Special Treatment

Rolling up to the American Ambassador’s residence for the 4^th of July reception, I, the lowly intern, sat in the back and my Ivoirian colleague, the program coordinator, was the front passenger seat. As we approached the guards, my coworker rolled down his windows, but, the guard, thoroughly ignoring him, turned to me and said “bon soir monsieur” and waved us through. My colleague prodded me, “le patron,” about my promotion to boss.

In the US, the intern tagging along is barely given the time of day; here the white guy automatically is front and center, whether he or she deserves it or not.

I imagine many of you have experienced the special treatment that those identified as foreigners get in less developed places. As you might imagine in Cote d'Ivoire, I'm not too hard to pick out, though I did tell one guy in jest that I was albino and got a slight hesitation out of him. Regardless, this special treatment gets to me, and I wanted to reflect on why.

Bargaining

We all know the foreigners get different prices than locals, and we don’t like it. It hasn’t been too bad in Abidjan, the food vendors and the yellow taxis I ride in all have fixed prices, and the lack of tourists at most of these places means that they operate on the standard prices regardless of the clientele.

The normal taxis and the markets are a different matter and I definitely don't get the same prices as locals.

While I don't like it, I'm a little confused as to why. I am a little cheap, so it could just be wanting to pay as little as possible, but I don't think it's that simple.

For instance, on one of my routes I bargain down cab driver from 2000 to 1500 CFA. Some complain that this is not a fair price - "c'est pas normal" - even though I know it definitely is normal. Yet they procede to take me anyway, but not without contrition and a little pouting throughout the ride. At the end, the often ask me to add some money. I never do.

But there are others who smile as they, still reluctantly, go down to 1500. They are friendly and when I ask them how things are going, they often respond "je ne plaigne pas," I'm not complaining. I like that. The conversations is friendly and we get on a first name basis. At the end they wish me luck. I often give them an extra 250 or more CFA because they were so nice, even though they don't ask.

Quelle paradoxe! But of course this is not an African thing. I feel the same tension when tipping at restaurants. I love seeing people do their jobs with pride and a smile, so to the friendly, happy server who does a great job, I'll happily give 20 percent or more. But to the irritable, unfriendly server, I feel guilty even giving them 15 percent, in my mind they "deserve" less.

It's not just about the price or my cheapness, it's about how I feel about the transaction. I want to emerge from the deal feeling that I was treated fairly, not given special, inferior, treatment because I'm a foreigner.

Still, the criteria for "fairness" is elusive. It is certainly based on some permutation of the pricing that falls some just distance in between what that Drogba jersey costs to make and what it's worth to me. Perhaps it should fall somewhere in the middle of this range. To borrow from economics lingo, neither side should have too much producer or consumer surplus.

It is also about agency, am I giving them more than the normal price because they are "ripping me off" and over charging, or because I choose to because they are kind?

And it is also about how I feel I was treated. While I certainly am different that those around me, and no amount of eating with my hands at muddy food stalls will change that, how they treat that difference matters to me. Do they see me as someone they can take advantage of? Or do they see me as someone who might have more money and who might be willing and able to pay than the average Ivoirian, but still deserves fairness?

What this means in practice is murky. But it seems that fairness, like pornography, is something I know when I see it.

Lines

Speaking of fairness, at a recent work conference, as I patiently waited at the back of the long lunch line, one of the servers told me to hand her my plate and go sit down to wait for my meal. I was hungry, and tempted as I saw the mangoes I was eyeing at the end of the table steadily disappearing. But I refused, and adamantly so.

Why so stubborn? They were just trying to help, no?

It was because of my notion of what is fair. Getting in line is how things are decided. First come first serve. Take a ticket and wait for your number to be called. No cut-sies. Why should I go before everyone else just because I don't tan easily?

I think it's because I'm really sensitive to how others perceive my actions, especially in a foreign context that might not have tons of contact with Americans. That's why I can't turn down any meal because of the smell or cleanliness thereof. I care about other seeing me as someone who appreciates and wants to learn about their culture.

Similarly, I care about governance, institutions, norms of fairness and as I'm getting into a field that supports those areas, I would feel terrible to not practice what I preach, even for the oh so sweet, sweet taste of mango. On top of that, I feel that if I even if I don't make any marginal impact with my internship, at least I can make some minuscule difference by setting a good example. Revealing my vanity, this makes me feel good.

Piment

Finally, the special treatment that comes with people trying to protect the foreigners. I've run into this most clearly when I go to the local maquis, or restaurants, and they'll say something like "piment pour le blanc," that is spiciness for a white person. Now anyone that knows me knows that I like a decent kick in the pants from my food.

But I appreciate them looking out for me.I challenged one lady who was reluctant to put some chile sauce in my Chep, a delicious Senegalese rice dish, to make me sweat. Slight mistake. Next time I saw her I reminder her that I said "make me sweat," not "kill me."

Still, I tend to think she was just looking out for me by teaching me a little lesson. Sometimes a little special treatment isn't such a bad thing.