When two friends are broke, all they think of is scavenging for offers. So that is how we found ourselves interested in going to Sarit Expo last year. The adverts clearly stated that things would be half price so we took our optimistic selves to the Egyptian Expo.
We were enthusiastically welcomed by this pretty woman, selling jewelry just when you entered the hall. “How much is this watch?” asked a confident Ruth. The lady smiled and said, “this one is 25, 000, this bangle is only 8000 and…” we were already walking away. The f***? Is it a plot we are buying in Lodwar? Eish! The next stall. Kitchen ware. This Italian looking man attempted to woo us, “the pressure cooker is 18,000 and this set of folks is only 5,000”. Ruth and I exchanged nervous looks. What is really happening here? We left him talking to himself. Ok, is this country really free or are we still being colonized?
As we were grumbling, some noisy girl called us loudly, “kam muone towels”. Ah! At last. This must be affordable Kenyan products, not the damn Egyptian crap. Next to her was another Pharaoh. “This towel is 5k and is made of original cotton”. She brags. Wait, really? Are you kidding me? Do I need a towel for 5k or is it rent am going to pay? By now, Ruth’s face was turning pink. I know this girl. She was getting mad. She had now wandered to the shoes section. We were praying that those shoes be at least 500. This lady with a strong Indian accent, bad accent, looked at us and shuddered. We were not going to be put down, not by a foreigner, nor a local. This is my country, my city and my damn mall. That was our attitude when we asked her how much a certain shoe cost. “It is 3000…”she said. As we were still digesting this shocking price, some Indian family asked her to give them that pair.
By now, we were half-mad, half-shocked. We stood isolated at some corner, our feet facing opposite directions. “Glado, kwani hio ndio half-price?” Ruth was asking me. We encouraged our broke selves to move on. We moved to the carpets section and that was our anti-climax. These sarcastic fellas called us. Those “tu-boys” who wear skinny red jeans, canvas, a bling, are chewing, speak annoying swanglish, are feminine, are proud…in summary, gayish and dumb. They told us the carpet was 120k and in unison, we went like, “aiii! Kwani ni shamba?” one retorted, “hata mkileta title deed, hamwezi afford.” Whaaaaat!!! Did he just call us poor? That sick cat, wooden eye… “wee tafuta job, huna job” we were now mad, “Eeeh na wewe ni shoga?”Retorted Ruth as we walked away, infuriated and cursing.
Am done going to exhibitions.