It's Bazaar

There are a very few streets in Kabul with names and signs, and two of them are Chicken and Flower Streets. That the signs are in English should be the traveler’s first clue that he’s about to be taken for a ride… or be plucked. Shops along the streets cater to the acquisitive tourist heart – carpets, jewelry, odd bits and bobs, it’s all there. Unfortunately, the street’s magnet-like quality to westerners drew terrorists as well during the last elections. A suicide bomber killed an American woman, and several IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices) were discovered and removed before they could go off.

But that was five months ago. I decided to risk it, and spent the afternoon happily trolling through lapis jewelry, bronze oil lamps, and silk scarves. One enterprising Afghan youth, Hamid, owns and manages his own scarf “shop” in a niche in a wall off Chicken Street. The kid can’t be more than 12, but he handed me a full-color business card, complete with a photo of himself and his scarves. His younger brother (eight?) roped in the customers and shooed off the beggars. I bought an embroidered wool shawl from Hamid and no doubt paid twice its value. The kid was ruthless, and I suspect in thirty years he’ll be running a business empire, if not the country.

In America, most businesses avoid locating next to the competition. But in the bazaar, types of businesses cluster together, taking advantage of the large volume of people flowing through in search of, say tomatoes. In Kabul, businesses locate with the bazaar mentality in mind and hence a road for tourists like Chicken Street. I’ve driven past a street with nothing but auto parts, a street for bridal gowns, a street for carpets, etc. The economist in me finds this fascinating because it’s so contrary to the Western business mentality. But it works.