Dry goods being vended on the sidewalk in Old Harbour.

VENDING ON the streets is an old, but growing problem in Jamaica. In most urban and emerging urbanised communities, public spaces, especially sidewalks, are littered with vendors.

The problem is so acute that several parish councils are moving to curtail its growth. Apart from the aesthetics, sidewalk vending is a menace, hindering both pedestrian and vehicular traffic flow.

On any given day, city streets and towns are cluttered with vendors trying to take advantage of the large consumerist appetite of the Jamaican public.

But many are not selling on the streets for the sheer love of being there. For several, there is nothing else to do. Employment opportunities are scarce, and with the high price of food, there is a need, others say, to supplement the income of their households.

A Half-Way Tree vendor, who does not wish to disclose her name, tells The Sunday Gleaner she is on the sidewalk to make ends meet. After business at her hair-dressing parlour got slow last year, she marked a spot in the square and started selling women's accessories and jewellery. It pays, she says.

"Me mek like $20,000-$25,000 per week," she admits.

Stress

But not everyone else is so lucky. Higglering is a pain for 65-year-old Myris Murray, an itinerant vendor in downtown Kingston. She lives with three children and grand-children and sells to support the family's income.

Murray walks the streets of Parade selling kitchen towels and other small household items.

"It a stress me out. Me sick and me have to go doctor. Me have (high) blood pressure, it a gimme stress. Look how me hair white; all arthritis," she sighs, hurrying away from the police who are combing the area for illegal vendors.

Another elderly vendor, 73-year-old Merl Powell, identifies with Murray's problems. She is the sole provider for her three grandchildren who were left in her care after their father was killed by gunmen. She travels to Coronation Market from Grants Pen to buy ground produce which she then sells in Grants Pen on the street corner.

"From the father died, the mother jus tek it to heart ... So, is jus me alone," she says. On a good week, she makes no more than $2,000. On many days, nothing is sold. Things were not always this bad, but as violence grew in the area, sales dropped. But she continues, because there is very little else she can do.

Just across the road from her is 29-year-old Chris, who has no vocational or technical skills. For him, buying and selling was the only option because he has no training. Like Powell, he buys ground produce from the Coronation Market and sells it back in the community. He earns only just a little from it, but he has no other options.

A 21-year-old who gave her name only as Michelle, has a few CSEC subjects, but has been unable to get a job since leaving school at age 18. So, she took to the streets, selling cosmetics, clothing and toiletries.

"I do a lot of interviews and stuff. I even go to Manpower (and Maintenance Services Limited) and other agencies," but still, there has been no job, she laments.

Competition

For others like Kevin, competition from cheap imports eventually put him out of business, forcing him to take advantage of another growing market: telecommunications. A tailor by trade, he earned most of his living from making school uniforms. But with the advent of mega stores selling ready-made khaki uniforms, he was put out of business. He now plies his wares on the corners of Half-Way Tree, selling cellular-phone accessories and doing phone repairs.

Thirty-six-year-old Denise Williams has a somewhat similar story. She got fed up with her pay as a domestic helper:

"Me mek more money and have time fi miself," she says. She sells a number of useful tools - from compact-disc cleaners to batteries - all on the streets of downtown Kingston.

Tony, who is a deportee, could find no other means to support himself, so he started vending on the streets of downtown Kingston to make a living. He sells men's shoes, which earns him about $6,000 a week.

"Me was a thief up in the United States and me come to Jamaica to make a clean slate. So me seh me nah go pick up no gun, me nah go rob people. Me jus a go live right," he says.

Not her real name.

- G.M.