Madina Kalandarov
Today started like any other day, with the familiar routine of setting up my stall at the market. The sun was already warm, bathing the entire market in a golden light. The aroma of fresh fruits filled the air, mingling with the scents of spices and breads from nearby stalls. Buxoro’s market, in my homeland of Uzbekistan, has always been a vibrant place, filled with the hum of conversations and the lively banter of sellers and buyers.
I arranged my fruits carefully, making sure the bright red pomegranates were at the front. They’re my pride—large, heavy, with a deep crimson hue that promises sweetness inside. My family has been selling fruit and vegetables here for generations, and I’ve been at this for most of my 46 years. There’s a certain satisfaction in seeing the same faces returning to my stall, trusting in the quality of what I offer.
Today, one of my regular customers—a chef from a well-known restaurant—came by and bought my entire stock of pomegranates. He praised their quality, as he always does, and told me about the special dish he was planning. It’s a good feeling, knowing my fruits will be part of something special.
But even as I sold him those pomegranates, my mind wandered. The earth here is getting drier, and each summer feels hotter than the last. I can’t help but worry. The fields that once thrived with little effort now need more care, more water, more attention. The land isn’t as forgiving as it once was, and neither is the weather. We’ve managed so far, finding ways to keep our produce growing, but it’s becoming harder.
As I packed up for the day, I caught sight of a young boy helping his grandfather at the stall across from mine. He reminded me of my own grandchildren. Will they inherit this place, this life? I’m not sure. I can’t help but wonder if they’ll face even tougher challenges. The thought lingers with me as I leave the market, the warmth of the sun a little too harsh on my skin. We’ll find a way, I tell myself. We always have. But the uncertainty of what lies ahead hangs over me, like a shadow I can’t quite shake.