out sell

Arguably America is one of the wealthiest countries in the world. Arguably Burundi is one of the poorest countries in the world. An interesting dance happens when an American (myself) goes to the market (anywhere outside my house) and buys an item from a local merchant. You immediately have one of the richest people in the world bartering for an item from one of the poorest people in the world. Some people call this a moral dilemma. I'm not one of them. Although I do feel really bad when I get a good deal. Where as in America, I feel really good when I get a good deal. But those are emotive responses, and i don't know how much they have to do with conscience. Sometimes I get bad deals, and I don't worry about it because I think to myself: "these people are really poor, good for them, they ripped me off this time, I hope they spend the money wisely (who really spends money wisely?)." Sometimes I get a bad deal and I think: "Lame! I shouldn't get ripped off just because I'm of the richest people in the world! Plus, I'm among the middle/low class of the richest people in the world! And I'm always livin' paycheck to paycheck, with meager savings at best!" Then I breathe heavily for a bit, and kick a rock, and think... "I'll show them next time" (as if they need more problems to deal with). I think my average right now is 50/50 but I have no way of confirming this. I'm pretty sure, I'll end up getting more and more good deals. Often times, I'm not even looking to buy something: usually Burundians will see a white person and immediately ask for money or try and sell something. On this particular sunny Saturday, I was heading to the "bucherie" to get some chicken with the belle and friends, and the vendors had already surrounded the car before I even turned it off. We looked out our windows only to see vegetables, wine, door beads, cell phones, cameras, flowers, clothes, shoes, fruit, etc... ad infinitum. The items were plastered against the window amidst smiling faces of Burundians shouting out prices. The price war had begun whether we were interested or not. The girls peeled out and headed into le burcherie. I decided to stand amidst the vendors and practice my french. After a few seconds it was clear my french was horrid and so was theirs, and I was having a blast! I only had about 6000 BF's in my pocket ($6.50) and nobody was trying to steal it. I didn't want to buy anything, but this one guy was getting visibly upset that I wasn't buying his wine. He started at $28 US. Oyah! I said, $2.00! The crowd erupted in a thunder of laughter. The time passed, many items shoved in my face, constantly I felt my pocket to see if my money was still there. I shouted numbers to the wine vendor, he shouted numbers back. A cheese vendor shoved 3 big blocks of cheese in my face... I checked my pocket. I pushed the cheese aside. I was up to $5.00's for the wine. He came down to $18.00. A small boy grabs my shorts and shouts "give me money." I look down at him: "why should I give you money, what will you buy!" He gets scared and steps back... more english than he could handle. He was immediately replaced buy a bag of pink toilet paper with a small man shouting behind it: dix nuit mil franc! The wine guy shouted at me again, he was down to $12. I was now stickin' firm at $5.oo and wondering about the repercussions of pink toilet paper. I stumbled into a deep pot hole as people pressed items against me for me to grab. As I stumbled back and the crowd stumbled in perfect sync with me. I was loving every second. Pocket check... cash still there. Smells were becoming more potent... possibly the wind blew some sewage smell in the direction of our bartering. The BO was mixing with the sewage smell producing an aroma that would never be bottled. The shouting all blended into one tuneless melody, an aggressive sountrack to all the food and materials shoved in my face. If only I could film these interactions I thought. I knew from previous experience, people get really ticked off when you bust out a camera. The venders were crowding in more loudly, for me it was linguistic cultural fun... for them: life and death... at least it was their livelihood. The girls came back and got in the car I told my friend: "The wine vender is down to 9,000 BFU. " "I'll buy it if you get him to $5.oo" she said (we were making chicken tikimasala, and wine makes the spicy sauce irresistible). We were on the same page, plus we didn't even know if wine was really in the bottle. The vender shoved the bottle into my stomach: "6,000BFU! Tis a good price!" He shouted. My friend agreed. We paid the vendor and left the scene. We did the dance, we fought the price war: did we both loose? Did somebody win? Cultural entertainment or survival? A bit of both to be sure.

Fruits and veggie venders up country

You wouldn't know it by this pick but Trina loves banannas