On Friday, Mary Jane and I went on a hunt for kitenge (chi TEN gee),
African fabric. Actually, the plural is
bitenge (bee TEN gee), but that’s neither here nor there. One can occasionally find kitenge at a vendor
in the market, but if you want variety, you have to go to town (Kampala).
African fabric. Actually, the plural is
bitenge (bee TEN gee), but that’s neither here nor there. One can occasionally find kitenge at a vendor
in the market, but if you want variety, you have to go to town (Kampala).
Mary Jane was going to be in town anyhow since she took the kids to school, so
I got a driver and met her at the school.
I knew that we would be doing some running around since we were also
looking for a remote for a DVD player, and while Mary Jane knows Kampala quite
well, driving downtown is incredibly stressful, and there’s no parking (think
DC on steroids with no lines, signs, or apparent and/or enforced rules), so
it’s much better to have a driver circle the block while you conquer your
mission.
Fortunately,
Mary Jane knew where we were going, so she led the charge down a side street
that was so pockmarked, I’d never take a vehicle down it. When we found where we thought the bitenge
would be, we learned that they had shifted.
So a kind gentleman, most likely a broker, took us to where they were.
Mary Jane knew where we were going, so she led the charge down a side street
that was so pockmarked, I’d never take a vehicle down it. When we found where we thought the bitenge
would be, we learned that they had shifted.
So a kind gentleman, most likely a broker, took us to where they were.
Our brokers; the one on the right is the one who brought us to the stall; the one on the left did most of the talking. The woman in the shadow brought and brought and brought…
They
were inside a building, down a flight of steps, in a crowded stall of a
shop. Of course, the power was off, so
we really couldn’t see. So the vendors
started bringing the bitenge out to where we could see.
were inside a building, down a flight of steps, in a crowded stall of a
shop. Of course, the power was off, so
we really couldn’t see. So the vendors
started bringing the bitenge out to where we could see.
Bring
they did! At one point, we must have had
20 or 25 bitenge out. I was dividing
them into piles, yes, no, maybe, on a young woman’s sewing machine. I felt badly that I was disrupting her work,
but since power was off, she may not have been able to sew anyhow.
they did! At one point, we must have had
20 or 25 bitenge out. I was dividing
them into piles, yes, no, maybe, on a young woman’s sewing machine. I felt badly that I was disrupting her work,
but since power was off, she may not have been able to sew anyhow.
A sewing machine is buried under all the bitenge. I promise.
We did see this old Singer like my grandmother had; they are quite handy in a country where you can’t assume that you’ll have electricity, and they’re much easier to repair!
 |
| The Singer like my grandmother had; they work beautifully here. |
So,
I found what I wanted, and the negotiations began. They asked a price that I expected. I wanted to get them down 10,000 shillings
($4), though if I’d had a Ugandan with me, I may have been able to get them
down 20,000 ($8).
I found what I wanted, and the negotiations began. They asked a price that I expected. I wanted to get them down 10,000 shillings
($4), though if I’d had a Ugandan with me, I may have been able to get them
down 20,000 ($8).
 |
| The bitenge kept coming. I think I was just a bit overwhelmed at this point. |
 |
| “Nedda (no), nedda, maybe, nedda, yaa (yes), nedda…” |
When
negotiating, I have no problem mentioning that I am a musumba (shepherd,
interpreted as priest) to encourage merchants to not cheat me. Later on I bought a chair for my desk at
home, and the guy wouldn’t budge on the price.
I told him that I am a musumba, and he refused to make eye contact
after, only looking at my driver! He
knew he was cheating me. We found a
middle ground as the rain began, but he got me for 5,000 ($2) than I wanted to
pay.
negotiating, I have no problem mentioning that I am a musumba (shepherd,
interpreted as priest) to encourage merchants to not cheat me. Later on I bought a chair for my desk at
home, and the guy wouldn’t budge on the price.
I told him that I am a musumba, and he refused to make eye contact
after, only looking at my driver! He
knew he was cheating me. We found a
middle ground as the rain began, but he got me for 5,000 ($2) than I wanted to
pay.
So,
the bitenge merchants laughed about my being a musumba, and then Mary Jane
chipped in with her Luganda phrases. I
counted the bitenge in Luganda, and I think they somewhat took us as people who
live here, not just tourists. I did get them down the 10,000 I wanted, though it always takes some back and forth. Bartering is part of building the relationship. I don’t love it, but when in Rome…
the bitenge merchants laughed about my being a musumba, and then Mary Jane
chipped in with her Luganda phrases. I
counted the bitenge in Luganda, and I think they somewhat took us as people who
live here, not just tourists. I did get them down the 10,000 I wanted, though it always takes some back and forth. Bartering is part of building the relationship. I don’t love it, but when in Rome…
We
then met some other missionaries that Mary Jane knows for lunch, and I took one
of them part way home, and we all got caught in a delightful rainstorm, and it
took a little over 3 hours to get home, but all in all, a good and successful day of
making memories.
then met some other missionaries that Mary Jane knows for lunch, and I took one
of them part way home, and we all got caught in a delightful rainstorm, and it
took a little over 3 hours to get home, but all in all, a good and successful day of
making memories.
And I have the bitenge and the chair to help me remember.
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