Stimulating The Local Economy

Just got back from Liberty out in town. A shipmate and I went down to the local market to price stuff we might wanna buy later. NOT!!!!! We ended up buying most stuff now. If you think used car salesmen are bad you ain't seen nothing compared to the high pressure sales tactics at a third world market. Its like used car salesmen hopped up on crack.....Well actually in this case, hopped up on Kaht (a narcotic plant that people chew out this way. It seems it is very, very popular). They are all over you. "You buy here!!!! Best Price Best Price Make Deal!!!! jibber jabber jabber jibber buy here!" The taxi ride into town was an experience in itself. We stepped into the cab and tried to tell the driver where we wanted to go. He only spoke Somali and french and I only speak Texan. Luckily my buddy spoke American fairly well which was good because every foreigner in the world understands American IF.......... YOU......... SPEAK........... SLOWLY............. AND................ VERY............... VERY........... LOUD. We were confident we had communicated our destination to the cabbie suitably slow and loud and off we went like a scalded monkey! In shear fear for my very life I reached for the seatbelt and discovered it had no latch. I had to settle for hanging on white knuckled and pale with fear as Djiboution Joe the Cabbie from Hell did his best to qualify for NASCAR. Of course we didn't end up at at the Market. The driver pulls up in the "party district" where the booze, night clubs, and prostitutes are busy "not existing", after all this is a Muslim country and they don't have such western decadence...ahem. So there I am trying to remember the six years of french I took in elementary and junior high school. "Non ici, non ici. Cherche le marche!" I had no idea what I was saying other than I remember ici means here and I think cherche means to find. Hell, every time I tried to say something in french, it came out in German. I had no idea what the word for market was. I was guessing. We had passed a food store that had a sign that said "supermarche" I hoped that Marche meant market. Shoot, it might have meant "Monkey Ass sold here" for all I know. It must have meant something because the cabbie yammered unintelligibly and off we went again. This time we actually got where we wanted to go. As soon as we stepped out of the cab, the hawkers were all over us. "You in my store, good price good price". Saw a lot of really cool stuff and I bought some of it myself. It's all about bartering here. They throw out a price, you throw one back at them at least 75% lower and you meet somewhere in the middle. It is a lot more stressful than I thought it would be. I really don't like to deal with pushy sales people, they irritate me. Unfortunantly, that is how business is done hereabouts. Hey, if my pards from Company L, 1st Texas are out there, if we ever want to do the "Zulu War Dance" I now have the correct tools. Suffice it to say, I am now broke. I spent way too much money and I still don't quite have everything I want to take home. Most importantly, I am not leaving this country without a "Man Skirt" of my very own.

TO THE TYRANT NEVER YIELD