"This is fuckin United States leftovers mutherfucker. We send this shit to Africa so you can clothe your children, and now you're trying to sell it back to me and rip me the fuck off...."
African's look at Mzungu's (whites) and see two things. Money and prize pussy. Regardless of gender, we are all walking ATMs.
If it's a girl, the African's see them as prize gazelle that must be hunted. I’ll get into that another day.
But little ole me, I'm just an ATM.
I loved practically everything about Africa from the day I arrived there. The country was beautiful when there wasn't garbage everywhere, the people were friendly when they weren't peddling you, and the children were the most adorable things I'd ever seen. Every day was a pleasure, and the exact cultural experience I was hoping for.
This day was an exception. A once-in-a-lifetime- exception. I have never behaved this way in another country, and never will again.
Hard Bargain
October 28, 2014
Arusha, Tanzania, Africa
Before arriving at the Arusha city market, I was volunteering at my orphanage-school. I spent the entire day digging a hole to lay the foundation for a water tank, going over poor budgeting, brainstorming how to raise more money, fighting back tears at the sight of desperately poor yet innately happy children, and attempting to unfuck the superior African engineering at the orphanage-school. I was in a terrible mood. Correction: I was in the worst mood I had been in years.
I was pissed off that we had no money, pissed off that most African's won't lift a finger to help out the orphanage school, pissed off that the guys selling building supplies jack up the prices for us mzungu's who are trying to fix THEIR schools, pissed off that my hands were bleeding and shredded from digging, pissed off because no one in the country can feed me enough, pissed off because my stomach won't stop hurting and growling from the shitty food, pissed off because I had just ruined one of my TWO pairs of clothes, pissed off because the kids are so goddamn cute and I can’t take one home, and pissed off because I lost my hat and left my face unprotected from the sun all day. I wanted nothing more than to go home, eat a cow, and scrub the Africa off my body; but I desperately needed a hat and a backpack before work the next day.
Against good judgment, I stopped at the market on the way home.
This was my first mistake.
I walked up and down the market through crowds of Africans trying to sell me garbage. Everyone magically wanted to be my friend and tried to get my attention. I normally love every interaction with Africans. I always smile, wave, high five them, and initiate conversation, but on this day I wasn’t in the mood. Everyone and everything annoyed me.
The smell of shit and rotten fruit annoyed me, the garbage on the ground annoyed me, the looks I got from everyone annoyed me, the cat calls I got from people trying to sell me things annoyed me, the chickens looking for food annoyed me, the disgusting cows in my path annoyed me, and shamefully, the filthy beggars giving me death stares and asking for money, annoyed me. I was just not in the mood, and I should have gone home.
Instead, I kept searching.
As I browsed through the marketplace I couldn't see one stupid hat or backpack in the giant sea of useless shit that was for sale on the street. Finally a random guy walked up and said to me "Who are you looking for my friend? I know you are looking for someone. Ayyyyyyy know it!"
I ignored him for a minute, but eventually gave in and asked for help. "Actually no, I’m not looking for someone, I’m looking for some THING."
He was happy to have my attention and came closer with a big creepy smile on his face."Ahhh, I knew it. What are you looking for my brother?"
I wanted to say "I’m not your fucking brother, and I’m not going to give you jack shit, so don't waste your time," but instead I said, "I'm looking for a hat and a backpack."
He said with a serious face, "okay come with me."
I followed him behind a wall and walked into a huge market that I didn’t know existed. I'm not sure any mzungu's knew it existed. The deeper I walked into the market the more unwelcome I felt. Mzungu's always get stares, but these stares felt more intense, more unwelcoming, and more surprised at my presence. Or maybe it was just my bad mood, I really don’t know.
The smell of shit got worse, and the clothing of the people in the market got worse. I saw less and less people with suits or slacks on. This is generally a bad sign.
The market was filled with the shittiest fruit, vegetables, livestock, and garbage, sold on clearance at an Indian Reservation Flea Market. We walked through rows and aisles full of useless shit, and sadly turned down the poor Africans who’s eyes got wide at the sight of me in the hopes they’d sell something to me. I was clearly the only white guy to come through the market in a long time. Another bad sign.
