Generous Greed

My last purchase at the lake was a wooden bowl for 2000 kwatchas. I didn’t really want the bowl, but one of those itinerant door-to-compound-fence salesman settled himself near our cabin, spreading a cloth in the sand, and depositing the usual assortment of beads, carvings and paintings, minutes before our departure. Compelled by a sense of curiosity and last chance shopping greed, I went down to him.

This man was a bit older than the two salesmen I had run into at the end of the beach, and his display, more meagre. But he earnestly showed off his carvings and beads, and assured me the prices were all “negotiable.”

“Only 3800 kwatchas” he told me, gesturing to the largest wooden bowl, the one he could see me looking at.

“I don’t really need to buy anything.” I said, really meaning it.

“How about 2000 for the smaller one? Sure, sure?” I sense he felt the sale slipping away.

“I need money for food.” He told me, going for the sympathy purchase. I looked at him – he did look sort of lean and hungry.

The seller picked up the larger bowl, and handed it towards me, “Two thousand for this one?” he asked hopefully.

“Well, OK…” I said, peeling off four 500 kwatcha bills from the wad I had secreted in my pocket.

The thing is – did I get a really good deal, or did I rip the poor guy off? What kind of a person am I, what kind of a Christian am I, that I would capitalize on someone’s desperation – I certainly could have afforded to pay more – even $2500 would have made my conscience feel better.

Bartering is an expected part of commerce here in Malawi – and azungus like me, known to be people of means, are expected, by the moral code of Africa, to pay more. I mean who are we kidding here – everyone knows a Caucasian from the West has more disposable income to spend in a two week vacation, than many Malawians will make in a lifetime.

I have read that Africans consider North Americans greedy because we don’t share our money with them – we walk by beggars, when we have money in our pockets. We turn down direct pleas for assistance, from the crippled, from the indigent, from the destitute – from mothers with malaria-riddled babies. From children with outstretched hands. We haggle down prices even though we can afford to pay more.

And our response – how do we know these people are really needed and just putting on a show to part us from our hard-earned money? In David Maranz’s book African Friends and Money Matters, Maranz explains that Westerners want accountability and responsible spending, so they prefer their donations to channel through some kind of accredited organization – rather than peeling off bills from their pocketbooks. It’s generosity, but very different from the form in Africa – where friends and families rely deeply on generosity – on a person-to-person basis – whomever has money, shares money. When an African friend develops a friendship with a Westerner, he or she expects the Westerner, known to be financially opulent, to become part of the African system of giving – from those with money, to those without.

It’s complicated – when cultures collide, and the misunderstandings, on both parts, leave people feeling at best unhappy, at worst, used or betrayed.

And this is just one of the differences that separate us.