I am a fly
Today I had a run-in with the flycatchers, and not just one but three of them. That is the nickname that they have here for the guys who tag on to foreigners and start to follow them around, offering goods or asking them to come to visit their shop. They are relentless and incredibly annoying, like a fly swirling around your head that won’t go away. Sometimes, if you’re unlucky, you’ll have two going at the same time.
Today I went into town after school to get online. After having a great cheeseburger and chips at Chrisburger (no joke… that’s the name!), I headed to the internet café only to find on arriving that they had no power. Strange, since everywhere else did. They said that it could come back on at any time, so I decided to take a bit of a walk around, since I really hadn’t had much of an opportunity to just wander on my own around town. I had always been with Deo.
After a short walk and a little browsing in one touristy shop, a flycatcher got me coming out of the store. Of course, they start with formalities – how are you, what’s your name, where’re you from, yada, yada, yada. That way, it’s hard to brush them off without just seeming plain rude; all they’re doing is greeting you. Of course, it goes from there into the sales pitch. The shop is just around the corner, come take a look, no pressure to buy, hakuna matata (that’s not just a line from the Lion King). Today, as it were, I had time to kill and though I was loathe to allow myself to be led anywhere by one of these guys, I did so. He said it was a cooperative shop that helped street youth, and true to his word, it was within spitting distance of the main road.
So I went into the small shop and looked around. The guy inside commented on everything my eyes rested upon for more than a fraction of a second, but wasn’t overly annoying. I didn’t see much that I wanted but thought that I’d contribute so I picked up a little bead bracelet in the colours of the Tanzania flag and a flag-coloured bandana. Though I knew they were worth less than 1000 shillings each ($1), I was expecting him to highball me with something like 5000 for the two, after which we could bargain. So when he asked for 14000 for the two, I just put them down. He must have thought I was born yesterday.
I made to go and he started to bargain, but wouldn’t go lower than 10,000 and since I wouldn’t go higher than 5000, there was no sale. But that didn’t stop the guy who brought me there from following me all the way back to the internet café, now joined by some guy who had come out of nowhere and was offering me a similar bandana for 2500. The pestering was unbelievable. You try to be polite, but what do you do when polite just doesn’t deliver the message. By the time I got to the internet café, I was so pissed off with the two of them that even though the second had dropped his price to 1500 shillings, I just told them I wasn’t buying anything and that was that.
I’m sure, as in most 3rd world countries they pester because every sale means a bit more food or whatever, and also because they know that some foreigners will give in to the pestering just to get them off their backs, but I can’t help but wonder if they’d do a whole lot better if they tried to understand that Westerners don’t like to be hounded to death when shopping. That a “no” generally means no. I told them straight out that I had just arrived in Moshi and that I was just looking around for now. When I do get in the mood to buy, I’ll be far less inclined to buy from someone who has hassled me continuously than from someone who has understood me, given me my space, and waited for another day when I might return.
In any case, Moshi’s not that big of a town and the flycatchers remember their pray, so I’m sure that I’ll see these guys again. Time to learn some good Swahili phrases to fend them off.
And after all that, the power never came back at the internet café, and I just had to go home. But not before having to deal with another flycatcher all the way up until the moment I stepped inside the bus. Where’s my @#%$!!# flyswatter?
Today I went into town after school to get online. After having a great cheeseburger and chips at Chrisburger (no joke… that’s the name!), I headed to the internet café only to find on arriving that they had no power. Strange, since everywhere else did. They said that it could come back on at any time, so I decided to take a bit of a walk around, since I really hadn’t had much of an opportunity to just wander on my own around town. I had always been with Deo.
After a short walk and a little browsing in one touristy shop, a flycatcher got me coming out of the store. Of course, they start with formalities – how are you, what’s your name, where’re you from, yada, yada, yada. That way, it’s hard to brush them off without just seeming plain rude; all they’re doing is greeting you. Of course, it goes from there into the sales pitch. The shop is just around the corner, come take a look, no pressure to buy, hakuna matata (that’s not just a line from the Lion King). Today, as it were, I had time to kill and though I was loathe to allow myself to be led anywhere by one of these guys, I did so. He said it was a cooperative shop that helped street youth, and true to his word, it was within spitting distance of the main road.
So I went into the small shop and looked around. The guy inside commented on everything my eyes rested upon for more than a fraction of a second, but wasn’t overly annoying. I didn’t see much that I wanted but thought that I’d contribute so I picked up a little bead bracelet in the colours of the Tanzania flag and a flag-coloured bandana. Though I knew they were worth less than 1000 shillings each ($1), I was expecting him to highball me with something like 5000 for the two, after which we could bargain. So when he asked for 14000 for the two, I just put them down. He must have thought I was born yesterday.
I made to go and he started to bargain, but wouldn’t go lower than 10,000 and since I wouldn’t go higher than 5000, there was no sale. But that didn’t stop the guy who brought me there from following me all the way back to the internet café, now joined by some guy who had come out of nowhere and was offering me a similar bandana for 2500. The pestering was unbelievable. You try to be polite, but what do you do when polite just doesn’t deliver the message. By the time I got to the internet café, I was so pissed off with the two of them that even though the second had dropped his price to 1500 shillings, I just told them I wasn’t buying anything and that was that.
I’m sure, as in most 3rd world countries they pester because every sale means a bit more food or whatever, and also because they know that some foreigners will give in to the pestering just to get them off their backs, but I can’t help but wonder if they’d do a whole lot better if they tried to understand that Westerners don’t like to be hounded to death when shopping. That a “no” generally means no. I told them straight out that I had just arrived in Moshi and that I was just looking around for now. When I do get in the mood to buy, I’ll be far less inclined to buy from someone who has hassled me continuously than from someone who has understood me, given me my space, and waited for another day when I might return.
In any case, Moshi’s not that big of a town and the flycatchers remember their pray, so I’m sure that I’ll see these guys again. Time to learn some good Swahili phrases to fend them off.
And after all that, the power never came back at the internet café, and I just had to go home. But not before having to deal with another flycatcher all the way up until the moment I stepped inside the bus. Where’s my @#%$!!# flyswatter?
posted by CHRIS at 10:45 p.m.
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