Finally, we arrived at a hat shop that looked shockingly professional. It was like the African street version of LIDS. All the hats were sparkling clean (by African standards) and were placed neatly on a hat rack that you would only see at a hat store in a black neighborhood in the U.S. The shop owner was a skinny African in his mid twenties who looked like Dave Chappelle with a mustache. He was dressed in trendy skinny jeans, a Sean Jean shirt that didn’t look too filthy, a jean jacket from the early 90's, he wore knock off D&G sunglasses, and a NY Yankees ballcap twisted to the side. He was definitely proud of the way he dressed.
I actually felt relieved when I got to the shop because I was finally going to get a hat with a bill to keep the sun out of my face. They even had safari hats, which was an added bonus.
My mood instantly improved and I gave the owner a high five, accompanied by the african greeting."Jambo brother." He responded "Poa, how are you my brother?"
"I’m great bro, I’m happy to see so many baseball caps. I haven’t seen these anywhere."
"Yes, my brother. We have very special hats, all very mint, and all very good prices for you my brother. Where are you from?"
"California"
"Ahhhh. Yes. California Love. Tupac. Barack Obama."
"Yeah, yeah, Tupac is the boss"
"Yes, yes, but Obama is great"
"Yeah he's good, but he's no Tupac. You know what I’m sayin?" I held out my hand for another high five.
The shop owner accepted, with one hand in a closed fist up to his mouth, "Ohhhhhh shit brother, you are cool. Very cool. What would you like?"
I tried on several different items and took at least 5 minutes to make my decision. I settled on a safari hat, a 1992 USA Dream Team hat, and a little kiddy backpack that said "HUMMER," with a picture of a Hummer on it. I was excited about my purchase, and held up my items for him to see. He nodded in acceptance of my choices.
"Vedi good choice. You have good taste."
By this time there was a crowd of at least 6 guys around me, all excited to watch me get ripped off.
It’s African tradition to jack up the price to astronomical levels when selling to a Mzungu. Its a game they play, and a source of laughter for them. They are like the scummiest car salesmen in America, but much more sincere, and poor.
I held all three items in my hand, and the crowd gathered closer to watch the ensuing negotiation. I dug in my pocket and grabbed 20,000 shillings, the equivalent of around 12 US dollars. I handed the money to him confidently as if we had already agreed on the price, then patted him on the shoulder and said, "Here you go my brother, spend it wisely."
He looked at me like I just told him his son looks just like a girl. He was hurt, disappointed, embarrassed, and mad. I don’t know why but it made me feel good.
Everyone who was watching got serious. Some looked away. Some made a face that said "whoa."
The owner looked down at my feet disgusted and shook his head, then looked away and shook his hands and his head saying, "No, no, no, no, no, no, you crazy man. No."
I shrugged and said, "Ok, no problem brother, take care," and I turned to walk away.
He grabbed my arm gently and forced me to look at him. He then held up the backpack in both hands in front of my face and yelled. "THIS HE-UH, this is 20,000 shillings alone. These hats," he turned and pointed them, then paused for effect, "these hats are 25,000, EACH!"
I switched into asshole mode. I lost my charm, my friendliness, and my charity. I leaned forward and laughed hysterically right in his face. Then I turned to look at the crowd who was now watching. "25,000!? You’re a fucking joke!"
The crowd stepped back and laughed at the owner. Some held their hand up in front of their faces, further expressing their embarrassment for the owner that I was shaming.
Second mistake.
I should have walked away, but I couldn’t, I continued. "25,000 shillings for a hat that I could buy for 2 dollars in a US thrift store!? Are you out of your mind? You're a rip off. You're not a serious salesman. You're the reason Mzungu's cant trust you guys. All you do is rip us off. I can’t buy your bullshit. I’m outta here."
I turned to walk away. He grabbed my arm again, then he humbled himself a bit and tried to reason with me. "No, No, No, my brutha. These hats are very expensive. I only have top quality"
I said "This hat is from nineteen ninety fucking two! This is the ORIGINAL Dream Team hat. Its 22 fucking years old. 25 thousand shilling! You’re out of your mind!"
I walked away again, and the crowd followed, including the owner. A few of them tried jumping in, pitifully attempting to build value in the product and help close the sale. One guy grabbed the backpack and held it up in front of my face and talked to me like I was an idiot for not understanding the product’s value.
