Holding On
[Begun May 3, 2007]
Today I withdrew $4000 from the EcoBank in Parakou. I don't know many people accustomed to toting around that kind of cash, let alone in a country where it amounts to more than most people have seen -- cumulatively -- in the last decade. But the bank is 3 hours on bad roads from our project site, there's equipment to be bought and laborers to be paid, and it's unacceptable to run short when people's livelihoods are at stake. Shaking my head at the orders-of-magnitude cognitive dissonance as I finish counting the money, I shove the envelope in my bag, step outside, and hail a zemi.
This moment, to me, is torture. There aren't a lot of price tags in West Africa. For a short list of items and services (pure water sachets, fixed transportation routes, phone units), prices are fixed by common knowledge; beyond these kinds of staples, everything is open to discussion. I've never enjoyed bargaining, least of all over small items. You're usually talking about the equivalent of 10 cents, and a dime that is nothing to you buys a solid meal here. On the other hand, even if you don't personally mind being ripped off all the time by local standards, your coworkers care because it has a negative effect on the local economy. Where there's a local price and a foreigner price, local services stop serving locals...it's basic entrepreneurialism. And so, in some way, you feel compelled to argue the 20 cent taxi moto fare with $4000 swinging from your shoulder.
My "strategy" is to pre-empt the entire bargaining discussion by offering a price that I know is at the very top of the range, but not ridiculous by local standards. The zemi driver knows instantly that he's getting a great deal, even if it's not that rare 20-times-the-price stupid tourist windfall; almost without exception, people accept these initial offers. Additionally, I avoid the terrible feeling of trying to bargain down a price when we both know that I had enough money to buy the plane ticket here.
*************
Beyond being at peace with 11 people shoved into a 5-seater that should have been junked before the Carter administration, coordinating a development project means getting comfortable with uncomfortable juxtapositions. There's no middle ground; it's something I have to define every day. The tradeoff between immediate needs and future goals is a particularly tough line to walk.
You're in your job as a development worker because you have skills and time to help a community in need plan for a better future. After all, planning is a leisure activity that people engaged in subsistence activities can rarely afford. But...who are you to say what "perspective" a subsistence farmer should have? It feels presumptuous and ridiculous to talk about longer-term vision when people are on the edge of starvation. On the other hand, as a person with the luxury to do this, who are you *not* to? It's your responsibility.
Both things are true. There are immediate needs and there's a future. If you're going to do your job well, you have to remember both. The right hand feeds the people who are hungry right now. The left hand plans so that there will eventually be no more "hungry right now." Let go with the right hand and you become a cynical (and overpaid) development worker content to sit behind a desk and believe in slogans like "people need a hand up; not a hand out." Let go with the left hand and there might be some tomorrows that are better than today, but they won't last. No, there is no letting go. You have to be comfortable stretched in the middle. You have to be simultaneously heartbroken and hopeful. Your entire role is to fill that gap. Both things are true.
*************
The men building a latrine for our office clearly haven't eaten lunch again. I've taken to walking over each day and casually checking in just so I can buy them some food; they'd never ask. As they eat, we all sit under a big tree and I work on some overdue calculations for the next phase of the project. Sometimes they pause and stare at my pen, my notebook, well aware of how much these items cost. I can only hope they realize that I don't equate the pen and paper with lunch. Both things are true.
Today I withdrew $4000 from the EcoBank in Parakou. I don't know many people accustomed to toting around that kind of cash, let alone in a country where it amounts to more than most people have seen -- cumulatively -- in the last decade. But the bank is 3 hours on bad roads from our project site, there's equipment to be bought and laborers to be paid, and it's unacceptable to run short when people's livelihoods are at stake. Shaking my head at the orders-of-magnitude cognitive dissonance as I finish counting the money, I shove the envelope in my bag, step outside, and hail a zemi.
This moment, to me, is torture. There aren't a lot of price tags in West Africa. For a short list of items and services (pure water sachets, fixed transportation routes, phone units), prices are fixed by common knowledge; beyond these kinds of staples, everything is open to discussion. I've never enjoyed bargaining, least of all over small items. You're usually talking about the equivalent of 10 cents, and a dime that is nothing to you buys a solid meal here. On the other hand, even if you don't personally mind being ripped off all the time by local standards, your coworkers care because it has a negative effect on the local economy. Where there's a local price and a foreigner price, local services stop serving locals...it's basic entrepreneurialism. And so, in some way, you feel compelled to argue the 20 cent taxi moto fare with $4000 swinging from your shoulder.
My "strategy" is to pre-empt the entire bargaining discussion by offering a price that I know is at the very top of the range, but not ridiculous by local standards. The zemi driver knows instantly that he's getting a great deal, even if it's not that rare 20-times-the-price stupid tourist windfall; almost without exception, people accept these initial offers. Additionally, I avoid the terrible feeling of trying to bargain down a price when we both know that I had enough money to buy the plane ticket here.
*************
Beyond being at peace with 11 people shoved into a 5-seater that should have been junked before the Carter administration, coordinating a development project means getting comfortable with uncomfortable juxtapositions. There's no middle ground; it's something I have to define every day. The tradeoff between immediate needs and future goals is a particularly tough line to walk.
You're in your job as a development worker because you have skills and time to help a community in need plan for a better future. After all, planning is a leisure activity that people engaged in subsistence activities can rarely afford. But...who are you to say what "perspective" a subsistence farmer should have? It feels presumptuous and ridiculous to talk about longer-term vision when people are on the edge of starvation. On the other hand, as a person with the luxury to do this, who are you *not* to? It's your responsibility.
Both things are true. There are immediate needs and there's a future. If you're going to do your job well, you have to remember both. The right hand feeds the people who are hungry right now. The left hand plans so that there will eventually be no more "hungry right now." Let go with the right hand and you become a cynical (and overpaid) development worker content to sit behind a desk and believe in slogans like "people need a hand up; not a hand out." Let go with the left hand and there might be some tomorrows that are better than today, but they won't last. No, there is no letting go. You have to be comfortable stretched in the middle. You have to be simultaneously heartbroken and hopeful. Your entire role is to fill that gap. Both things are true.
*************
The men building a latrine for our office clearly haven't eaten lunch again. I've taken to walking over each day and casually checking in just so I can buy them some food; they'd never ask. As they eat, we all sit under a big tree and I work on some overdue calculations for the next phase of the project. Sometimes they pause and stare at my pen, my notebook, well aware of how much these items cost. I can only hope they realize that I don't equate the pen and paper with lunch. Both things are true.
posted by Unknown at 10:00 AM
2 Comments:
That's the best description I've ever heard of why it is so absurd and difficult to bargain about minibus prices, and yet necessary. Thanks.
Jen,
you are a high roller in Africa. CAN'T WAIT FOR THE END OF AUGUST!
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