The Art I Live

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Crafts Market Visit

Imagine:

You step down from the crowned mini van and walk into the swarm of aromas, people, and colors. Urine reeks in your nostrils like an abusive hello. You turn you hips to slip through the slim open among the heap of round bodies. As you consume the new sights with your eyes your mental digestion is interrupted by a merchant with goods in both hands asking you, in a language you don’t spea,k would you like to buy. You smile shyly and keeping walking. The merchant follows you into the large, barn like construction screaming with color and sound. You hold your purse tight and enter.

So yesterday, I went to the Crafts Market in Accra. The place is a huge area with several different stalls that sell everything from paintings to clothing. Sellers have beaded jewelry, wood carvings, things made from animal skins and horns, masks of all sorts. Me being a person that LOVES African style, fashion, and art I was overwhelmed with excitement upon entering the market. I wish I would have taken my camera. My eyes are so full of sights my head aches. Immediately owners of the shops approach and begin to try to get you buy things. Before you even enter the market men and women are on the street with their goods beckoning you to their stalls. The tactic they use is first asking you to have a look. Then they attempt to pressure you to buy anything you like. Oh let me not dare forget to mention, race and nationality plays a huge role in how much you get haggled and or ripped off. I’m brown skinned but lighter than most people so I’m constantly asked where am I from and if I’m Ghanaian or not. Once I speak my cover is blown and I’m a prime victim to be sold extremely over priced goods. Also, if you are traveling with anyone white or anything non black everyone knows your ‘obruni’ (white man). For example, I asked for the price of a bag I wanted and I was told 28 of Ghanaian currency. My Ghanaian friend on the other hand was told 12. That’s how it is here. For the first time I feel like being black is a perferred in the space I live in. I’ve never not being proud of being a black woman but in certain places in the states (especially among educated people or in successful arenas) being black is not as “good as” or appreciated as other ethnicities.
So in the beginning I was crazy enjoying myself. I enjoyed looking at all the great unique crafts, bartering with people, and attempting to speak Twi (the local language). After a while you realize that every type of stall pretty much has the same exact thing and many of the sellers are business men not craftsmen. They do not make the stuff they just buy it from where ever it is mass produced. I began to have the most fun once I ran out of money, then I cold just look at stuff with no pressure because I knew I couldn’t buy anything. If you look though, you are in for a debate with the shop owner about how good of a price he will give you. I saw so many things I wanted to buy so I’m making a list of things for next time that I’ll purchase. I won’t be going back to that market until like next month though. I am a bit of a spendthrift and I want to make sure my money last me the entire trip. Also, the shop keepers here want to make you feel like this is the best deal you’ll ever get on this great thing but the reality is there is so much more where that came from. My mentor has always told me not to make rash decisions. People want you to decide things on the spot so they can rip you off. My dad has always told me not to

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