The streets fill with transport vehicles. Cars sport motley caps of stiff, flat hides, carcasses peer out of trunks, boxes of consumer goods spill over the edges of bicycle carts. Sidewalk vendors, cobblers and shoe shine boys stake out their pieces of pavement. Ice cream vendors with their cardboard boxes do brisk business no matter what the weather or time of day. Newspaper sellers chat amiably with browsers hoping that headlines will trigger a sale.
Opportunists prowl the bus stops hawking furs, lighters, silver trinkets, gloves.
Bank tellers labouriously finger their way through perilously high stacks of bills. Flash bulbs pop in photo studios, supplying the never-ending demand for ID photos. Office meetings are fueled by cups of sickly sweet coffee. Queues form outside embassies, applicants eager for the visa that will enable them to pick up trade goods, establish import export linkages or obtain foreign sponsorship for a closely held dream. In late morning the open-air markets come to life and beggars begin to ply their trade.