The Price of Bread

I cycle north across the deserted capital. The sun hasn't risen yet, but the sky is light as I reach oceanside West Vuna road. The cruise ship Amsterdam is heading west offshore as it begins it's long approach to our wharf. The thing is huge. As the sun pops up over the rim of the ocean the liner begins a slow U turn that will take it back past town towards the wharf.

It is after 06:00 so I cycle east myself. There is a great little bakery near Peace Corps. I have a weakness for their chocolate buns. It is a roll of the dice as to whether they will have them on any particular day. I am hopeful.

I am in luck! They have them today! I plop my one pa'anga note on the counter and ask for the buns.

There is much confusion. I am the first person to buy the chocolate buns this week. A short discussion breaks out between the two women working behind the counter.

The old woman who begs here shows up. She ignores the conflict but says 'hi' to me. I see her a lot. She sits cross legged against the wall of the small shop.

The bakery help finds a clipboard covered with lines of detail, then looking at me nervously, one announces: "Ua". The buns have gone up to TWO pa'anga! Double!

I stare at them. As a Peace Corps volunteer I have a lot in common with the old woman. Discussions about our monthly allotment are usually met with instructions to get food from neighbors. The potentially unofficial Peace Corps unPolicy (in my opinion - See Disclaimer - Not an Official statement of US Government Policy) is that we should beg for food to make ends meet. Clearly the new prices make this more of a necessity.

The bakery workers point to a letter on the wall about the new price of flour. Flour, bread, fuel, and many other items are price controlled here in the Kingdom. Even price controlled items must be adjusted to comply with the economic laws of inflation.

I buy the buns and cycle out onto a crumbling old wharf near the city center. The Amsterdam slowly passes, it is close enough that I can hear the PA, but not close enough to understand it. As I sit there munching my breakfast I think about the old beggar at the shop. I wonder if I should adjust my 50 sentiti contribution up to a buck from now on. One beggar to another.