The Shop

[katina.ferguson]

The Shop
by Katina Ferguson

[A place from my past described in 500 words]
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“The Shop,” as I called this no-name convenience store, was located on Route de la Folie, downhill from my house. The sidewalks leading to The Shop were so narrow that I would have to twist sideways (on my way there) to make room for anyone traveling in the opposite direction. It was nothing more than a wooden shack, about the length of three and a half sedans and topped with zinc roofing — but in it was everything we needed. Fruit stands lay on either side of the entrance (like a row of guards) completely encroached on the sidewalk and pedestrians had no choice but to step in the street to circumvent them. Bananas, mangoes, pineapples, oranges, lemons and limes all did their part to engulf the transient crowd in their sweet, candy-like, aroma. There was no front door to the structure (just a metal curtain that was pulled down at closing) and there were no windows either. Natural light pushed its way as best it could to the rear of the shack, but still, inside was considerably darker than outside. Large fans (hung at 45-degree angles from the zinc roofing) helped to generate a breeze and maintain cooler temperatures inside the shop, turning the place into a welcomed refuge from the merciless Caribbean sun.

Inside smelled mostly of fresh baked bread and spices like curry, thyme and mint. Two, very long, wooden box-like structures ran opposite each other and served as counter tops. They forged a narrow walkway inside the shack and had a dwarfing effect on customers as they rose just below the chest line. The shop itself looked like an entire street market had been crammed into 300 square feet of space. Every inch of this shoe box was used for display or storage. The walls behind the counters were shelved right up to the zinc roofing; stacked with jars of jelly, herbs, cereals and grains. Other sections were devoted to creams, ointments, periodicals and simple apparel items like straw hats, nylon bags and foam baseball caps. The counter to the right was laden with vegetables like sweet potatoes, cassava, breadfruit and onions, while the left counter held up warm soda bottles, and fingerprint-infested jars of mint candy, guava paste and perfectly round tamarind balls. At times, I couldn’t help but feel like one wrong move would cause the entire shop to come crashing down on those of us inside. To the rear, was Madame Vaudrant, the shop’s owner. She was an elderly, heavy set, dark-skinned woman and she sat on a very high stool behind a third boxy structure; one that closed off the walkway and served as a back counter. When needed, she worked her way behind the “counters” and pulled shelved items down for customers. Next to her register were two Plexiglas boxes housing fresh baguettes and an assortment of pastries. Though I often went there to buy a baguette, the sweet cocoa smell escaping from the Pain au Chocolat always warranted a little extra spending…

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