Crocodile Tears
Dakar, Senegal
I AM BARGAINING in the bazaar in Dakar, Senegal. I am caught up in the spirit of the marketplace, having found a small crocodile hand-carved from black wood, smooth and gleaming, heavy. It is just beautiful and I want it. The shopkeeper wants to sell it to me even more. A small crowd has gathered to watch us go back-and-forth on the cost.
The price is way too high and the shopkeeper won’t budge even a single franc. I never could barter effectively. I have shopped the bazaars of the world, but I always end up ready to apologize. “I’m sorry, I’m taking milk out of your baby‘s mouth? Oh, okay, I will pay more.“
I reluctantly decide I don’t want the beautiful crocodile carving after all, overpriced at $25. I try to extricate myself from the haggling corner I have backed myself into. I blame the husband I don’t have. “I have to ask Mon Mari before I spend so much money,” I explain apologetically.
“Where is your husband?” the shopkeeper asks me. “On the beach,” I reply. “He hates to shop. He will be very angry with me if I spend that much money.”
The shopkeeper backs off and lets me leave his store. Those were the magical words- ‘my husband will get angry’. The crowd leaves, the show is over.
No one wants to be responsible for a husband‘s anger.
