The Market.

This morning I woke up at an early hour (okay, not so early) to head to the market with the house parents at our center. I was told to be there at seven, as that’s the time that we go every Thursday. I arrived but didn’t see any truck around to take us, nor did I see any of the other house parents (there are twelve). So I went to visit my supervisor in her apartment, where I left my bag because apparently it will FOR SURE get taken if I carry it anywhere in public. So anyways, around 7:20 or 7:30, the truck returns from taking the kids to school. I gather with almost all of the Nanays in the back of the truck, but we’re missing three. There is a lot of talking, and I’m trying to understand where the others are. Apparently one had a fever, so she’s not coming, and one is on vacation. Alright, so now that we know, we should be able to go, right? Well, then another Nanay comes to get one of the Nanays, and they walk towards one of the houses. After a few minutes, she returns but then leaves again. For about ten minutes, the two Nanays are swinging on the swingset that is set up outside of their house. I’m not really knowing what’s going on at this point, but I’m definitely confused about why it’s 8:00 and we haven’t left yet. I mean, actually I’m not confused because I’m in the Philippines and that’s just how things work sometimes, but now I’m wondering if tomorrow I should actually show up at six when I was told to or if I should sleep an extra hour and go in at seven? Hmm.

Ironically, today was the day that we did all of the purchasing of meat and fish for the week—I find this ironic because these are the two things that I really don’t eat. For some reason, though, witnessing the chopping up of more dead animals than I’ve ever seen helped to increase my tolerance towards such things. By such things, I mean small bits of guts splashing on me, watching people pick out which pig’s head looks best, walking through the fish remnants, etc. I mean, it’s all good. The most disgusting part to watch was definitely the sausage-making process. It looks as gross as it sounds. The bucket of yet-to-be-cleaned-out intestines, which will be used for the sausage, stunk more than anything else in the market.

I meant to finish this post and elaborate more, but really…I think you get the gist. Lessons learned: don’t watch the preparation of sausage if you ever want to eat it again.