"Mandarina, mandarina, platano, manzanaaaaaa!" The Spanish words hang in the air; their echoes reverberate through the empty pre-dawn South American streets. Squeezed from the vocal chords in a strained, robotic refrain this hypnotic chant is both poetic and irritating.ÌýIt is just 6am. One would be excused for being alarmed by this bizarre early morning ritual. Woken from your slumber by this cacophony followed almost inevitably by the howling of the neighbourhood dogs that seem to take offence despite the regularity and inevitability of the occasion. The source of this fruit sellers call to prayer is Diego, a self employed grocer who brings his goods fresh from the latest delivery of produce that arrived this morning from the tropical Chapare jungle region onto the cobbled streets of Cochabamba, Bolivia. His script consists of a list of the fruit he is selling that day and every day depending upon the season.ÌýHis rainbow selection is piled enticingly and precariously atop his rusty, trusty three wheel pram. His back is bent as using one hand he heaves the decrepit fruit transporter forward over dusty, rugged, cobbled streets. The wheels creak and struggle as if about to give up and make their home in the litter strewn gutter.ÌýThe first glow of daylight lights up the sky behind Diego and the outline of the mountain peaks towering above the city are silhouetted in front of the deep blue sky.ÌýDiego is unaware of the beauty of the landscape around him, all his efforts are being used to guide and steer his only source of income towards the doors of would be customers. In his free hand he holds a megaphone and repeats the refrain before being rewarded when an innocuous metal gate is opened by one of the local residents. She stands wrapped in a flowery bath robe and beckons him to approach by turning her hand palm down and wiggling her fat fingers together as if playing an allegro concerto on the piano.ÌýSlowly he guides the jolting load to her door and offers her a large ripe mango. She shakes her head and takes a mandarin in her fist giving it a firm squeeze before indicating that she would like half a dozen.ÌýHe takes a plastic bag from the back of the cart and fills it with the fresh fruit receiving a number of small coins in return.Ìý She retreats despite his continuing requests for her to buy bananas, apples and lemons, fresh this morning he promises, top quality. Watching her go he pauses, rearranges his display to accommodate the loss of a dozen mandarins and giving another strained push lifts the megaphone to his mouth once more. "Mandarina, mandarina platano, papayaaaaaa!" he drones.ÌýThere is still much more fruit to be sold. | 
