When we entered the market in Nakuru, we were no
longer Bruce and Sarah. To the hawkers we were “Papa and Sista” or “Bush and
Sista” or least affectionately and never spoken aloud, “dumb Americans with lots
of money”. The exchange of goods
and services in Kenya is, like many countries, based on bartering. This is good
news for Bruce who is both cheap frugal and an accomplished negotiator.
On my first trip to Kenya I bought a wooden
giraffe. I haggled with the shop’s proprietor, who undoubtedly told me a bogus
story about the superb craftsmanship of the piece, which was made by his
mother. He probably told me how many children he had to feed at home and how
expensive their school fees were. And when I scoffed at his original price, he
likely offered me the “student price”.
I don’t remember exactly, but that is generally how haggling goes in
Kenya- lots of back and forth, personal details meant to elicit sympathy, phony
discounts and inflated opinions of the quality of the artwork.
When I got back to America I saw the exact same wooden
giraffe at Hobby Lobby.
I tell you this story because I want you to understand that most of what is being peddled in these markets is nothing more than mass-produced junk that originated somewhere other than Africa- probably a factory in Taiwan. No lie is too absurd for a hawker to tell you. When they offer you a price, you can guarantee that they have inflated it to three or four times the object's value. They love taking advantage of unsuspecting white people. For these reasons, I don't care much for haggling and Bruce absolutely loves it.
His knack for negotiation is really admirable. Bruce or "Bush" is legendary around the market in Nakuru and on a
first-name basis with many of the shop owners (although they cannot pronounce
his name). I watched Bruce make a few deals, but not too many because he moves
at a glacial pace as though savoring the process. What I did observe was that
his negotiations encompass the following: jokes, laughter, friendliness, and
mutual respect. Bruce's negotiations result in smiles, two parties equally
pleased with their business transaction.
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| Bruce and his friend, Anita in front of her shop. |
I wish that I had just a bit of Bruce’s flair, his
finely tuned joke-making ability and easy way with people. Make no mistake- I
am a shrewd barterer. But when I haggle, I get steely-eyed and hard-hearted, my
patience evaporating in the African sun. I get a decent if not excellent price,
but the wash of white guilt I experience afterward negates any momentary
satisfaction.
There was a German girl who came to stay with
James’s family and do sort of an internship at the school (read: see what partying was like in Africa). Her name was Anne (pronounced Anna) and I could write an
entire book on her alone. Perhaps some day I will. Anne was young (22ish),
naïve, and not well traveled. She carried a stuffed elephant with her
everywhere she went, but she also smoked cigarettes and drank beer at every
opportunity. That is to say she was a very confusing person and we were quite concerned for her safety.
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| This is the only picture I have of Anne. She's the other white person. |
We took Anne to the market one day, for what would
be our last trip there and her first. We offered to haggle for her, and when
that offer was declined we gave her some advice on how to go about it and how
much to pay. But as with every other piece of advice we had dispensed, it was
promptly disregarded.
We were waiting for her in the car and I could see her
negotiating with a shop owner from a distance. As they wrapped up the
negotiation I saw a wide smile spread across the woman’s face. A “wide
smile” is inadequate. She was
positively beaming as she enthusiastically shook Anne’s hand and took her
money. We knew that Anne had
grossly overpaid.
Anne returned to the car and showed us her purchase, a
banana leaf picture and a piece of cloth. “How much did you pay for it?” Bruce
asked.
Oblivious to the fact that she had been taken advantage of,
she proudly responded, “Only 1500 shillings! I talked her all the way down
from 1800.”
We howled with laughter. “Ay! That lady is having chicken
tonight!” James said.
“What you should have paid was about 500 shillings. 600 at
the most.” Bruce explained. Anne looked momentarily crestfallen, but soon
shrugged it off. She had money to spare and could stand to finance a woman's chicken dinner.
I smiled. That was the most fun I ever had at the Nakuru
market.
