It was a bright Saturday morning in Christiana, Manchester , when Jamal was awakened from his sleep by his grandmother's loud but soothing voice.

The radiant sun shone through the brightly coloured curtains. Grandma reminded him that he would be going to the market alone for the first time as she was still not well.

Jamal jumped from his soft bed and thought of the day's adventures. He smiled as he watched two gigantic roosters in a loud crowing contest in the green overgrown yard. They were almost invisible in the swaying wildflowers. Jamal, like a tornado, spun from one task to another and was ready for the day in less than twenty minutes. Grandma planted two wet kisses on his cheeks and accompanied him to the gate. The market was only five minutes away, so he was not afraid.

As he walked down the road, Jamal could already hear the distant hum of the market. The voices calling out prices, reggae music playing and the chatter of the vendors brew his excitement.

As Jamal stepped into the market, his eyes lit up. He was delighted to see bright red tomatoes balanced on triangular piles and large, green sweet peppers stacked neatly together. The sugary, candy-like aroma of the fruits tempted his tastebuds.

Jamal walked over to Charlie's stall and purchased one dozen ripe mangoes, one dozen oranges and a pound of sweet peppers. The hot sun pelted his head like an angry drummer. He sought shade and took out the biggest mango and began to eat it. The mango's appearance deceived him as it was not sweet but tangy. His lips puckered and his tastebuds tingled. He laughed to himself as he remembered his grandmother telling Charlie he was a con artist several weeks before. 

Jamal ate his mango and continued walking in the hot, crowdy market. He dreaded going to the fish vendor as he thought that was the most unpleasant section of the market. As he walked, he jumped at the sound of what he thought was thunder. It was only a torn, blue tarpaulin being flung violently by the wind above his head. He navigated through the fetid wet corridors and watched the sweaty shoppers dancing at the Rasta man's stall. His body vibrated to the tremors from the sound system as he hurriedly walked by.