Street People in Big Cities

One of my favorite street people was an African selling “solid gold” necklaces and bracelets. It was late one summer evening and my friend and I were walking on the Promenade des Anglais, the walkway along the beach in Nice, France. Of the hundreds of people nearby, the African started walking straight toward us.

My French friend was accustomed to the peddlers. “Don’t say anything to him,” she cautioned me. The African said to us in French, “Good evening. What a wonderful evening.” Then, speaking to me in French, “What a beautiful woman she is, but she has only one bracelet.”

Forgetting my friend’s advice, I said in English, “I’m sorry, I don’t speak French,” foolishly thinking that would stop his sales pitch. A big smile and he put his arm around my shoulders. “Oh, you’re an American,” he said in perfect English with a British accent. “I love Americans. What a great country. Where are you from in the states?” I told him I was from California, and he seemed overjoyed to tell me that his sister lived in Gardena — “near Los Angeles, you know.” I am sure that I if had said I was from Texas that he would have had a sister in Dallas.

He said he was embarrassed that he had no money, and he was trying to sell some jewelry to buy a train ticket back to Germany, where he lived with his wife and four children. I’m thinking, Who is this African? Selling cheap fake jewelry. Fluent French. Perfect English. And, he lives in Germany.

I didn’t believe him. So, in my quite limited German, I asked, “Wo Sie in Deutschland leben?” (Where do you live in Germany?). Another big smile and he began speaking what sounded like fluent German, so I had to quickly tell him that I did not really speak German.

Then in English, the African repeated that my wife was such a beautiful woman that she really deserved some fine jewelry, which he just happened to have and he would be willing to sell at a loss. “She’s a friend, not my wife,” I said, followed by my friend’s sharp elbow telling me to stop talking to my new African best friend.

The African, with his arm around my shoulders, said to me, “Don’t be such a fool, my man. Marry her right away before another man catches her.” This was followed by a smile and a nod and to the French woman, as he waited for a response to the marriage proposal.

This African had the combined skills of a diplomat and a car salesman. Under different circumstances, he could do far better than trying to make a living as a street peddler.