"Meesta, this is HUMMA," he shook it in my face again, "this is HUMMA, very expensive, very top line." The way he shook the bag in front of my face, combined with the look on his face insinuated that he was frustrated that he was dealing with such an uneducated customer.
"Are you fucking kidding me? HUMMER's SUCK! They get like 4 miles to the gallon. American's don't even buy American cars. Why? Cuz they SUCK. And it’s a KIDS backpack. This is the cheapest shit that China makes and sends to the third world! I bet the zippers don’t even work"
He tried the zippers and they worked fine. I didn’t care. I walked away. The group followed.
The owner tried to reason with me "My friend, lets make a deal. Comon, make an offer."
I pretended to be very serious. I grabbed his hand, shook it and said "Okay, you’re right. I'll make an offer. "
He nodded in acknowledgement. As if he knew I would come around. I reached in my pocket and grabbed a 100 shilling coin (4 cents) and placed it in his hand, then I grabbed two 10,000 shilling bills, and placed them in his hand. It was 4 cents more than my first offer. "This is for you my friend," I said. "Thank you for bargaining with me."
Third mistake.
His unhappiness spewed out of his face. The whole crowd laughed again. The owner said "Bro, comon, this is not right, you are ripping me off bro."
I said "NO, you’re ripping ME off. This is a cheap, 22 year old USED hat, this is a cheap, used, safari hat, and this is a brand new, fresh out of the sweatshop, Chinese leftover."
He said "You don't understand bro, it costs a lot of money to ship it here."
At that point I lost it,
"This is fuckin United States leftovers mutherfucker! We send this shit to Africa so you can clothe your children, and now you're trying to sell it back to me and rip me the fuck off. Every fucking t-shirt I see in this country is some shit I donated to Goodwill in the late 90s. How are ungrateful are you bro? You want me to tell American's to stop sending shit to Africa? Lets try that and Ill come back in 10 years and see what kind of clothes you’re wearing. Gime a break."
I turned and looked away, saw something that fueled my fire, then looked back at him "Who do you think built these fucking roads?"
Fourth mistake.
"Tanzanian's built this!" he said proudly, standing up straighter, puffing his skinny chest.
"Yeah, and who the fuck hired them?"
Before he could answer I went into a deep,and dark tirade that I had no intention of stopping, and would regret forever.
"MZUNGU'S DID! Did your fuckin grandpa know how to build 5 story buildings when he walked out of the bush? NO, mzungu's taught him. Did your grandpa know how to build a power station and power grid? NO, mzungus taught him. Who the fuck brought toilets and plumbing and hand sanitizer to this country? Mzungus did! Who the fuck fronted the money to build everything in fuckin Africa? Not you! Who the fuck pays for all your orphanages? Not you! Who the fuck pays for your private schools? Not you! Who the fuck runs and funds all the goddamn Christian churches in Africa? Not you! Who the fuck spends more money and effort to fight AIDS and hunger in Africa? NOT YOU! You should be nicer and more respectful to the people who colonized and modernized this fuckin shithole."
Fifth mistake.
The crowd got closer, and larger, but I was on a one way train to hell that couldn’t stop. I got angrier and closer to him with each line out of my mouth.
"Oh, so how much money did you give the Director of my orphanage to feed the fuckin children who just want an education? Huh? How much? I gave a hundred fucking dollars today to feed those poor little fuckers and to buy doors for when the rains come, in addition to working my fucking ass off. What the fuck did you do? Oh, I know, you probably spent your day impregnating 6 more women who'll give birth to kids that you’ll never be a fuckin father to you fuckin deadbeat. How many kids do you have already that you don’t care for? Huh? How many?” I looked down at his feet then back up to his face.
“Fuckin scumbag. If it wasn’t for mzungu's all of you'd still be raising goats and drinking cows blood, mutherfucker."
Sixth mistake.
He took a step back, as if that last one really hurt. Which was odd, because they should have all hurt...
At that moment I felt like an asshole. I felt like a real American jerk. By then the crowd of curious, poor African men had grown to at least 40. I spoke so fast I have no idea how much of my rant was lost in translation, but regardless of how much these men understood, it was time to go.
