African Market Experience

Last week Shewara and I stumbled onto Madison's very own African market. We wandered around its three small aisles, each packed with fascinating west African goods and foodstuffs (mostly from Ghana). I selected some hot pepper and palm wine, and we went to the checkout counter, where the owner and a friend were waiting. The following exchange ensued:

"Do you know what this is?" He points to the pepper.
I do. It's exceedingly hot red pepper. "Yes."
"Don't let it touch your eyes!"
I know. "I know."
"Have you ever been to Africa?" More of an accusatory question than curious.
"No. But I still know what the pepper is."
He shifts to the palm wine. "Where did you learn to drink this?"
"I never learned to drink it. That's why I am buying it."
"Do you know where this comes from?"
"Palm trees." Even if I hadn't, I can read labels.

By this time the two of them are looking me over with slightly dubious chuckles. Which confuses me, since other than being white, I seem to be - and am - fairly educated about everything I just purchased.

I think I'll go back later and make friends with him.