The Marrakech medina is world renown. Or, so it says in the guidebook. It is called, Djemaa el Fna, which means ‘Assembly of the Dead’. Apparently, several hundred years ago, a certain governor of the region would display a collection of severed human heads in the square. He did so on a weekly basis as a means of discouraging dissent among the natives. There were no known reports of rebellion during his reign. Maybe a coincidence, who knows.
When I arrived late in the afternoon, the place could be described as anything other than an assembly of the dead. It was more on the order of an assembly of whackos. Snake charmers, fire eaters, sword-swallowers, fortune tellers…a guy walking barefoot over broken glass, three guys with beach style flip-flops attached to their ears and padded seat cushions draped on their backs were beating each other with four foot long wooden clubs. That was really amusing.
All these acts take place on the square and each is surrounded by a group of spectators; mostly Moroccans.
Do people go to school to learn this nonsense? Are these ancient traditions passed down from one generation to the next? Are there actually young children in the crowd dreaming that someday they will grow up and be able to walk across jagged shards of glass or swallow a sword? Sadly, these opportunities were denied me as a youth. As for the snake charmers…Well, snakes are deaf, for Christ’s sake. They are only responding to the movement of the flute. Fortunately for them, they are the only ones in the area who do not have to hear the god-awful sounds coming out of the flute.
There are, also, stalls selling countless concoctions of medicinal herbs. Some of these are mixed with pulverized animal…matter. These concoctions purport to cure every known ailment and, no doubt, a few unknown ailments. Where else could you find a cure for a disease that does not even exist yet?
Beggars, pickpockets and touts galore!
Then, there are fifty guys at fifty different stalls all selling the same product at the same exact price—a seven-ounce glass of fresh squeezed orange juice for two and a half dirhams. Probably, the only bargain around. Good juice, good price.
Spiking off the square, like so many tentacles, are the cobblestone alleyways lined with shops. Hundreds of shops, thousands of shops—all fronted by shopkeepers desperate to sell their wares. Leather goods, ceramics, silver jewelry, wood carvings, dyed fabrics, spices, nuts and, of course, carpets and rugs, and rugs and carpets, and more carpets and rugs. A venture into this ‘labyrinth’ is like walking the gauntlet. (Every guidebook uses the word ‘labyrinth’ when describing this area of the Marrakech medina. I have no idea what it means or how to pronounce it but, I’m tossing it in here anyway, just as an indication of all the background research I’ve done on the subject. This story didn’t just fall out of a tree, you know.) Once in its grip, you are under a relentless barrage of hassling for your money.
The guidebooks advise that you try to remain calm and behave politely because ‘Moroccans are a proud people’. That would suggest that there are nationalities, which are not proud people. Who might they be? Is there a guide book on Burma, for instance, that says it is alright to lose your temper and be rude when dealing with the shopkeepers in Rangoon because the Burmese have always been ashamed of themselves, anyway?
The Moroccans do tend to be on the aggressive side when it comes to salesmanship. In America, there are shops that have signs reading, ‘If you break it, you’ve bought it’. In the Marrakech medina the policy seems to be, ‘If you look at it, it yours. Pay me!’ …
“Yes madam, I noticed you looking at this beautiful hand-carved jewelry box…Abdullah, my boy, wrap this up for the nice lady and…What? Oh, very well…Abdullah says he saw your husband looking at that 12 x 20 foot Persian carpet so we’ll just throw that into the bag, as well.”
My advice is to never walk into a shop until you have in mind, at least, one item that you are certain is not available in that shop. It drives these shopkeepers crazy to confront a customer who clearly wants to buy something only to realize that that something is not in their shop.
For example, you waltz into a leather shop and start looking around. The shopkeeper is your Siamese twin within seconds and you say,
“Oh, hello there. Listen, I want to buy twelve…”
The shopkeeper’s eyes bulge,
“Yes sir, twelve, did you say?”
“Yes. I want to buy twelve pairs of…”
“Pairs? Twelve pairs?”
So, now, he is thinking that is twenty-four items you want to buy.
At this point, pull out a wad of large American bills. They all recognize American money and, as in many countries around the world, they prefer it to their own currency.
“Yes, I would like to buy twelve pairs of leather…”
“Oh yes, sir! Leather, best leather in Morocco, right here in my shop. So, twenty-four, er, twelve pairs of leather jackets, shoes, hats, pants, matching luggage…”
“Socks.”
“Socks? Did you say socks?”
“Yes, I did say socks. That’s correct. I want twelve pairs of leather socks. Any style will do, although, I am partial to argyles. Assorted colors would be nice. Just wrap them up for me and name your price. You’ll get no hassle from me. I trust you…you look like an honest man.”
“You mean leather shoes, of course. How silly of me.”
“No, I mean socks. As a rule, I wear cotton shoes but, I insist on my socks being leather.”
“No.”
“Yes. Leather socks are the latest fashion in New York, London and Paris.”
“No.”
“Indeed they are, my dear fellow.”
“We…I…we have no leather socks.”
“You’re joking, of course.”
“No.”
“No leather socks?”
“I am so terribly sorry, sir. How about a pair of leather gloves?"
"Will they fit on my feet?"
"Probably not, sir."
“Ah, what a shame…well, never mind. Thanks anyway. See you later.”
Stuff the money back into your pocket and walk out.
I spent three hours strolling around the medina and the only thing I ever saw anybody buy was the seven ounces of fresh squeezed orange juice. Got to be a message in there somewhere.
Excerpt from 'All Over the Map' via Amazon
