I could not imagine a more capitalistic place than Dakar. This is economic Darwinism at its extreme, with everybody selling something, all the time. If I want anything from a banjo to a bottle of wine, I need not to go longer than out my door and give somebody the money. Of course I don’t do it, since that would demean the experience.
But when you walk down the street its like your wearing a plaque saying: “Free money.” They will sell you anything, and every street is a market. And they don’t give up. They never give up. It starts out by trying to convince you that they are your friend, and when they realized that you saw through it, they start bargaining with themselves, bringing prices down to half. after that, they get annoyed, and ask what price you are willing to pay, and when you explain that you aren’t interested at any price, thats when they get mad at you and start the screaming. Every streetcorner is a fashionstore. The streets are not just a store, but bedroom and kitchen. Outside of probably one of the more fancy banks, every night I see somebody cooking dinner or sleeping (I’m guessing the flat, relatively clean surface is more comfortable.)
Posted on Wednesday, 5 November 2008
