'Hey Me, Hey Mama'

The other day my stewardess "Venus" took me to one of the open air markets where you can get heaps of fruits, veggies and fish at a much better price than in the grocery stores (see pics here). It was terrific because I have knowingly been getting robbed for the past several weeks at some of the higher-end shops where everything is imported- $20 for a head of iceberg lettuce, $12 for a very small canteloupe, $3 for a single kiwi. It's anarchy.

Part of the reason the shops get away with it is because there is an entire sub-culture of wealthy expats who don't dare go to the markets and don't mind paying the high prices. They probably send their stewards to the markets for fish and certain vegetables but the shops offer lots of comforts from home like imported cheeses, nice wines, and smoked salmon, so shopping at these places is often part of the sub-culture too. Most are owned by French, Lebanese or South African families so the selection is lovely even if the prices are insane.

Also, if the vegetables are imported, you typically don't have to clean them with a special cleaning agent everyone here uses called Milton. It is a popular product in Great Britain and is usually used for sanitizing baby bottles, but it is perfect for washing vegetables. You dilute the tablets in a huge bowl of water, then submerge your veggies for a minute or two to wash away any bacteria. Unfortunately if something is grown in Nigeria, the soil does have a lot of bacteria so Milton is critical.

Venus and I hit the market early with our baskets and a cooler. It's not far from our flat but because it's under a bridge, you only go there for the sole purpose of food shopping. There is no strolling or browsing. I thought going early would be an advantage because we could take our time without any crowds but instead, we were sitting ducks. Or at least I was. We were immediately hit by a swarm of persistent shop owners showing me their best sellers - tangerines, spinach, grapes and mangoes. They offered me mostly small items they could hold up close to my face and get me to touch, feel, smell - and basically commit. As usual I smiled politely and just said "Good Morning" or "No, thank you". Everywhere I turned I heard "Madam, Madam" and was shown a piece of fruit. Despite the face that Venus was leading the charge, it was painfully obvious that I was the "Madam" and she was my stewardess.

Venus was unphased. She found the one or two shop owners she typically deals with and asked about various veggies I had mentioned - green beans, corn, rocket, etc. Any mention of an item would bring an even more intense sales pitch from other shop owners. But at this point they were pushing their sales pitch on Venus and calling her "Mama". "Hey Mama, you need lettuce? Hey Mama, you need tomato?" (Venus is actually a mom, but I seriously doubt that had anything to do with it). If someone got really pushy, Venus would just say "we're coming" which means, we'll get to you when we get to you. It seemed to work, for a little while anyway. When we finally found a stall that had most of what we needed, here's how it went, more or less:

Venus: How much?

Owner: 600 (naira)

Venus: No, that's too "cost". 400. 

Owner: Please Mama, no. Just fresh. Just come from market. 600

Venus: Are they sweet?

Owner: Yes, very sweet.

Venus (to me in whisper): If you ask it is sweet, they will always say yes

Owner: 900 in shops. 600 here. You take it.

Venus: I am here with my Madam. She is new. If she like it she will come back. 400

Owner: 900 per kilo in shops. Your Madam knows good price. 600 for your Madam.

Venus (to me quietly): do you like? 

Me (in whisper): Er, what do you think? do they look good to you?

Venus: 400 and my Madam will come back to you. She will know you. I will come too.

Owner: But Mama...

Venus (to me in audible voice): Maybe we will just have rice tonight?

Owner: 400 for your Madam. You come back here. I give good prices you understand?

Venus: Good. You have coriander? Only fresh. For my Madam.

Phew. I handed the money over. At the next stall, a older man was there.  Venus called confidently called over, "Ok Papa, you have pineapple?". Here we go..

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