The Chinese, we will always find each other

I have just survived through my first power outage in Kara, and almost my first day in the markets. This first experience has been so surreal that I am going to slowly reflect on all of the things that happenedtoday and end with how fortunate I am.

I was initially very apprehensive about my trip to the market in Kara.The main reasons were: My French is still very broken; I have no bargaining skills; and I had to do this all alone. Alex and Madeline had left with Dr. Piot on Tuesday--the day before the big Wednesday's market day--to Lomé because Alex needed medical attention and Madeline had work to do in Lomé. I was the only one who stayed in the village to continue my work. Fortunately, my mentor in Farendé, Jespère, decided that he would train me on the basics of bargaining.

Here are the protocols:
1. You must greet the seller either in Kabiyé (prefered b/c it showed that you are trying to be a part of their culture) or in French;
2. Ask for the price, or ask for the name of the product if you have no idea what the pile of stuff in front of you is;
3. Ask them to lower their price, but only on items that they have grown and never on packaged items (according to Jaspère, they are there b/c they need money; thus to ask for a price that is too low is inhumane. There are also different prices at different time of the dayas well, so you can do your bargaining accordingly);
4. Discuss theprice with the seller;
5. Ask for a final price;
6. After the transaction, be sure to say goodbye as you leave.
If you do these steps well, not only will you get a good price, you will also have established a relationship with the seller. The next time that you buy from them, you can call them friends and get a better price (maybe).

With these protocols, I went around the little night market in Farendé with Jespère and Tako (one of the nurses at CMS) and practiced these bargaining skills. Jespère made me do it over and over until I was comfortable with the whole thing.

Now Wednesday arrives with a brilliant sunrise. I put on my entire market gear (backpack, water, notebooks, camera, money, a thick layer of sunblock), adjusted my cap and was ready for this first day in the markets. I initially met up with the cousin of Jespère, who showed me the taxi that would take me to Ketao (a town inbetween Farendé and Kara). Then I met Laby, a linguist at the University of Kara whom I met the day before while walking home.

Both of us were crammed into a beat-up volts-wagon, which is designed for 5 or 6 people at max (as far as safety goes), with a total of 9 people. I was sharing the front seat with an old man, trying not to hit the break or the stick-shift while shielding my ears from the blasting music and the random shouts from the driver. It was an interesting ride, to say the least.

Once I reached Katow, the old man who was sitting beside me was going to Kara as well, so he took me to my next taxi, which had much more room, and I had a proper seat. The entire ride was absolutely scenic with the mountains, palm trees and rolling grasslands.

Once I reached Kara, the kind young driver decided to take me to the market. It seemed that he had nothing to do in Kara so he was going to be my personal tour guide. He showed me where to find all the things I needed, including important information like where one can find the best mango, clothe, and so forth.

I knew that there were Chinese people who lived here, so I asked to meet some. He told me that he had a friend in the police station who could give us some directions, so off I went to the police station in Kara. I find it amusing that I would end up in a police station talking to an officer about the local culture. He invited me to watch the local wrestling matches that occurs every July. In addition, I learned that my driver and him were friends from Pagouda (another city north of where I live), and both of them played soccer in Kara. At the end, he gave us the directions to the Chniese pharmacy just a few steps away from the police station. Oh, the driver's name was Gafar.

Gafar and I arrived at the pharmacy, and an old to middle aged Chinese man sat at the counter. I gave my proper Chinese greetings, and we begin to chat in Chinese. It turns out that the Chinese man, Mr. Cao, is from the same area where I was born in China. He had the same accent, and even a similar history as my grandpa.

Imagine what I was feeling and thinking. Wow, in the middle of Africa, I would find an old relative (or that's how we call people who comes from the same place in China) who loved to talk about Chinese history and politics. In addition to our conversations about the local culture, he also gave me a brief history lesson on China. I learned that he was exiled during the Culture Revolution (like my grandpa), worked in the Chinese army, became an official in a factory, and came to Togo through a random turn of events. His entire family is still in China, and he had just came back from visiting them.

At the end of our conversation, he invited me and my friend to eat. It was great to taste some Chinese food at last. I promised that I would regard him as my uncle now and will come to greet him every time I am in Kara. So through these amazing turn of events, I am here in the small internet café writing up this blog. I promise that I will give more context details in the next blog. There are just too many things to write, and I could go on for longer than my time limit allows. So signing off from Togo, until next time, take care.