Like a bitter little brat, I mumbled "Fuck this shit," and briskly walked out of the market, hoping the crowd wouldn’t follow me. I imagine the situation would have been more dangerous had I been a smaller and weaker looking man; but I was roughly the same weight as 4 of them, and despite my long haircut I looked like a military man, so none of them dared to challenge me as I walked away.
I assume the crowd of onlookers laughed at the salesman and shamed him intensely, because he came running after me with the goods in hand; jumping over chickens and goats and fruit displays to either get his honor back, or make the goddamn sale.
He stopped me again and tried a different approach. I bitterly stopped, took a deep breath, tilted my head up in frustration, and gave him my attention again. He said softly "My brother, I happy that you are teacher in my country, but I need to make profit bro. Please, make me an offer."
He did a good job at deflating the anger out of me, because I sighed, looked at the ground, and then pulled out 30,000 shillings and handed them to him without saying a word. He took it as my offer, and quickly countered, "45!"
I turned to walk away again and waved my hand at him as if to say "I’m over it"
He waited a second, looked at the ground, sighed, then came fast walking after me angrily. He didn’t run this time. He walked up and handed me the goods, and I handed him 30,000 shillings.
Instantly happiness pumped through my brain. My mother would have been proud to watch the way I negotiated. (Minus the continent bashing tirade) I learned how to negotiate from her in the flea markets of Queens.
I went to shake the guys hand, but he wouldn’t give me his hand, so I picked his limp arm up and grabbed his hand and shook it saying "Asante sana brother" (Thank you very much)
He bitterly shook back and said "Karibu," (Your welcome)
"Sorry about all that stuff i said bro, I was just having a bad day. I know you were just doing your job."
"Hakuna matata, hakuna matata," he said as he walked away with his head down.
I walked home and thought about my behavior, mentally beating my own ass for losing my cool and saying a whole bunch of mean shit that I really DID mean. When I got home I told my host brother about what I said, his response was not expected, but inspiring.
"Fuck dat guy. De shops is always rip off mzungu's. Don’t feel bad. They'll be sorry when you people stop coming to Tanzania. Don't feel bad."
I still feel bad....
African's look at Mzungu's (whites) and see two things. Money and prize pussy. Regardless of gender, we are all walking ATMs.
If it's a girl, the African's see them as prize gazelle that must be hunted. I’ll get into that another day.
But little ole me, I'm just an ATM.
I loved practically everything about Africa from the day I arrived there. The country was beautiful when there wasn't garbage everywhere, the people were friendly when they weren't peddling you, and the children were the most adorable things I'd ever seen. Every day was a pleasure, and the exact cultural experience I was hoping for.
This day was an exception. A once-in-a-lifetime- exception. I have never behaved this way in another country, and never will again.
Hard Bargain
October 28, 2014
Arusha, Tanzania, Africa
Before arriving at the Arusha city market, I was volunteering at my orphanage-school. I spent the entire day digging a hole to lay the foundation for a water tank, going over poor budgeting, brainstorming how to raise more money, fighting back tears at the sight of desperately poor yet innately happy children, and attempting to unfuck the superior African engineering at the orphanage-school. I was in a terrible mood. Correction: I was in the worst mood I had been in years.
I was pissed off that we had no money, pissed off that most African's won't lift a finger to help out the orphanage school, pissed off that the guys selling building supplies jack up the prices for us mzungu's who are trying to fix THEIR schools, pissed off that my hands were bleeding and shredded from digging, pissed off because no one in the country can feed me enough, pissed off because my stomach won't stop hurting and growling from the shitty food, pissed off because I had just ruined one of my TWO pairs of clothes, pissed off because the kids are so goddamn cute and I can’t take one home, and pissed off because I lost my hat and left my face unprotected from the sun all day. I wanted nothing more than to go home, eat a cow, and scrub the Africa off my body; but I desperately needed a hat and a backpack before work the next day.
Against good judgment, I stopped at the market on the way home.
This was my first mistake.
I walked up and down the market through crowds of Africans trying to sell me garbage. Everyone magically wanted to be my friend and tried to get my attention. I normally love every interaction with Africans. I always smile, wave, high five them, and initiate conversation, but on this day I wasn’t in the mood. Everyone and everything annoyed me.
