Next time you see a street vendor, give him a hug. I'm serious. You have no idea how relieving it is to deal with people in New York City after one day on the main streets in Accra, Ghana. Here, "it's nice to be nice." That translates to, "buy my shit or you're a total dick." And that translates to, "Not only are you a dick but a racist that brings Babylon to the rastafarian people of Ghana. One love. And the price is double what it should be."
These vendors not only try to drag every possible Cedi (currency over here) out of you, they will follow you wherever you go just to get something. If that means following you for ten blocks, so be it. I'm a white American so I must have money to throw around on a, "one-of-a-kind necklace with Africa on it" that was strangely offered to me three blocks ago by another fake rasta trying to make a dishonest dollar.
So honestly, next time you're on Canal Street and a vendor marks up the price by one American dollar or talks to you just a minute longer than you would like, hug him for me.
(Besides the vendors and the hate crime against me, Ghana is a fantastic place.)
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