Pandemic pricing: Are Mideast markets losing the art of the deal?
| AMMAN, Jordan
This has a mark on it. How much will you take off?
If I buy two, what price will you give me?
Buy four, and there鈥檚 a special discount 鈥� just for you.
Why We Wrote This
In Middle East markets, haggling is a sport, or perhaps a dance. If you鈥檙e agile enough to get a bargain, you win. Amid the pandemic, some shoppers are ordering items remotely. But what fun is that?
Such phrases are as much a part of the soundtrack of the souk as crashing waves are at the beach.
Haggling and bargaining 鈥� at times a blood-sport, at times a game of poker, at others a carefully choreographed tango with each side refusing to verbalize their true desire 鈥� have been the lifeblood of Middle Eastern marketplaces for centuries; some say millennia.
It is a sport of necessity. Vendors move product, shoppers get what they think is a bargain, the circle of commerce is complete.
Haggling has continued as empires rose and fell, weathering natural disasters and war. But now it faces its most difficult challenge yet: the coronavirus.
With curfews, social distancing, the gloves-disinfectant-face mask logistics of hygiene in the beating sun, and concern of close contact, good old-fashioned marketplace shopping has struggled to evolve in the COVID-19 era.
In Arab countries, where vast swaths of the economy are vendors, market stalls, and mom-and-pop shops, the pandemic has taken a huge toll and disrupted an age-old shopping culture.
鈥淣o one is engaging鈥�
Despite most Arab countries having been opened for weeks with relaxed COVID-19 restrictions, Middle Eastern market traffic has slowed to a trickle in Amman, Cairo, and Tunis.
In Amman, a valley of shops and street vendors running through the heart of the capital 鈥� usually thronged by crowds browsing everything from carpets to chickens 鈥� was deserted on a midday midweek.
Abu Mohammed, who normally could sell up to $150 worth of his shop鈥檚 nuts, spices, coffees, and herbal remedies to one customer, says he is now lucky to make $75 in sales in an entire day.
鈥淣o one is relaxed, no one is stopping to speak, no one is engaging,鈥� he says, slumped over the counter at his empty downtown store, just below a government-issued decal on his shop window reading, 鈥淪ocial distancing, stay two meters apart.鈥�
鈥淣o matter if you have your best sales pitch, you can鈥檛 get people to stop and think about bartering and buying,鈥� he says. 鈥淥nly health is on their mind.鈥�
Masked customers make hurried decisions from outside storefronts, or pass by without stopping, concerned about a sudden crowd gathering around them or another shopper sneezing in their face.
鈥淏efore, I would just spend hours browsing and holding each dress or plate when I shopped, hunting for the perfect hidden gem that fits my style,鈥� Umm Khaled, a 37-year-old Amman resident, says outside a shop as she waits for a vendor to hand her a set of tea glasses.
Having phoned ahead, she grabs her items quickly.
鈥淪hopping is no longer browsing,鈥� she says, 鈥渋t鈥檚 like picking up a package. I can鈥檛 wait to leave.鈥�
Then there鈥檚 the psychological impact of the lack of crowds. Deserted marketplaces in Amman, Cairo, or Tunisia鈥檚 seaside village gem, Sidi Bou Said, all send a message to shoppers: Shops are closed or something is terribly wrong.
Shopkeepers say they relied on the competition created by bustling crowds; multiple customers holding up and eyeing the same items would create an incentive for shoppers to buy what they think is 鈥渢he last piece鈥� or make an impulse offer so as not to lose a good deal to another browser.
To want it, you need to touch it
Social distancing means shop owners can鈥檛 physically handle an item to show customers its 鈥渆xquisite craftsmanship,鈥� or present a more expensive product for comparison.
鈥淚t鈥檚 just not the same,鈥� Bassam Arafeh says in his shemagh stall in a nearly deserted downtown Amman, where for two decades he has relied on street traffic to sell hand-knitted checkered men鈥檚 headscarves.
鈥淪hopping is a tactile experience; you have to see and feel the item in order to truly want it,鈥� he says, holding up the handwoven fluffy, white tassels dangling from a shemagh scarf hanging above him.聽
鈥淚f you just see a photo of a product on Facebook or WhatsApp, you end up thinking more about the price than the item. Rather than thinking about how nice the item is, you just think, 鈥楧o I really want to spend this amount?鈥欌��
Social distancing and pandemic concerns have also disrupted a delicate economic ecosystem for limited-income citizens who relied on haggling for day-old vegetables or worn clothes and who are now wary of used items.
鈥淲e can鈥檛 afford to get sick. Instead we buy new and buy less,鈥� says Umm Mohammed, a Syrian refugee and mother of five.
The loss of business travel and tourism has also had a ripple effect in the Arab marketplace.
鈥淚f someone is visiting from another city or country and has limited time in Cairo, this will be the first, last, and only chance to purchase from your shop,鈥� says Khalil Muhanned, a coppersmith who sells decorative brass and stained-glass lanterns on a side street in old Islamic Cairo.
Such a dynamic allowed shopkeepers to pile items onto a visitors鈥� shopping list, offering discounts to encourage them to spend 鈥渏ust a little bit more鈥� to get that extra carpet or lantern for their in-laws or co-worker.
鈥淏ut when no one is traveling from another country, there is no longer a sense of discovery or pressure to make a purchase,鈥� Mr. Muhanned says.
Stopgap measures
Entrepreneurial merchants have come up with a handful of solutions to bring bartering back into the shopping experience.
In Egypt and Jordan, shopkeepers have opened WhatsApp groups updated by the hour, posting their latest wares and encouraging side conversations where they haggle with individual customers; others are relying on Facebook, posting images and encouraging bidding on limited items.
Many in Jordan and the Persian Gulf are starting to rely on a fleet of masked and gloved deliverymen and women working for ride-sharing apps, summoned at the whim of a customer, to complete a transaction without ever meeting the shopper.
But rather than replace the intrigue and adrenaline rush of 鈥渘aming your price,鈥� shopkeepers say the measures are a stopgap to help them survive the pandemic.
鈥淣o matter the amount of technology, once we return closer to normal life, people will be back in the street shopping and bargaining,鈥� predicts Mr. Arafeh, the scarf seller, as he tapes up a handwritten sign reading 鈥�25% off.鈥�
鈥淚t鈥檚 not haggling; it鈥檚 human nature.鈥�
