Mallam Maduri

A small town near Hadejia. Mike meets Filipina ladies at the market.

Mallam Maduri

When Dan and Mike first came to Hadejia, the road to the rail station at Mallam Madori was nothing more than a dusty track, so rutted that drivers went through fields to avoid it.  In October a crew of Italian road workers began work on it.  After a month they left behind a solid strip of black asphalt.  The next Wednesday Mike and Dan seated on Mike’s one cylinder Vespa, puttered down the new road heading for the market at Mallam Maduri.

They passed a towering gray baobab tree, a small post office and the local branch of the Bank of The North. Purring past the chapel of the Serraphim and Cherubim they approached a cluster of low white bungalows. A large sign had been posted by the gate.

Women Teachers College

Mallam Maduri

The maigaurdi, an old one-eyed man brewing tea sitting next to the school gate waved a friendly sannu at the two passing baturis.

A trio of Filipino ladies, teachers from the school, Mike assumed, stepped to one side as they motored by.  Glancing back Mike noticed that one, the tallest was middle aged.  The other two were younger, one a bit stout, the other thinner.  All had their faces hidden by wide brimmed hats.  The two men waved at them as they went by. Giggling the three looked away to avoid the dust.

Mike drove up to the Mobil Petrol station beside the lorry park.  He hoped that the station might have petrol.  It did, a shipment having just arrived.  As he fueled up Dan went over to a vendor selling roasting sticks of balangu, roast lamb for a naira each. Dan bought two sticks and two cold bottles of Coke from a neighbouring vendor.

“Power’s on” he told Mike. “Cokes are cold.”

The two, munching and sipping, wandered through the market. Concrete open faced cubicles, masts on the ground, a few tables; it resemble the Hadejia market except in its smaller size.  Like the Hadejia market one could get onions and tomatoes, rice and yams, table cloths, pottery and even home-made daggers and swords.  While Mike studied the daggers Dan looked at the ceramics. He asked the man the price of a small round pot. The man mentioned five naira. 

“Hubba?” (What?) said Dan. “La, Mallam.” (No, Mallam.”

The old trader chuckled. “Aiwa (Yes), mallam.” So the bargaining began. In reply Dan offered fifty kobos.

The man shook his heads. “Hubba, La, mallam.”

The haggling continued; neither party in a hurry to end it.  A small crowd of onlookers gathered around to see the fun. Eventually the seller agreed to a naira apiece for two pots. The trader beamed. “Yauwa, na gode (thank you) mallam” he nodded. Both he and Dan seemed satisfied. The crowd broke up.

“Presents for Colleen and Elizabeth” said Dan showing the pots to Mike.  Mike nodded.  Dan slipped the pots into his shoulder bag.  Mike had purchased two small daggers as souvenirs. At two nairas a piece he told Dan that he had done well.

In the midst of their haggling the three lady teachers reached the market. They stopped first at the vegetable stall.  “This could be interesting” said Mike.  “Best hagglers in the world, Filipinas.”

“You think so?” Dan asked.

The three ladies went through the mounds of vegetables and fruits.  They made an occasional comment in Tagalog to one another; none to the traders.  After passing through the market, they chatted amongst themselves in Tagalog. Then, armed with looks of indifference, they made a return trip, stopping in front of a plastic red mat on which were piles of oranges and lemons. 

“Good fruit mallamas” said the vendor, swatting away flies with a whisk.

The smallest of the three women picked up a lemon and examined it. “Nawa?” she asked.

“One naira, mallama.”

Looking disgusted she put the lemon back down.

“How much mallama? How much?”

Frowning she turned to the other two ladies.  After some discussion she turned back to the old vendor

“Ten kobos.”

Disappointed, the old man shook his head. “No malama.”

The woman held up two lemons. “Twenty-five kobos.”

The vendor grimaced. “Hubba! One naira and . . .  eighty.”

The breakthrough had been made by both sides having shown their willingness to adjust their prices.  Now they began the long process of haggling, until they settled somewhere in the middle. At other stalls business stopped as people watched the show. 

Over twenty minutes, having dickered as fair as price as possible the Filipina brought out a calculator to check her final figures.  She showed the total to the Al Haji. He checked his own calculator.  The two totals matched. He nodded. The deal was struck 

The ladies walked away with twenty lemons for five naira, twenty-five kobos a lemon.

Looking on Mike considered possible reasons for the Filipina’s success. Knowledge of one another;  the Filipina and the Hausa trader were both acquainted. He had the reputation for selling the best fruit in the market.  Too high a price however, she would go to someone else. She liked the old man. The trader liked her so they were both willing to come to terms.  Mike had seen the same game in Botswana played by the same rules.  He wished that he could play it in Loblaws back in Canada.

***

Two days later in the staff room in G.SS. Hadejia, Mike approached Dick De Jesus, a short, bespectacled Math Teacher. He asked him the name of the teacher who had bargained for the lemons.

“Sounds like Linda Aquino, from San Carlos in Pangasinan. She used to teach Maths at Far Eastern University in Manila before she came here last year.”

“What brought her here?”

“What brings anyone; hard currency; U.S. dollars. She’s building a house for her mother.”

“Is she married?”

“Here without her husband? You need to learn more about Filipinas, Mike.”

Mike nodded. Maybe he should.

“How would I meet her?”

“Back in the Philippines you would have to go through her parents. Here? Things are more informal. Next Wednesday you and Dan come with us to the cinema.”

“I didn’t know there’s a cinema in Hadejia?”

“Well, sort of one.”

***

Within a few weeks Mike McDonnell got into the habit of running up the road to Mallam Maduri every weekend. From there sometimes: petrol being available, up to Gumel on the Niger border; Linda clinging to his back.

 Over a coke he explained his attraction towards Linda to Dan. “I want someone who can survive here.  She can.  When I am with her I know she can face the corruption, the ignorance, the cruelty and the stupidity and keep on going. That’s a rare gift.”

“Small but mighty” said Dan.