Leaving the Mount Abraão train station, it becomes clear that Saturday has arrived. At the station’s edge, a dozen traders display trousers in their hands, calling out, “Ten euros, very cheap!” This marks the opening of the municipality’s weekly market, a sprawling flea-style gathering that stretches across a broad street and attracts hundreds each week. More than 300 licensed stalls line the area, with additional informal vendors roaming nearby, turning the station vicinity into a bustling marketplace every Saturday.
Isabel, a dark-skinned woman in her 40s from Cape Verde, lays out plastic boxes beside the items she plans to sell today. She explains the Cape Verdean favorites: corn pies made with cornmeal and filled with tuna, sealed and fried. Priced modestly at 50 cents each, they are a staple snack. Alongside corn cakes, Isabel offers coconut and pistachio desserts as well as rebuçados crafted with water and sugar. The conversation flows in Creole as she chats with other vendors and customers.
meeting point
Monte Abraão stands as one of the neighborhoods most affected by changing times and growth. Rapid population increases at the end of the 20th century were shaped in part by the arrival of thousands of people from former colonies following independence. The population mosaic has endured, with ties strengthened through the Community of Portuguese-Speaking Countries (CPLP). Portugal has advanced cooperation with Lusophone nations and streamlined entry for immigrants seeking work and residence permits. The market area and nearby settlements in and around Lisbon function as a social hub where communities meet and build connections through daily commerce and shared routines.
Inside the market, the air fills with smoke from grills and the appetizing scent of grilled meats. Noon arrives as queues form at food counters for steak sandwiches and cold beverages. Zamora, a young man from Guinea-Bissau, and friends cluster around a high table at the bar. The scene feels intimate and familiar: greetings, hugs, and laughter ripple through the space. “This market matters to us—it’s where we meet friends, share a drink, and enjoy a meal. Health and happiness aren’t just about work,” he says. Nearby, Julinho jokes that he runs the table, laughing with his companions as he proclaims the weekly ritual.
Dozens of stalls surround the food area, offering clothing, shoes, jewelry, fresh produce, small appliances, electronics, and even fish and birds. Bargains abound, with vendors calling out low prices and shoppers rummaging through piles of items, sometimes even conducting video calls to show selects to friends and family for opinions.
Felisberto Quintela, a Portuguese vendor in his 60s with a bushy moustache, keeps a meticulously organized clothing counter. Hangers display jackets overhead, inviting price inquiries from curious shoppers. “I just sold some pants for 15 euros,” he notes with a smile after greeting a group of children. Quintela has been selling at this market for 12 years and estimates he spends five days a week in various markets. He says, “This market is the best, especially on weekends when the crowd is larger and the mood feels festive.” In the market’s early days, back in 1988, affordability became a defining feature that continues to draw a broad mix of customers.
income source
Yet Quintela voices concerns about rising stall fees that can price out vendors with lower incomes, such as Isabel. The higher costs narrow access to formal stalls, pushing some vendors to rely on the public market. A few hours after Isabel displays Cape Verdean treats opposite the police station, authorities arrive to request that the sellers gather their belongings. The vendors comply to preserve today’s modest earnings, transforming a lively street scene into a quieter, emptied space until the next market day—promise of another Saturday to come and to support community livelihoods.