Talking Shop

I've always been a fan of Saturday mornings, and never more so than here in Maputo. There's a craft market next to the Fortaleza (fort built by the Portuguese in the mid-19th century) that I love to explore. It's got that whole seedy carnival vibe - dirt, music, dancing, and hucksters galore.

While I'm certainly not as talented at uncovering flea market treasures as my sister Jill, I do fancy myself skilled in the art of recognizing that which is special. Where I falter, however, is when it comes time to start bargaining.

Dealing in the market is not for the faint of heart. What I've learned the hard way is that you don't casually ask the price of anything you aren't seriously considering buying, you don't smile at anyone unless you are prepared to have them follow you for thirty minutes saying "Senhora! Senhora!" while demonstrating the effectiveness of, say, their refrigerator magnets, and you must be willing to walk away from an item that is exactly and precisely perfect for the empty space in your living room. Your ultimate goal is for the seller to send someone to chase you down the street holding the item you wanted, then offering it for the price that, only minutes ago, was met with a gasp and look that implied you had insulted not only the vendor, but every one of his living relatives and deceased ancestors. (Granted, the aforementioned exchange has only happened to me once, but the memory still fills me with pride. That said, I don't kid myself for a second that I got the better of anyone. To paraphrase Matt Damon in the movie Rounders, if you can't spot the sucker in the first thirty minutes, then you're the sucker.)

You also have to have the patience and persistence to wade through some less-than-desirable items, as witnessed by the five-foot-tall wooden miner, second from left. Does anyone need a gag gift for their upcoming office Christmas party? Seriously, I am considering hosting a Marketing 101 workshop where I explain that if no one is interested in purchasing your hand-painted and -carved sculptures of beer bottles, it is best to stop producing them in bulk. Same with the wood animal sculptures. While I have no problem with hippos per se, being confronted with an entire herd of them makes their appeal wane somewhat. Displaying one or two at a time might up their allure.

Of course, this mass-produced mentality to handmade goods makes the unique easier to spot. I love these dolls! Many of the sellers in the market are simply dealers. But some of the people actually sell their own wares, like this woman here.

I'm also a huge fan of George (see below). He's from Zimbabwe and creates these painstakingly beaded wire sculptures. Can't you just see a bunch of different animals hung on the wall of a child's bedroom? It's definitely a fresh take on taxidermy.

As with many of my experiences here in Mozambique, fun times (a la shopping in the market) are often tinged with sadness. While it is well and good for me to snicker at something I deem tasteless, the reality is that someone has spent a good deal of time making it in hopes that its sale will help them feed, shelter, and clothe their family. I realize that is the objective of practically every business enterprise, but a lack of success seems especially poignant here.

This past Saturday, I was approached by a painfully thin woman with a baby strapped to her back. She was selling moldy peanuts from a basket, and I'm still feeling guilty for shaking my head and walking briskly away from her. The capitalist in me has tried to justify my behavior by telling myself that buying her moldy peanuts would encourage the misguided notion that there is a market for moldy peanuts. The selfish jerk in me believed that slipping her money would make me a prime target for all the panhandlers, peddlers, and pickpockets staked between the market and my car.

But it's the me sitting here in the dark that's having trouble sleeping.