In South Africa, I would walk into a shop, see the price on something and if I wanted and could afford it, I would pay the listed price. I remember this being the case when I was growing up in Zimbabwe too.

The price listed or the price you were told was the price it was. Period. Even with the mama mbogas in the street. "How much are the tomatoes?"

She would point at the different piles. "This pile is ten cents, these are 15 cents." I would bring the money out and pay and it would be done. No discussion. No negotiation.

May be just a "thank you" and "goodbye." Then I came to Kenya and I learnt very fast that the only place that you ever pay the actual listed price for anything is in Uchumi - where trying to get away with being two shillings short for your milk will earn you the evil eye from the cashier. Anywhere else, it is all negotiable.

I learnt this firsthand while on a trip with my mother-in-law (who is nothing like Charity). We were coming from visiting our niece Shebesh at her former boarding school.

Mom and I decided we needed some vegetables at some spot after Naivasha. We got out of the car and mom looked keenly at each of the piles of vegetables and potatoes and their attendants. "Do you want cabbages?" she asked me.

I nodded. We went to some woman selling cabbages. She touched them and looked at each of them critically. "How much?" she asked.

The woman named a figure. As I was about to take the money out, mom shook her head adamantly. "No." The mama mboga tried to reason with her and there and then I saw a transformation.

My gentle and soft-spoken mother in law refused to budge from the price she wanted to pay - which was half the quoted price. Just when I thought the mama mboga would tell us to leave as she could not take the amount offered, she relented and agreed begrudgingly to half the amount mom had offered.

She did this with all the women who sold whatever we wanted and eventually we had a sack full of potatoes, cabbages, tomatoes and bananas. All for under Sh500. I was in awe. But just recently I realized I had learnt my lesson well.

Last week my local mama mboga Purity tried to sell me a quarter of a head of cabbage for Sh40. Now, I have been buying from Purity since she moved into my hood.

All the little extras I need, I get from her. So this Sh40 for a quarter of a head of cabbage hit me from nowhere. "What? How much is a full cabbage?"

"Eighty shillings," she answered.

"And how much is half?" I asked again.

"Fifty shillings," she answered back.

"So now why is a quarter 40 shillings?" I asked.

"Because my friend," Purity and I always call each other friend, "because my friend I have to make profit."

"Oh so you want to rob me? Me your regular customer? No my friend, why don't you give me the other quarter that costs ten shillings?" I asked.

"But..." she tried to answer.

I quickly brought out the persecuted minority card, "You think you can rob me now because I speak English, Purity? My friend, am I a mzungu for you to try and rob me? Don't I have a son to feed like you?"

Purity was taken aback. I do not think she had expected this sort of attack from her "friend". I got half a cabbage for Sh40. I also even managed to get a local rate the week before - with discount- for a friend visiting with her daughters at a five star hotel.

Now all I have to do is use my negotiation skills to get a living wage from a certain newspaper I write a column for. Or should I rope in my mother-in-law for this one?