Chan Yuk Kwan has to walk slowly and carefully through
the narrow space of his vegetable stall
It is 7:30 pm. Chan Yuk Kwan mops up a little pool of water between his vegetable stall in Pei Ho Street Market and the neighboring one, and places the mop and bucket right beside the left iron leg of the stall. Then he slowly moves back to his old stool. Being 80 years old, he has to use both hands pressing on the table of the stall to prevent himself from falling. “Let’s go,” he says to his son sitting aside placing bunches of green onions in order.
This is the daily off-work routine of Mr. Chan and his 64-year-old son.
“I have run this small stall for more than 20 years,” Mr. Chan says. He came to Hong Kong when he was a teenager with his parents now deceased. “It’s been too long. I even can’t remember the exact time when I arrived here,” he says shaking his head.
It was in the Mao era when Mr. Chan’s parents took him to Hong Kong. People could travel between Hong Kong and mainland China without too many restrictions. “They felt it was too hard to make a living in the mainland at that time,” Mr. Chan says, adding, “Of course, now I still live a just-so-so life.”
To rent this stall less than three square meters, Mr. Chan and his son need to pay over 10,000 HKD for three months to the government. The rents for different stalls in this street market vary regarding to locations, sizes and so on. Mr. Chan says the rent of his stall is already relatively cheap, “Some costs more than 10,000 a month.”
However, the business is getting harder and harder for Mr. Chan. “More stalls open, so fewer customers come to buy. That’s why sometimes I finish working later than most of the sellers,” he says, taking off his yellow rubber gloves to clean his glasses. Some other elderly stall owners face the same situation as Mr. Chan. Mr. Wong, 67, and his wife keep a small stall selling all kinds of dry goods next to the section of vegetables. “We are on the first floor. Actually more people just go straight to the ground floor where there are more shops. They won’t come up,” Mr. Wong says with slight helplessness.
Mr. Chan says that the money he earns is just enough to pay the rent.
Selling vegetables means no holiday. Mr. Chan starts his stall at 8 a.m. and ends his day at nearly 8 pm. Every day his son takes charge of getting vegetables they are going to sell from a wholesale market in Sham Shui Po, which usually opens at midnight.
“There is no other way, isn’t it? We have to work hard to support ourselves,” Mr. Chan’s son says, looking at his father. “Sometimes, if my father feels too tired to work, we will have one day off,” he adds.
Mr. Chan married again after his late wife passed away. He now lives in public housing in Kowloon with his second wife while his son succeeded in applying for a public housing in Sham Shui Po after a five-year wait.
Walking out of Pei Ho Street Market, Mr. Chan says goodbye to his son. His wife has cooked dinner for him at home.
Chan’s son says: “I live just nearby, so I will go around here for a bite to eat. My father and I don’t live together any more after I got married. We only work together.” He smiles and disappears quickly in the shadows of the yellow street light.
Mr. Wong runs a stall with his wife selling dry goods
