Market Club

"Will you support me?"

Asked by a middle aged woman sitting on the ground under a torn marketplace shelter weaving simple, bright colors into expertly designed patterns. 

Our first "Market Club" today was  remarkable.  I was standing getting ready to burst into tears at any second over what I was seeing and for a moment I had wandered away from my group when it happened. 

A large number of women sitting amongst themselves not gossiping, not complaining, not on their smart phones, not full of makeup, not even standing, not drinking coffee, not on the Internet, just sitting on the hard ground among the thousands of handmade crafts. 

Beads, utensils, dresses, purses, hair ties, linens, statues, bowls, drums, rugs, jewelry, presents, all represented in the pearl of Africa, with the native ladies sitting in rows among the rows and rows of treasures. 

I had walked between the back rows not down the aisles where most shoppers and sellers would bargain,  carefully trying not to fall or step on anything I shouldn't.  

And there we were.

Both of us, same age, same build,   looking into each other's eyes, smiling at each other. 

She was sitting among rows of other women, dutifully working in the African hot, mid day heat, quietly, diligently, smiling. 

We met each other somehow, someway- God orchestrated it. God ordained it. 

We exchanged smiles. We even laughed. We were worlds apart just a week ago.

And now, there we were. 

It was almost as if both of us had forgotten why we were both there. For a brief moment, it was just as if we had planned on meeting after all these years and were old friends, reunited with a smile. 

After we exchanged our universal greeting our tiny, silent moment ended abruptly by another seller who rushed over to me and  said "how many?"

My glance shifted as I dug for my coin purse and pulled out however many shillings my fingers touched first. 

Suddenly my new friend and I recognized why we were supposed to be there- to buy and sell. And because I had wandered away from my group and was alone I realized I'd better snap back to reality and close my bag and either purchase something or keep walking. 

I quietly said "two" and didn't even know what I had bought (!) until we got back to our guest house and I looked inside my bag hours later.  But that didn't really matter. 

When I took her  basket with my right hand, her left side became exposed and the scars riddled her skin from her beautiful  face to her hard working fingertips and she smiled delightfully, saying, 

"Thank you for supporting me, Madame."

God allowed her, her smile, her gesture and her words to tug at my already full heart. Many people since I was a little girl have told me that my smile is contagious- even my Papa (grandfather) would speak that over me since before I can remember. I never really understood that. I think I may now.

 Her smile I won't ever forget. 

2 table linens. 

1 basket.

Twenty thousand Shillings.

Marketplace. 

God's hand. 

Priceless. 

"Therefore my heart is glad, and my glory rejoiceth: my flesh also shall rest in hope.."