The smell of shit and rotten fruit annoyed me, the garbage on the ground annoyed me, the looks I got from everyone annoyed me, the cat calls I got from people trying to sell me things annoyed me, the chickens looking for food annoyed me, the disgusting cows in my path annoyed me, and shamefully, the filthy beggars giving me death stares and asking for money, annoyed me. I was just not in the mood, and I should have gone home.
Instead, I kept searching.
As I browsed through the marketplace I couldn't see one stupid hat or backpack in the giant sea of useless shit that was for sale on the street. Finally a random guy walked up and said to me "Who are you looking for my friend? I know you are looking for someone. Ayyyyyyy know it!"
I ignored him for a minute, but eventually gave in and asked for help. "Actually no, I’m not looking for someone, I’m looking for some THING."
He was happy to have my attention and came closer with a big creepy smile on his face."Ahhh, I knew it. What are you looking for my brother?"
I wanted to say "I’m not your fucking brother, and I’m not going to give you jack shit, so don't waste your time," but instead I said, "I'm looking for a hat and a backpack."
He said with a serious face, "okay come with me."
I followed him behind a wall and walked into a huge market that I didn’t know existed. I'm not sure any mzungu's knew it existed. The deeper I walked into the market the more unwelcome I felt. Mzungu's always get stares, but these stares felt more intense, more unwelcoming, and more surprised at my presence. Or maybe it was just my bad mood, I really don’t know.
The smell of shit got worse, and the clothing of the people in the market got worse. I saw less and less people with suits or slacks on. This is generally a bad sign.
The market was filled with the shittiest fruit, vegetables, livestock, and garbage, sold on clearance at an Indian Reservation Flea Market. We walked through rows and aisles full of useless shit, and sadly turned down the poor Africans who’s eyes got wide at the sight of me in the hopes they’d sell something to me. I was clearly the only white guy to come through the market in a long time. Another bad sign.
Finally, we arrived at a hat shop that looked shockingly professional. It was like the African street version of LIDS. All the hats were sparkling clean (by African standards) and were placed neatly on a hat rack that you would only see at a hat store in a black neighborhood in the U.S. The shop owner was a skinny African in his mid twenties who looked like Dave Chappelle with a mustache. He was dressed in trendy skinny jeans, a Sean Jean shirt that didn’t look too filthy, a jean jacket from the early 90's, he wore knock off D&G sunglasses, and a NY Yankees ballcap twisted to the side. He was definitely proud of the way he dressed.
I actually felt relieved when I got to the shop because I was finally going to get a hat with a bill to keep the sun out of my face. They even had safari hats, which was an added bonus.
My mood instantly improved and I gave the owner a high five, accompanied by the african greeting."Jambo brother." He responded "Poa, how are you my brother?"
"I’m great bro, I’m happy to see so many baseball caps. I haven’t seen these anywhere."
"Yes, my brother. We have very special hats, all very mint, and all very good prices for you my brother. Where are you from?"
"California"
"Ahhhh. Yes. California Love. Tupac. Barack Obama."
"Yeah, yeah, Tupac is the boss"
"Yes, yes, but Obama is great"
"Yeah he's good, but he's no Tupac. You know what I’m sayin?" I held out my hand for another high five.
The shop owner accepted, with one hand in a closed fist up to his mouth, "Ohhhhhh shit brother, you are cool. Very cool. What would you like?"
I tried on several different items and took at least 5 minutes to make my decision. I settled on a safari hat, a 1992 USA Dream Team hat, and a little kiddy backpack that said "HUMMER," with a picture of a Hummer on it. I was excited about my purchase, and held up my items for him to see. He nodded in acceptance of my choices.
"Vedi good choice. You have good taste."
By this time there was a crowd of at least 6 guys around me, all excited to watch me get ripped off.
It’s African tradition to jack up the price to astronomical levels when selling to a Mzungu. Its a game they play, and a source of laughter for them. They are like the scummiest car salesmen in America, but much more sincere, and poor.
