The Smiles are Free

A couple of months back, I encountered a power struggle between two guards offering to watch my car. The $0.20 wage that car guards stand to earn causes a surge in these freelancing entrepreneurs, particularly at Christmastime. I agreed with the first boy who offered to watch my car, but quickly a second emerged. "Come on," he urged, "that's just a child. I'm much stronger. I'll watch your car."

I'm just running into the vegetable market for a minute, I thought to myself. I proceeded to roll up a sleeve and flexed a rather thin arm, asking the older boy if he meant to imply that I didn't have plenty of my own muscle. I told him that I already had a guard for my car, too. The young boy would do just fine.

Humour -- if I can be so presumptive as to use that label to describe my little exhibition -- seems to be a great diffuser of conflict in Africa. And a great way to gently point out that you can't be taken advantage of by a vendor on the street.

"Come on," one market vendor whined in English when Laura and I expressed interest in one of his products. "I sell these things for 350."

I looked him in the eye and smiled. And then I asked him in Portuguese who actually buys those things for 350, aside from estrangeiros. Foreigners. I wasn't interested in the foreigner price, I told him.

His reply? "I'll give it to you for 250."

We eventually settled on 220 meticais, which I think still yields him a handsome profit. Our rule of thumb is that the vendors' opening price tends to be about double what a good closing price should be. And the safety valve is that street vendors seem savvy enough to not sell their wares for a loss. They're not afraid to refuse a sale.

* * * * *

Street hawkers will use what little English they know in an attempt to woo tourists. The most common sound around the market is a voice calling from behind: "Best friend, best friend! I'll give you a good price!"

I couldn't resist joking with one of these vendors. "If we're best friends," I asked in my broken Portuguese, "why do you want to sell me these things? Why won't you give them to me as a gift?"

Another vendor quietly snickered and took a step back, realizing that I'm not quite the easy target that I appeared to be.

"Ok, I'll give you these things," the first vendor responded, not wanting to be out-done in the exchange, "but only if you'll come next Saturday and help me to sell them!"

Neither of us thought the conversation was serious, which is what makes it most fun. We vigorously shook hands and included the cultural thumb-snap that only friends add, and went in our own separate directions. He understood that he wasn't making a sale, but had fun anyway.

* * * * *

"Best friend, best friend!" He wasn't gone for long. Give him credit for being tenacious.

My mistake was glancing at a batik, which he was also eager to try to sell me. "Buy it so that you'll remember Mozambique," he tried to persuade me.

"But I live right here in Maputo," I said. "What I'm really looking for is a reminder of Canada. I'll buy any souvenirs you have that are from Canada."

A laugh, a handshake and thumb-snap, and my best friend was off to make a sale to someone else. A real tourist.