In 1940, Nigeria was a British colony. The colonists living in the province of Ibadan had been stuck there ever since London declared war on Germany. That said, it was better being stuck in Nigeria than back on the island, living in fear of getting hit by the Third Reich’s V1 rockets. On this particular Sunday, Henry and Jane had decided they would venture out to experience the colourful ambiance of the local market. The Nigerians seemed to adore bright colours; here, garments an Englishman would never have dreamed of sporting were worn with casual flair. But Henry and Jane were planning a fancy-dress themed party next week, and had decided to find themselves something that would dazzle their guests. “How much for the hat?” Harry asked a stall owner. “Hats! Red, green or yellow! Which do you want?” Jane seemed undecided. She found them ghastly, but nor were these any ordinary hats. “They’re traditional, and traditions are precious. It’s a skill handed down from father to son, generation to generation,” explained the seller, seeing Jane hesitate. Moreover, they were made here in Ibadan from the finest cotton. All kinds of colours were available; all Jane needed do was ask.
“So, you would like to buy a hat?” the stall owner tried again. You had to make the sale quick, before the customer had time to think too much. Selling was about impulse.
“I’m not sure...how much is that one?” asked Harry.
“If you buy two, I'll give you a special price for friends only.”
“And how much if I buy just one? I don’t need two.”
This customer would be a tough nut to crack. The seller thought about this, opened a notebook and jotted down a few figures. He mulled it over, and it seemed as if his response would be a long time coming. One cent of profit for each hat – that was the absolute minimum. That’s how it worked. But today hadn’t been a good day, and he wouldn’t even be able to afford his dinner if he couldn’t sell even one damn hat. This English fellow looked rich; he must have money to spend, and the seller needed cassava to bring home to his family. “So how much for the hat?” asked Jane. The seller calculated. What could he even have to calculate? Henry and Jane could but wonder, the seller’s concerns not falling within the scope of their consideration.
“For you, special price - eighty-five kobos!” the seller announced to Jane.
“Almost a dollar for a hat?” Henry sputtered.
“Fine, for a friend I can do seventy-five kobos?” the seller answered conclusively.
“Seventy-five kobos?” Harry repeated. “That’s an insane price for a hat! You’ll have to do better, my friend.”
“I can’t go any lower, it’s a traditional hat! Fifty-one kobos, final offer.”
“Deal,” Henry replied. “I’ll take it for fifty-one.”
The hats cost fifty kobos each wholesale – the seller had pocketed a precious cent. That was the first law of the market - you had to a make a profit with every sale. Another vendor came and set up a stall beside him, but the man who’d just earned a cent didn’t seem perturbed by this new arrival. On the contrary, he’d sell more hats if the customers had more choice, when they refused to buy from his rival and came to him instead. That was the second law of the market. Still, the hat seller was pensive – he hadn’t bartered hard enough with those English, and he’d have to do better next time. After all, the colonists came here with money to burn, and felt no scruples about the opulence they lived in. They would do well to share their wealth if they loved Nigeria so much: why not do something to help the country develop, instead of staying among their own and watching the rest of its population struggle and perish? All while they stayed rich in their villas, looking down in judgement and taking what they wanted from this beautiful country. The man from the market just sold hats, he wasn’t an economist – but from what he knew, and he had his beliefs and his opinions, after all, those two English should have bought their hats at English prices out of simple decency, and out of simple respect.
Alan Alfredo Geday