We hit up the shoe block, where about a dozen vendors had piled mountains of shoes atop kitchen table-sized booths. We wanted some Saudi sandals for our relatives back in the States, but we honesty had no idea what a fair price would be. So we started off at a disadvantage. We stopped at one shoe place and My Man started haggling over a couple pairs, and I wandered off to keep looking. My Man usually takes a while to haggle because his Arabic doesn't extend much farther than "hello" and "thank you." Also, he hates overpaying.
I was wearing a head covering, as I always do in Jeddah. I get a little less staring and I feel a little less like a stranger. Girls at the university have told me I tie my scarf "like a professional." It's quite a trick getting the thing tight without pins or knots. With my light skin and green eyes, I always hope I can pass for Jordanian.
I walked around for a while, finally ending up on the other side of the same booth where My Man was still bartering with Salesman #1. The shoes were heaped up so high, you couldn't see over them to the other side. Picking up a pair of Pakistani sandals, I asked Salesman #2 "How much are these?" in a Jordanian accent.
"Theletheen," he said. (Thirty.)
Then Salesman #1 spotted me. He knows I'm an American; he saw me with my husband earlier. (My Man is blond and blue-eyed and speaking English. It isn't hard to pick him out.)
"La, la, la," he called to Salesman #2. "Guleha khamsteen!"
There's only problem with Salesman #1's tactic: I understood him. He said, "No, no, no. Tell her fifty!"
I looked at Salesman #2, my eyes twinkling, one eyebrow cocked.
"Okay," I said. "Kem haatha? Theletheen o khamsteen?" (How much is it? 30 or 50?)
Salesman #2 hesitated, glancing sideways at his superior.
"Ana aarif al-Arabeeya," I said. "Bes ana kelem shuay. Kelem saab." (I know Arabic, but I speak only a little. Speaking is difficult.)
Salesman #2 started laughing.
"It's one price if you speak Arabic," he said in Arabic. "And another if you speak English."
I know this probably isn't talking-with-a-strange-Arab-man-in-Saudi-Arabia-appropriate, but I busted up laughing out loud. I just couldn't help it. For the first time ever, I finally knew something that this native speaker didn't: that I understood some Arabic. For the first time ever, I wasn't about to pay the price for my lack of education.
Then I caught the amused eye of Salesman #2, and he also started to laugh. We slapped our knees and bent at the waist. In a country where it always seems like humor is always haram, he and I giggled for a long, long minute.
I paid 20 for the sandals.
