May God have mercy on my mom. Accompanying her to the market at the end of the week was a pleasure beyond compare, even though it was sometimes exhausting. In Jerusalem, “the market” usually refers to the old city within the walls. There, where the alleys and neighborhoods are crowded with locals, visitors, tourists, and stalls selling vegetables, clothes, sweets, and children’s toys. There, where the voices of street vendors ring out as each one “sings to his own tune” to catch the attention of passersby and to invite them to have a look at their goods.
My mother, a daughter of a family that was born and raised in Jerusalem, knew well the “rules of the game” in the market. She mastered the art of negotiating deals when she wanted to buy anything. This applies to tomatoes, cucumbers, and potatoes, too. She was able to get the best offers and at lowest prices. She would push the limits of bargaining with the vegetable seller or the stall owner by throwing her price out first. Then, the back-and-forth negotiation would begin until they reached a compromise. I admit that my mom won most of the time, while the seller lost.
The duration of the negotiations varied, depending on the seller’s patience, tolerance, and flexibility in responding to her offer. But I can testify that no seller ever had more persistence than Widad, my mom.
Damascus Gate, Old City of Jerusalem
In the market, the rules of the game are generally based on fair competition between vendors. It is rare that they fought or threw chairs at each other, as if there is a respected complied agreement between them that everybody is committed to. This, in turn empowered my mother’s position in her negotiations, regardless of what she intended to purchase, whether one kilograms of potatoes, a home gown (Galabiyyeh), or a rough bath loofah.
For me, buying the loofa was a nightmare, for it was the tool of torture used during my weekly bath on Fridays. To this day, I am haunted by the memory of that infamous loofa with which Widad scrubbed my tiny body, trying to remove a whole week’s worth of dirt stuck to my skin from playing in the alley.
Going back to the market trip, and as I grew older, almost a teenager, my mom’s negotiations with the sellers started to make me feel embarrassed. It, in fact, ruined my enjoyment of shopping. Over time, I also started feeling bored from joining my mom to the market and considered it waste of effort and time.
Since at that time, I hadn’t graduated from university or started working yet, everything I wanted came to me effortlessly, such interest diminished gradually. If I were forced to go, I would resort to complaining, sighing, and nudging Widad from behind, urging her to hurry up, finish the bargaining so we could go back home.
I was not aware that managing a budget for an employee who supports a family and earns living from a monthly salary is one of the most complex and delicate tasks. I didn’t imagine that a minor miscalculation could lead to the downfall of entire nations. Nor did I grasp that obtaining everything one desires is not easy at all, and that it requires navigating an intricate negotiation process based on precise calculations.
My perspective changed after I graduated from the university and got a reasonably paid job for a fresh graduate. My happiness upon receiving my first salary was indescribable. I was overjoyed, but at the same time, I realized that life was far more complicated than I had imagined in my early years. That’s when I started managing my own monthly budget myself, keeping part of my salary for expenses and saving the rest “under the floorboard,” in accordance with the proverb: “Save your white coin for your black day”.
The Bath Loofah, (the weekly torture loofah)
Over time, I grew even more careful with my money, to the point that my mother started calling me “Abu Kammuna.” I don’t know the origin of this saying or who “Kammuna” was, but in Jerusalem, it is a nickname to describe someone so stingy and whose hands would tremble whenever he is to take out a coin from his pocket.
April 8, 2021
