A man wearing a Nescafé T-shirt was unloading bags of garlic from a truck

Man unloading bags — Man unloading from a truck

Wandering through Thanlyin, a town just across the river from Yangon, I found myself at the entrance of Myoma Market. There, an aging truck sat parked, its rear doors thrown wide open to reveal a cargo bed packed to the brim with an overwhelming mountain of mesh bags. Under the watchful eye of a man standing atop the load, a swarm of porters gathered. One by one, they received the bags and vanished into the depths of the market, caught in the frantic rhythm of unloading. A closer look at the truck’s body revealed the faded Japanese characters for "Chiba Mitsubishi Fuso" still intact. It is a common sight in Myanmar: retired Japanese trucks roaming the streets, their original paint jobs left completely untouched. The cargo being hauled out of this well-traveled vehicle consisted entirely of garlic.

The men, glistening with sweat, were moving these crushingly heavy bags using nothing but sheer physical strength. Given the generous helpings of oil and garlic that define Myanmar cuisine, the daily consumption here must be astronomical. In the shadows of the truck bed, I could also spot white sacks bearing the characters for "Chinese Garlic," a clear sign of massive overland imports from their northern neighbor. Without the convenience of forklifts or modern machinery, the porters simply hoisted the burdens onto their shoulders, making countless grueling trips back and forth. Just watching them was enough to make my own bones ache.

One of the men, silently enduring this backbreaking routine, had just taken on a fresh load. He balanced the massive sack against the back of his neck, leaning deeply forward and bracing his legs against the immense weight. While his lower half was wrapped in a longyi—the traditional tubular garment unique to this country—his upper body sported a bright red T-shirt boldly emblazoned with the familiar Nescafé logo. It struck me how a colossal Swiss conglomerate like Nestlé had managed to weave itself so firmly onto the chest of a laborer toiling away in a dusty, foreign market. I had heard they even operate a factory somewhere near Yangon. Mildly awestruck by the relentless, all-encompassing reach of global capitalism, I simply stepped aside, trying my best not to get in his way.

Thanlyin Myoma Market on Google Map

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