I held all three items in my hand, and the crowd gathered closer to watch the ensuing negotiation. I dug in my pocket and grabbed 20,000 shillings, the equivalent of around 12 US dollars. I handed the money to him confidently as if we had already agreed on the price, then patted him on the shoulder and said, "Here you go my brother, spend it wisely."
He looked at me like I just told him his son looks just like a girl. He was hurt, disappointed, embarrassed, and mad. I don’t know why but it made me feel good.
Everyone who was watching got serious. Some looked away. Some made a face that said "whoa."
The owner looked down at my feet disgusted and shook his head, then looked away and shook his hands and his head saying, "No, no, no, no, no, no, you crazy man. No."
I shrugged and said, "Ok, no problem brother, take care," and I turned to walk away.
He grabbed my arm gently and forced me to look at him. He then held up the backpack in both hands in front of my face and yelled. "THIS HE-UH, this is 20,000 shillings alone. These hats," he turned and pointed them, then paused for effect, "these hats are 25,000, EACH!"
I switched into asshole mode. I lost my charm, my friendliness, and my charity. I leaned forward and laughed hysterically right in his face. Then I turned to look at the crowd who was now watching. "25,000!? You’re a fucking joke!"
The crowd stepped back and laughed at the owner. Some held their hand up in front of their faces, further expressing their embarrassment for the owner that I was shaming.
Second mistake.
I should have walked away, but I couldn’t, I continued. "25,000 shillings for a hat that I could buy for 2 dollars in a US thrift store!? Are you out of your mind? You're a rip off. You're not a serious salesman. You're the reason Mzungu's cant trust you guys. All you do is rip us off. I can’t buy your bullshit. I’m outta here."
I turned to walk away. He grabbed my arm again, then he humbled himself a bit and tried to reason with me. "No, No, No, my brutha. These hats are very expensive. I only have top quality"
I said "This hat is from nineteen ninety fucking two! This is the ORIGINAL Dream Team hat. Its 22 fucking years old. 25 thousand shilling! You’re out of your mind!"
I walked away again, and the crowd followed, including the owner. A few of them tried jumping in, pitifully attempting to build value in the product and help close the sale. One guy grabbed the backpack and held it up in front of my face and talked to me like I was an idiot for not understanding the product’s value.
"Meesta, this is HUMMA," he shook it in my face again, "this is HUMMA, very expensive, very top line." The way he shook the bag in front of my face, combined with the look on his face insinuated that he was frustrated that he was dealing with such an uneducated customer.
"Are you fucking kidding me? HUMMER's SUCK! They get like 4 miles to the gallon. American's don't even buy American cars. Why? Cuz they SUCK. And it’s a KIDS backpack. This is the cheapest shit that China makes and sends to the third world! I bet the zippers don’t even work"
He tried the zippers and they worked fine. I didn’t care. I walked away. The group followed.
The owner tried to reason with me "My friend, lets make a deal. Comon, make an offer."
I pretended to be very serious. I grabbed his hand, shook it and said "Okay, you’re right. I'll make an offer. "
He nodded in acknowledgement. As if he knew I would come around. I reached in my pocket and grabbed a 100 shilling coin (4 cents) and placed it in his hand, then I grabbed two 10,000 shilling bills, and placed them in his hand. It was 4 cents more than my first offer. "This is for you my friend," I said. "Thank you for bargaining with me."
Third mistake.
His unhappiness spewed out of his face. The whole crowd laughed again. The owner said "Bro, comon, this is not right, you are ripping me off bro."
I said "NO, you’re ripping ME off. This is a cheap, 22 year old USED hat, this is a cheap, used, safari hat, and this is a brand new, fresh out of the sweatshop, Chinese leftover."
He said "You don't understand bro, it costs a lot of money to ship it here."
At that point I lost it,
"This is fuckin United States leftovers mutherfucker! We send this shit to Africa so you can clothe your children, and now you're trying to sell it back to me and rip me the fuck off. Every fucking t-shirt I see in this country is some shit I donated to Goodwill in the late 90s. How are ungrateful are you bro? You want me to tell American's to stop sending shit to Africa? Lets try that and Ill come back in 10 years and see what kind of clothes you’re wearing. Gime a break."
I turned and looked away, saw something that fueled my fire, then looked back at him "Who do you think built these fucking roads?"
Fourth mistake.
