviously hastily constructed "tent city" at the location, is ludicrous. And, I had not yet seen the others.
Dirt and waste material were still left in one corner. I had visions of higglers and shoppers scampering in the event of a heavy downpour. I also wondered how safe those who used the facility would be with so many access points to it.
Up West Street, there were signs of Christmas preparation as several craftsmen put finishing touches on furniture; other young men passed the hours in a haze of cigarette smoke.
The smell of urine assailed my nostrils as I entered the wide open expanse of Oxford Mall Market and as soon as the few vendors learn that I'm from The Sunday Gleaner, they are more than happy to vent their displeasure with their plight.
Again the facility is open to the elements, there is a ceiling supported by tall columns, a concrete floor and some circular concrete stalls. On a clear day, you could see forever from several parts of this "market," so could those who have criminal intent.
"We nuh safe, we nuh have no security and people 'fraid fe come dung yah," one woman shouts. Children on the way home from nearby schools, use the "market" as a short-cut daily. One accidentally stepped into the pool of filthy water but only the flies seemed concerned.
All the stalls were dirty, some higglers were making attempts to apply fresh coats of paint in preparation for the move; inside these circular stalls are littered with everything from broken bottles to empty cartons. And always, the smell of stale urine was everywhere. In fact, during my visit, one woman stooped behind a column but still in plain view to, as some say, "ease herself".
In one corner, were a number of supermarket shopping carts chained together. these were piled high with garbage and there were several pools of fly-infested stagnant water.
Pechon Street is sandwiched between two sections of this market and makeshift wooden stalls sit defiantly in an open lot on one side of the street. Escorted by the female higglers, I entered what is obviously the section shown on television news; it was fairly clean but offered no safety and is inadequate for the number of higglers who are expected to occupy it. I was about to go across to several young men when one woman stopped me because she said she feared being seen "a talk to people."
Gloriaand others with whom I spoke, said they were willing to move but only after the markets were in a decent condition. "I have a talented daughter going to high school and I don't want this kind of life for her, she is very bright," she said.
"When rain fall, all a we tings wet up 'cause it blow right in," said another higgler. Clearly, adequate security will be a challenge here.
Gloria points to another section of the "market" crammed with wooden stalls. "Is over there so people do wholesale business on Mondays and Thursdays," she said. I tried to take a closer look but decided against it as on the way, the flies nestling in stagnant water and on a man sleeping on a hand cart, greeted me with 'kisses' all over the body.
NEW BATHROOMS
All is not lost at the Oxford Mall Market; one workman is proud of his handiwork as he escorted me inside two bathrooms. Both were in working order. One has eight toilets and adequate wash-up basins for women. The other is equipped for both men and women and I did not miss the implications of encasing the tanks in grill cages. These were to be handed over to the KSAC last Thursday and I secretly hoped someone has the foresight to employ an attendant who would keep them clean.
Across the street, at the Redemption Arcade market, I entered an area on either side of which sat two women selling clumps of pork fat, "fe fry fe mek oil", but as one woman cut up some pig's head, she seemed to be losing the battle to - you guessed it - the flies.
The interior is dark and gloomy in spite of the fluorescent bulbs that were all working. Towards the back, one higgler pointed out a pool of stagnant water in front of bathrooms that had just been fixed but which still needed attention.
There was a huge mountain of fly-infested garbage just a step ahead of the bathroom and two heaps of sand and dirt in front of what appeared to be a kitchen area.
THE REAL SECURITY
Seeing padlocked cupboards beneath the stalls I enquired about the safety of goods and security of persons in the market. A short, slim young man who seemed to have miraculously materialised, introduced himself as the security and when I quipped, "But you don't look like you can handle all the security here, you look like you need some yourself; which company do you work for?", he gave the name of a notorious area don.
The higgler standing close by said no one breaks in because of the security. There was little activity in the market save for a few persons watching a religious programme on television, and some men playing dominoes. "Hardly anybady come in here, everyting outa road," someone shouts. However, the section of this market that borders Orange Street was a beehive of activity as I made my way to the Pearnel Charles Arcade.
This was the scene of last week's robberies and according to one higgler Clara, "The construction of this building was not sensible, we don't have enough space and our poor little security can't manage the whole heap of criminal who come in here," she said in reference to the alleged 20-40 men who escaped with crocus bags filled with shoes.
They complained of the bad publicity that not just them but the entire downtown was getting at a time when they should be looking forward to making some money for Christmas.
Conditions in the Pearnel Charles Arcade were much better than at the other markets I visited. After all, the over 400 higglers pay a fee of $750.00 weekly compared to the $300.00 paid by those who use Redemption Arcade. "We pay the KSAC so much money," Clara said as she guided me to the section from which a foul odour emanated. "This is killing us in here, they need to fix the sewerage system."
The higglers told The Sunday Gleaner that there were security guards in the arcade but since last week's robbery, the police patrolled sometimes too. "I have been here since the arcade open and I would love to see it return to a safe place to shop," Clara said, noting that some higglers tile their "shops" and apply their own paints.
"Dem lie, dem say dem paint the place but is only dem 10 columns here paint," another higgler said pointing them out. "It's too close to Christmas, we want the war to cease and the bad publicity to end, you see how we have to tie up our heads with wet cloth because of the stress?
WHITHER THE PUBLIC
HEALTH INSPECTORS?
I had the privilege of being raised by a public health inspector father who later became the superintendent of public cleansing for the parish of Manchester. Back then, former Mayor Cecil Charlton held the enviable record of presiding over the cleanest inland town - Mandeville.
As I recall, ensuring that the markets in the parish were always in tip-top sanitary shape, formed a big part of the late Victor S. Ellington's and other public health inspectors' duties. I'm positive this situation obtained islandwide at the time.
With the late W.B. Allen as the chief public health inspector, the other public health inspectors deployed throughout the parish, ensured that animals were slaughtered and stamped safe for public consumption; barbers and hairdressers had current licences to practise their trade, chefs and cooks had food handler's permits and the abattoirs were in the proper condition for work.
The buildings might have been old but they were clean, women and men were employed by the parish council to wash and sweep the market weekly and clean the public sanitary conveniences. My father would then make his visits to ensure all was well.
I recall once when our own butcher failed to renew his licence on time and was not allowed to kill the cows he'd bought that week. He was upset but the rules were enforced. I also recall that on several occasions an entire carcass had to be dumped when it was found to have gone bad upon testing.
The water tanks in the area received chlorine tablets and the supermarkets received regular visits from public health inspectors who would remove from the shelves, canned goods that had gone bad or that were stale-dated. The latter is an activity I witnessed and even learnt so to this day I can tell when a can of food is bad.
In conclusion, I think it is inhumane to expect people to work and shop in the facilities I visited last Wednesday but... what of public health inspectors these days?
Pseudonyms used to protect identities.
