Morocco…
Thursday, May 25th, 2006Disclaimer: the views expressed by Mohammed in this post are absolutely not mine!
I’m writing from Marrakesh, Morocco. Morocco is a country of insanity (in a good way for the most part). It’s a bilingual country, bilingual in two languages I don’t know–French and Arabic. My French, however, has improved ten fold since I first arrived in Paris.
Anyway, in Fez… Kara and I met an Australian guy and an Argentinian brother and sister. The five of us stuck together as an unofficial guide named Mohammed showed us around. Now the guidebooks advise against unofficial guides, but sticking together, we survived. In hindsight, however, I would say, pay the $15 or so for the official kind.
Mohammed had many stories to tell. First, Mohammed has five daughters and two sons. In terms of his daughters and his wife, “when I tell her eat, she eats. When I tell her sleep, she sleeps.” His daughters are not allowed outside the house without supervision. They do not attend school (by their choice), they do not work, they spend their lives inside the walls of his home, watching television, cooking and sleeping. The reason for this, he says, is that men will try to sleep with his daughters, and if his daughters are tainted, it will be harder for them to marry.
Mohammed has a business in the United States selling Moroccan goods (of the legal kind), fountains and the like. How was he able to stay in the US? He married an American woman. “I found a black woman. You know those black people; they’ll drink your blood,” he said. But she agreed to marry him.
He showed us the pictures of a wedding for one of his daughters. He had offered an American boy several thousand dollars to fly to Morocco, marry his daughter, and take photographs to show to the immigration officials so his daughter could gain entry into the United States. She did. She has now recently married a Muslim unofficialy, and is living with him. “Those Americans, they don’t know anything,” he said.
And that was Fez.
On a side note, the Australian and I had horrible allergy attacks as we wandered the pulsing maze of alleways and souqs with vendors, pickpockets, hustlers (like the one that was leading us), donkeys, mules, etc. It was a smorgasboard for allergy sufferers and anyone interested in Moroccan arts and culture.
And now, after an eight hour train ride, I’m in Marrakesh. It’s tame in comparison to Fez. Tame and about 20 degrees warmer. Fez was comfortably cool; Marrakesh is nearly blistering in midday. The markets are less crowded, the men less agressive, the pickpockets more careful. Unlike in Fez, I feel safe walking alone, or well, without a man. This city is much more used to tourists.
As Kara and I made our way through the stalls, doing our best not to be run over by donkeys and motorbikes, men said everything from “hello, hi, hola, ca va?, gazelle, beautiful, yes yes?, fish and chips, irish?” anything they could come up with to try and rope us into buying shoes, jewerly, silver tea sets from them.
At one stall we were rudely recieved when a man tried to sell us beaded jewerly worth no more than $5 each for $20 each and we refused. He put the jewerly back and told us to not waste his time.
At another stall, a young salesman who could speak the lingo of trade in four languages, and was doing his best to speak three at once haggled with me for a couple pair of beautiful turqouise shoes. He laughed as Kara made faces at each price, and he did his best to switch French to English to Spanish, the latter of which I forced him to speak. Now that sort of attitude will get me to give in on the price a bit sooner.
Kara and I found a stall with the most beautiful fabrics on the face of the earth. A royal fuschia lace over a solid fabric of the same color. Startling blues, burgandies, oranges, the perfect stuff for Moroccan wedding dresses. The most beautiful, and most perfectly matched to my skin tone, as well. I couldn’t help but be girly about it. No way will I be wearing white at my wedding; I’ll be returning to Morocco and buying that fabric. Unfortunately, however, the price of that fabric was 15 nights worth of accommodation, and I’m not getting married any time soon… must prioritize
Finally, here in Place Djeema el-Fna, before sunset, open air cafes (if that’s the word for it) set up shop in the plaza. Less than $5 for a full meal of couscous and vegetables, bread and drinks for two people as you watch the sunset behind the red mud buildings, the Moroccan flag blowing in the evening wind, and hoards of men dressed in white labcoats coaxing tourists to their tables with “Merci, merci, merci.”
Marrakesh is doable for females on their own. Just watch out for the snake charmers!
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Drea