I wanted just one hippo, but I ended up buying a whole family.

It’s a classic mistake, and an easy one to make in Africa.

It all started with a desire to visit my childhood best friend, Amanda, when she was living in Senegal. I was living in South Africa at the time, and the thought that two little girls who grew up across the street from each other would end up both in Africa was just too fun to not make the connection work. So, I flew to Dakar, Senegal, to meet Amanda.

After years of not seeing each other, right away we jumped into life together as though we hadn’t missed a beat. Amanda showed me around the city, taking me to all the markets and tourist spots. Although I had already spent quite a bit of time in Africa by the time I visited her in Senegal, there’s always something new about each place you visit.

That’s when I decided I needed a hippopotamus.

I told Amanda I wanted to buy a hippo, and she seemed certain we could find one around if we keep our eyes open.

Over the next couple days of touring the city, I kept looking around for hippos but couldn’t find any. My time was running short, because soon we were going to get on a ferry to travel to the southern part of Senegal.

Finally, the day came for the ferry ride, scheduled in the evening to be an overnight trip on the boat. Amanda’s friend, Aida, led us through the city to get to the ferry. And that’s when I spotted the hippo.

It wasn’t just one hippo; it was a whole hippo family. I stopped Amanda and Aida and said I wanted to talk to the guy selling the hippos. I would need help with translation into French.

“How much for one hippo?” I asked.

But he said I could not buy one hippo. I had to the buy the whole family. What an absurd question to ask—buying a single hippo! What, could we ever imagine, would happen to the rest of them?

But I told him I did not want a whole hippo family. I wanted just one hippo. To me, a family seemed absurd—what on earth would I do with a family of hippos, when only one would be sufficient for my needs?

Again, he refused. All the hippos—or none. He was firm.

Amanda was anxiously looking at her watch. “We need to keep going to the ferry,” she reminded me. “Why not just buy all the hippos? You can keep just one if you want.”

It made sense, but the price for five hippos in total was just too much. I don’t even remember what it was, but I knew it was far more than I wanted to spend, and especially at the thought of paying that much to end up keeping only one hippo. (I liked the fattest one.)

In the end, I decided that I would not buy the hippos. If I couldn’t get just one, I would certainly not get an entire family. And with that, I declined the offer, and we continued onward to the ferry.

But the guy was not too happy about his sales loss. As we walked away, he followed us. He was speaking with great animation, trailing behind the three of us.

“What’s he saying?” I asked Amanda.

“He’s saying he’ll give you a better deal if you come back,” she responded.

The answer was no. I had given up on buying a hippo.

With each block we walked, he knocked some more money off the price. But we continued to ignore him. We had to hurry to the ferry, as we had spent too much time in failed negotiations earlier.

“Move quickly,” Aida chided. “We need to catch the ferry. And we need to ditch this guy.” It had been at least a half-mile that he had been trailing behind us, the price getting lower and lower with each turn of each block. He was desperate to sell. We were just desperate to get on the ferry. And I silently cursed myself for ever wanting a hippo in the first place.

Just as we decided to pick up the pace, my flip flop snapped. Now I no longer had functioning shoes and couldn’t ditch the guy hammering us with a lower price—while still maintaining he would not sell me a single hippo, only a whole family. I felt like I was now walking on a stump leg instead of a foot, as I was dragging my flip flop to keep it on.

We must have looked like a movie scene: an African woman at the lead, chiding us to hurry; a few feet behind her, a white woman alternating between French and English translations; several feet behind her, another white woman inexplicably dragging one foot while peering over her shoulder; and finally, a guy in tow, yelling about hippo families and reduced prices.

That’s when Aida finally snapped.

She turned around and said something to Amanda. Like a game of telephone, Amanda turned around and said something to me, in translation.

“Aida says to just buy the hippos so this guy will finally leave us alone,” she told me.

I turned around and faced the guy. I didn’t need to say anything to him—he knew he had won.

Whatever the last price he had stated—which was more than half off the original price—that’s what I was stuck paying. I handed over the money while wondering, “What am I going to do with five hippos? I only wanted one, and this was definitely not the price I had in mind for my one hippo!”

But the decision had been made for me. I had been commanded to buy the hippos—as a family—negotiations done.

There was little time to finish the deal. We were desperate to catch the ferry, so I was at the mercy of how quickly I could get out my cash and hand it over and make the exchange. Once I handed over the money, a smile came to the man’s face. Done deal. Hippo family sold and off his hands.

Then he motioned for me to hold out my hands, which I did.

And he dumped the five carved hippos into my hands, spun around, and disappeared into the crowd.

…What? Did you think I was buying five real hippos?