Open Writing

We were living on a Ghanaian Agricultural Survey Station. Primitive and isolated until we acquired a regular form of entertainment from an unexpected quarter.

Usually on a Saturday afternoon a larger-than-life character hove into sight out of the bush, balancing a huge bundle on his head and carrying a large suitcase. A Housaman, an itinerant salesman from the Housa tribe in the North.

If he were a wealthy trader, a small caddy would carry his bags while he ambled along resplendent and colourful in his best Housa outfit. Very politely he would come to the veranda and ask if he might show us his wares. We always said yes, as we quickly discovered that it was a marvellous afternoon’s entertainment. Our chairs were brought out on to the veranda and the performance began.

He would squat in front of us and slowly, with much deliberation, start to unwrap his treasures, each piece individually wrapped in tissue or piece of cloth to make the unfolding more dramatic.

Slowly the floor became covered with pieces of carved ivory figures, heads, animals; silver filigree necklaces or bracelets; beautifully worked leather bags or leather pouffe cases; carved wooden figures; native spears, daggers, bows; ebony cigarette or trinket boxes; miniature carved Ashanti stools. Plus a host of other things.

Whilst this was being done, he would be covertly watching our reaction and, it seemed totally by instinct, would know which pieces we might be interested in buying. We learnt quickly not to enthuse over anything but to remain impassive and disinterested. It was really pure theatre, both on his and our part. When everything was displayed, he would begin almost immediately to rewrap it all except for perhaps half a dozen things which, he had divined, had caught our attention. The instinct was uncanny and unfailing!

The fun then started with the bargaining. I took no part in this as it was men’s business. One item after the other was picked up and a price named and, on being offered very much less, put down again. I have never been any good at bargaining, but Barrie got very good at this game.

‘Ten pounds, Massa’

‘No, no, two.’

‘Ah, Massa, you make fun. Eight pounds.’

And so on and so on with the Housa bewailing the fact that Massa was being so cruel to him and his family. When a final sum was agreed, it was plainly obvious that he was very happy with it, but it was all part of the game.

On one occasion it became clear that I wanted an extremely delicate silver filigree necklace, and the bargaining became sharp. When we did finally buy this at a fraction of the original asking price, our friend handed me a dagger saying, ‘Missus, I dash you this dagger to defend yourself from this hard, hard man.’ And I kept that dagger for many years, before giving it away to a nephew for his collection.

Every transaction was carried out with enormous politeness, fun and satisfaction from both sides. We had several of these visitors, but one adopted us and came regularly. A huge figure of a man with the ugliest face you can imagine, which was split with a grin stretching from ear to ear showing a mouthful of brown, filed-down teeth. What a wonderful character he was, and we had many hours of fun with him.

We did on one occasion buy some leather footstools and a pouffe which we then stuffed with dried grasses. We brought them home to England and had them for many years, exchanging the dried grass for kapok.

A lasting memory Out of Africa.