"Tanzanian's built this!" he said proudly, standing up straighter, puffing his skinny chest.
"Yeah, and who the fuck hired them?"
Before he could answer I went into a deep,and dark tirade that I had no intention of stopping, and would regret forever.
"MZUNGU'S DID! Did your fuckin grandpa know how to build 5 story buildings when he walked out of the bush? NO, mzungu's taught him. Did your grandpa know how to build a power station and power grid? NO, mzungus taught him. Who the fuck brought toilets and plumbing and hand sanitizer to this country? Mzungus did! Who the fuck fronted the money to build everything in fuckin Africa? Not you! Who the fuck pays for all your orphanages? Not you! Who the fuck pays for your private schools? Not you! Who the fuck runs and funds all the goddamn Christian churches in Africa? Not you! Who the fuck spends more money and effort to fight AIDS and hunger in Africa? NOT YOU! You should be nicer and more respectful to the people who colonized and modernized this fuckin shithole."
Fifth mistake.
The crowd got closer, and larger, but I was on a one way train to hell that couldn’t stop. I got angrier and closer to him with each line out of my mouth.
"Oh, so how much money did you give the Director of my orphanage to feed the fuckin children who just want an education? Huh? How much? I gave a hundred fucking dollars today to feed those poor little fuckers and to buy doors for when the rains come, in addition to working my fucking ass off. What the fuck did you do? Oh, I know, you probably spent your day impregnating 6 more women who'll give birth to kids that you’ll never be a fuckin father to you fuckin deadbeat. How many kids do you have already that you don’t care for? Huh? How many?” I looked down at his feet then back up to his face.
“Fuckin scumbag. If it wasn’t for mzungu's all of you'd still be raising goats and drinking cows blood, mutherfucker."
Sixth mistake.
He took a step back, as if that last one really hurt. Which was odd, because they should have all hurt...
At that moment I felt like an asshole. I felt like a real American jerk. By then the crowd of curious, poor African men had grown to at least 40. I spoke so fast I have no idea how much of my rant was lost in translation, but regardless of how much these men understood, it was time to go.
Like a bitter little brat, I mumbled "Fuck this shit," and briskly walked out of the market, hoping the crowd wouldn’t follow me. I imagine the situation would have been more dangerous had I been a smaller and weaker looking man; but I was roughly the same weight as 4 of them, and despite my long haircut I looked like a military man, so none of them dared to challenge me as I walked away.
I assume the crowd of onlookers laughed at the salesman and shamed him intensely, because he came running after me with the goods in hand; jumping over chickens and goats and fruit displays to either get his honor back, or make the goddamn sale.
He stopped me again and tried a different approach. I bitterly stopped, took a deep breath, tilted my head up in frustration, and gave him my attention again. He said softly "My brother, I happy that you are teacher in my country, but I need to make profit bro. Please, make me an offer."
He did a good job at deflating the anger out of me, because I sighed, looked at the ground, and then pulled out 30,000 shillings and handed them to him without saying a word. He took it as my offer, and quickly countered, "45!"
I turned to walk away again and waved my hand at him as if to say "I’m over it"
He waited a second, looked at the ground, sighed, then came fast walking after me angrily. He didn’t run this time. He walked up and handed me the goods, and I handed him 30,000 shillings.
Instantly happiness pumped through my brain. My mother would have been proud to watch the way I negotiated. (Minus the continent bashing tirade) I learned how to negotiate from her in the flea markets of Queens.
I went to shake the guys hand, but he wouldn’t give me his hand, so I picked his limp arm up and grabbed his hand and shook it saying "Asante sana brother" (Thank you very much)
He bitterly shook back and said "Karibu," (Your welcome)
"Sorry about all that stuff i said bro, I was just having a bad day. I know you were just doing your job."
"Hakuna matata, hakuna matata," he said as he walked away with his head down.
I walked home and thought about my behavior, mentally beating my own ass for losing my cool and saying a whole bunch of mean shit that I really DID mean. When I got home I told my host brother about what I said, his response was not expected, but inspiring.
"Fuck dat guy. De shops is always rip off mzungu's. Don’t feel bad. They'll be sorry when you people stop coming to Tanzania. Don't feel bad."
I still feel bad....