Last night, as I was making plans to come to Masaka Town this morning, I walked to the centre of Bukoto Town (a dirt crossroads with a butcher stand and some other small shoppes) to look for Benard, my regular boda driver. He wasn't around, but the other boda guys called me over. The following conversation ensued...
Boda guys: Nakaweesi, jangu. (Nakaweesi, come.)
Me, walking over: Wanji? (Yes, please?)
Boda guys: Olaga wa? (Where are you going?)
Me: Te wali. (Nothing/nowhere.)
Me: Benard ali wano? (Is Benard here?)
Boda guys: Tali wo. Agenze Masaka. (He's not here. He has gone to Masaka [today].\0
Boda guys: Oyagala Benard? (You want Benard?)
Me: Njagala kugenda Masaka enkya kumakya. (I want to go to Masaka tomorrow in the morning.)
Boda, one whom I recognise, but don't actually know: Ezo saawa ameka? (At what time?)
Me: Ezo saawa bbiri. (At two [8:00am].)
Me: Ogenda kutwala? (Are you going to take me?)
Boda: Yee. (Yes.)
Me: Oyagala senti ameka? (How much money do you want?)
Boda: Nja kujja wa ka? Ogenda kujja wano? (Will I come to your house? Are you going to come here?)
Me: Ngenda kujja wano. (I am going to come here.)
Boda: Enkumi taano. (Five thousand [shillings].)
Me: Enkumi taano?! Nedda! (Five thousand?! I don't accept!)
I started to walk away. The other boda guys were all laughing; they knew as well as I did that he had quoted a very high price. My indignation was as much a part of the bargaining process as his outrageous quote.
Boda: Jangu. Oyagala kuwa senti ameka? (Come. You want to give how much money?)
Me: Enkumi saatu. (Three thousand [the normal boda price to Town].)
Boda: Teka wali lukumi. (You add there one thousand.)
Me: Enkumi nya? (Four thousand?)
Boda: Yee. (Yes.)
Me: Nedda. Enkumi saatu. (I don't accept. Three thousand.)
We went back and forth a bit between these two numbers, mine being the normal price, his being the one they quote during holidays and when there is a severe petrol shortage. The other bodas and villagers were amused at my arguing in Luganda, but seemed to agree that I should pay 4,000 shillings. Eventually, it came to this,
Boda: Bampeya enkumi nya. Oli mzungu. Oyina senti. (Give me four thousand. You are a white person. You have money.)
Me: Nedda. Siyina senti ninji. (No. I don't have a lot of money.)
Boda: Olimba. Oyina. (You are deceiving. You have.)
Me: Silimba. Siyina senti ninji. (I am not deceiving. I don't have a lot of money.)
With my still-limited Luganda, I failed to communicate the whole concept that I actually don't get paid to work here. I eventually agreed to come in the morning, but we continued to argue about the cost even as I walked away back toward my house...
On the one hand, he's right. I could afford to pay an extra $0.50 USD for transport into town.
But on the other hand, I hate to perpetuate and/or consistently have to confront the stereotypical association between my skin colour and my assumed financial status.
Oh, but it was fun to negotiation this argument in Luganda.
The post-script: this boda guy wasn't around when I walked up the road this morning. Another guy I know, Mugenyi, ended up driving me into Town.
And I paid 3,000 shillings without any additional negotiation.
14 years ago
4 comments:
first of all, you are a freaking rock-star with language. in my three months in baganda i never learned how to count properly. and still have to barter with hand signals. go you!
secondarily-i hear/feel ya on the stereotypes. the diocese is actually considering moving my office so that people can't see me from outside--i get an inordinate amount of visitors asking for money who don't believe me when i don't have. and my local language isn't as good as yours, so its a struggle. and i generally fell like a putz.
keep posting, friend--i love your reflections and how they push me! (and knowing whats going on 'down-south'.)
Gosh, reading this makes me miss you something fierce. I can't even begin to imagine your frustration at the white=rich stereotype, so choosing to embrace the stereotype of the ignorant Westerner, I will mention instead that I had to smile as I imagined this scene taking place. In the midst of that smile, though, I felt sad that I haven't actually heard your voice in ages. Continue being your wonderful bartering self! I love you!
I'm glad you had "fun to negotiation." I'm not sure if that is a typo or the way you talk now. I find myself also confusing parts of speech here and my sister told me that I talk differently. I so totally know the feeling about bartering and knowing the right price for motos/bodas. Sometimes late at night with people I don't know, I just give in, but there are other times I also fight hard.
About the whole stereotyping thing - Karin and I are also trying to figure it out. She has even gone so far as to have a class discussion on it and try to correct some of the misconceptions students have about all foreigners (They all come here as tourists. They have lots of money. It is okay for us to take their money.) And my Pa had to help me the other day by explaining in Khmei to a grandfather I was talking to that I don't have a salary (a common question here), I am just helping and don't get paid.
Thera, I learned the numbers along with my (then two year old) brother the first week or so after I arrived. The difference between tens and hundreds and thousands continued to confuse me for awhile, but now that mostly comes second nature :)
Melly, email me your phone number and I'll try to call you one day.
Chris, typo, yes, though the fact that I didn't notice it is telling about the language here. Generally, especially in the classroom, I consciously go back and forth between speaking "good English" (to challenge my students to learn it well) and speaking in a way that they can understand. Always an interesting decision :)
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