Another Ouagadougou Day

It was a good day. I woke up and enjoyed a nice dreamy morning. When I got up, I headed into town along the same route I always take--down the Avenue de la Liberté until the main drag where I turn right and head south.

So, last night I indicated to Ali Baba that I might be interested in a soccer jersey. That was the first I'd even seen of soccer jerseys in Burkina Faso. Ali Baba deserves credit for thinking to show me a soccer jersey and bringing to my attention that I might even buy a soccer jersey for the Burkina Faso national team.

So I'm getting close to the place where Ali Baba has his stand and about 5 young men come up to me with soccer jerseys. I couldn't help but smile. These guys probably heard that the white guy who walked by a few a times the past few days might be interested in a soccer jersey. And they sought to intercept me on my way to visit Ali Baba. I stopped, amazed at this interest turn of events. Five young men were trying to get me to buy jerseys from two men. They offered a price of CFA 10000 (US$20). But I said I wanted to visit Ali Baba. One of the guys who showed up at the commotion heard that and grabbed me and led me to Ali Baba. Ali Baba was of course delighted to see me return. How many white people say "tomorrow" only to never be seen again? Ali Baba gave me the idea, so he was the guy I would deal with.

Ali Baba whipped out his calculator an keyed in 12500--same price as last night. Ok, that's the same opening price. No problem. I offered CFA 5000. No, that wouldn't work. Now I'm not an expert on prices of soccer jerseys. I know that 12500 is low for an equivalent article of clothing in a suburban mall store that sells sports related clothes. But this is Africa. Still, they seemed sincere in their declaration that 5000 was too low. I didn't know if they were faking it or if 5000 was really below or too close to cost for them. We haggled some more. 11500 (friend price since I returned from last night) vs. 6000. Still not a deal. They told me it was an original jersey of the highest quality. They couldn't sell it for less. I said that the guy who was standing there (the crowd who tried to get to me buy the jersey followed me and were all watching me with Ali Baba) offered CFA 10000 for a jersey. He balked. He said that the 10000 was my opening bid. No, I said, it was theirs (nice try)--the only thing I told them was that I wanted to see Ali Baba. The guy who offered 10000 left.

So, there we were, me, Ali Baba, and a crowd of African spectators. Ali Baba came down to 10500. He said he couldn't go any lower. I upped to CFA 7000. That's where they revealed their hand. OK, they could to 15000 for 2 jerseys. I figured if they could do 15000 they could do 7500 for one. I told them I only wanted one. But I knew their lower limit. I had the leverage to get them to 7500.

So there I was, they wanting 10500 for one or 15000 for two. I told them I'd think about it and started to walk away. They called me back. OK, 9000 for one. Nope, 7500 was my highest offer. They dropped to 8000. Almost there. It's kind of interesting moral dilemma for an American. The difference of CFA 500 constitutes 0.001% of my annual income. For this guy it's probably half or a third his average daily income. Really, I should be the one to yield on the last CFA 500. But I didn't. My threat to walk away did it. He wasn't happy, but in the end, moving product is more important than margin. I got the jersey (#19 Kabore C.) for CFA 7500 (US$15).
Another guy called me into his shop. He tried to get me to buy stuff. I resisted. Finally, he started putting post cards into my hand. When I tried to put them back, he blocked me. He continued until I agreed to buy 3 for CFA 500 (US$1). I like these ones better than the other ones the other vendors have been selling and they are flat--I can put them into a book and forget about them.

That done, I headed down to an Indian restaurant way down at the south end of the main drag. I entered and sat down. It was interesting. There was a guy who was either Filipino or Malaysian with 2 Africans. After a while a few more Africans came including the guy who was their leader as well as one guy who looked Indian. Their conversation was interesting. I have listened in on a few "business lunches" in my time in Africa. My idea up until now of the African business lunches based on my limited observations is 1) no information of any use is exchanged and 2) no conclusions of any value are reached. But the Filipino/Malaysian guy was a manager in an architectural firm with an architecture or engineering background. And the guy who did the talking from the African was obviously of an engineering background. They were discussing topics I don't understand, but they were bandying about numbers and terms with a technical meaning. These guys were technical. It was wonderful. It was the first time I'd seen Africans talking and thinking like engineers. It was a business lunch of the type I might have with a customer who wanted to understand what I do over a chicken masala. It was plain and simple refreshing. I loved it.

Perhaps that biases what I'm about to say, but whoever said that the Clay Oven in Gambia is the best Indian restaurant in West Africa needs to come to Ouagadougou and check out the ambiguously named Restaurant d'Inde or Rang d'Inde. I've eaten at each only once so I don't know which one is ultimately better, but they are in the same rank.

An interesting thing also happened at the Indian restaurant. Once I sat down, I checked the stitching of my new Burkina Faso soccer jersey to try to see if this was a good quality shirt. While I was doing so, an African waiter became quite interested in my purchase. Soon, when I was about to pour some beer into my glass, he came and grabbed the bottle and poured it for me. Then he asked about my jersey. He wanted to know which number it was. I pulled it out and showed him. #19. I told him I didn't know much about soccer. He was pleased that I had bought a jersey, though.

On the way back, I ran into a guy selling magazines. He gathered pretty quickly that I might be interested in either The Economist or Time, preferably both. I decided that I'd like to read The Economist. So I asked how much. He pointed to the newsstand price in Europe of €5.20 and said CFA 3000 (US$6). I probably could have gotten him lower since it was the Oct 4-Oct 10 edition and it was already the 10th. But I figured that his quoted price was below the newsstand price and, after all, this guy is wandering around Ouagadougou with a shrink wrapped copy of The Economist, he deserves the newsstand premium. And it's not exactly like the economic situation has boring lately. So I bought it at his opening price.

I went back to the garden where I got the jersey and where the Country & Western music was playing yesterday. I was secretly disappointed that there was no Country & Western music today. Oh well. I had my The Economist. Over the next few hours I ordered 3 large beers and read. The Economist has little good to say about John McCain and nice things to say about Barack Obama so I was in a very jovial mood. For the first time since I arrived in Africa, female merchants tried to get me to buy stuff. They were pretty, but I resisted. The staff and customers at this garden are quite attractive. My waitress in particular had a beautiful behind. But eventually I had to return to my hotel.

On they way back some merchants tried to snag me. I looked at their stuff but bought nothing. They were disappointed but what can they do. I finally made it back to the Pavillon Vert where I passed a guy and a woman. I went to the bathroom and then to my room where the guy was at the door. He was saying something that I didn't quite understand. Finally I followed him out and he led to the woman. Quite attractive. She asked if I would like to buy her something to eat. I figured I knew what this was. But I'm a C-SPAN junkie with the first Economist I've seen in months. I had better things to do tonight than anything she had in mind. Besides, white people in Africa get white prices (I presume) and that's too much for me. I sat at an outdoor table. After 10 minutes a white guy walked by with her about 5 behind and 5 minutes after that, he left with her 5 feet behind. I read the Economist for the rest of the evening over a beer.

Friday October 10, 2008 22:24 Burkina Faso local time