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rule, richer than people who try to sell them
hand-woven baskets. These Tongan natives who try to sell their baskets etc to
the tourists are not only very poor, but they have worked hard all the Southern
winter weaving baskets and making other bric-à-brac. Their well-being during
the coming months depends on whether they can sell them at a reasonable price.
It seemed to my friend that when a well-to-do tourist is asked two dollars for
a pretty sewing basket, he might give the poor Tongan three. How naïve of him!
The passengers instantly joined battle with the Tongan traders, bargaining
fiercely, calling them robbers and beating the price down a dollar here, fifty
cents there. He said that Wellington could not have described his victory over
Napoleon in terms half as glowing as those used by the tourists when they
described their victories at the Battle of the Baskets. “He wanted seven
dollars for a small rattan table, but I’ve got it for 4.75!” They were not only
fighting the poor Tongans, they were competing with one another as to who had
made the biggest bargain, who had been cleverer, who had brought off the
dirtier tricks. As to who, in fact had succeeded in depriving some poor woman —
very probably a mother of five — of a dollar or two. My friend said that the
bargains at Tonga remained the chief topic of conversation for the rest of the
luxury cruise. The tourists were self-righteous: they refused to be cheated — that
was their moral justification. I don’t see why. I like to be cheated. Anyway, I
prefer to be cheated rather than to cheat others.
    Some time after hearing the story of
that cruise, I was walking with some friends in the streets of Dakar, Senegal. An African street jeweller joined us, and started talking to a young
American in our company. The trader told Joe that he had a particularly
beautiful golden necklace, worth 20,000 francs, but he would give it to Joe — as
a personal favour — for the ridiculous price of 11,ooo.
    “No, thank you,” said Joe, and walked
on.
    The street trader fell in beside him,
took out an elegant little box from his pocket, unwrapped a chain, hung it on
his index finger and went on with his sales talk: “It’s worth a fortune. 11,000
is a ridiculous price. I would not sell it to anyone even for that price. But you can have it for 10,000.”
    Joe did not enquire how, on their
very first encounter, the jeweller knew that he deserved this very special
treatment. He tried to rejoin our conversation. In vain. The trader was
determined: the price went down to nine thousand, then to seven, six, four and
two thousand.
    Joe stopped saying no, which was
becoming monotonous. He just walked on in silence.
    “As a very special favour to you:
eight hundred.”
    No reply.
    “Seven hundred.”
    No reply.
    “Four hundred.”
    Joe shook his head.
    “Six hundred,” said the trader to my
surprise.
    Joe remained silent.
    “Nine hundred,” the trader went on.
    Joe looked worried.
    “One thousand and one hundred,” the
trader said remorselessly.
    Joe stopped, took out his wallet and
paid the man one thousand and one hundred Senegalese francs. The trader handed
over the chain and disappeared as fast as he could.
    “You know, of course,” I said, “that
he had started raising the price? His last offers were going up and up.” Joe
did not reply — I might have been the street trader. I went on: “You could have
bought that chain for four hundred.”
    Still no reply.
    “Why did you buy it at all? And if
you wanted to, why for eleven hundred when you could have got it for almost a
quarter of that price?”
    Joe stopped in his tracks, looking
simultaneously miserable and incredulous, and at last he spoke.
    “I broke down. My nerve snapped. I
just could not resist any longer.” After a moment’s pause he added: “I had to buy it. And I had to buy it before he raised the price to 11,000 again.”

The Best
and the Worst

     
    The worst
business deal I have heard about