A Visitor's Fresh Perspective

I have lived here long enough - perhaps too long - such that sometimes I overlook details. I find that tourists, visitors and guests to our host country often bring a fresh perspective on the "ordinary" life of Morocco.

Below is a journal excerpt from a young woman who visited us some time ago.

1. Sights and Sounds of a Moroccan Souk.

I flag down the orange taxi before it cruises past me, barely missing a pedestrian on the street. The taxi stops suddenly in front of me and I rush to open the side door. "Salam," I say to the driver. "Salam," he replies. I am taken past side streets, townhouses, and vendors as we drive down the main street. Loud, Arabic music plays from the radio as I strain to understand the language. I brush my scarf back to see another taxi come head to head with us, nearly taking off the fender. Moroccans drive like they are drunk; and with no lines on the road, the drivers drive anywhere they please. Shouts come from the streets and the smell of garlic drifts up my nose as we drive past a vendor. Tall, chiseled architecture comes into view and I note that the sandstone is from the "old" Agadir, before the earthquakee of 1960 and the building of more modern architecture. There are people coming from everywhere, old and young alike, to buy and sell. The market is full and as I pay the driver his 8 dirhams (US $1.00), I step outside. "Bismillah," I say to him.

I walk toward the open market as smells of spices, vegetables, and fruits drift up my nose. Beggars on every side wave their hands for money and Moroccan men stand in groups, loudly talking to each other in Arabic. I walk through the roofed part of the market, looking for a djellaba. I try to keep my eyes down, as most of the vendors are men. Small children come up to me, asking me to buy a shopping [plastic] bag from them, but I refuse by waving my finger at them. These are the children of the street. Vendors from every side speak out to me, some speaking in Berber or Arabic; others saying "hello," noting that I am a foreigner. I pull my headscarf a little tighter around my head and pull my purse a little closer to my side. It is very narrow and the dirt is soft from the rain 2 days before. I step into a vendor's stand, eyeing a beautiful djellaba. The vendor asks me if I speak Tachelheit, and I respond by shaking my head ‘no‘. I continue on to the produce, where there are aisles and aisles of fresh vegetables and fruit. There is much talking going on, as vendors are trying to get people to buy. Cauliflower, lettuce, onions, eggplant, and every other vegetable that can be thought of are piled high on the stands. Children pushing wheel-barrels ask buyers if they can carry their produce for them - instead of being in school. Onion, garlic, and rosemary are prevalent smells in the air. Plump, red grapefruits meet my eye, as do oranges, strawberries, and peaches. Grains, pastas, lentils, and legumes are all piled high in their respective clay bowls, all different colors of yellow, red, and green. A vendor holds out a black olive to me on a spoon and I take it, popping it into my mouth. It is very salty and I spit the pit onto the ground.

I see a large group of Moroccan men and boys standing together and wonder if there will be a fight, as is common in the souk. Sadly, I find out they are trying to rid the vendors of selling from their wheel-barrels. The group dissipates but not without angry shouts. I step back to walk out of the market, a blind beggar at my right. Large palm trees greet me outside and I step to the curb to hail a petit taxi. This is Morocco.

2. A Day In Inezgane

The cool, rainy morning made a perfect day for traveling. With umbrella in hand, Leila and I walk arm in arm a few blocks in [our Agadir neighborhood] to hail a petit (small) taxi. We step through the puddles toward the side door and slide into the backseat. It only takes a few minutes as we whiz through the streets of Agadir to arrive at our destination. The larger, white grand taxis are everywhere. Taxi drivers are shouting, trying to find people to fill up their seats. There are signs in Arabic for different cities, people standing at each one. Leila spots the one for Inezgane, and we are ushered on every side by eager taxi drivers awaiting to take us. One man touches Leila on the shoulder and she turns and smacks him. He is not in his right mind.

We enter the grand taxi, where there are already two people up front and two in back. Leila and I squeeze in the backseat and I barely shut the door as the taxi takes off. We fly past pedestrians, men on scooters, other taxis. The screeching of tires and horns blowing has become a usual sound now.

We arrive at a grand (big) taxi stop and are almost shoved out as Leila pays the driver. We climb out and I am greeted by culture shock feelings. Once again, I realize that every city in Morocco is different from the next. There are so many people - people on donkeys, women and children, taxis, buses filled with people; people, people, people! Shops, tele-boutiques, and hanuts surround me on every side. I look around and notice how different I must look; the dress is much more traditional and here I am in western clothing. Most women are completely covered except for their eyes, and those who aren't have all but their head covered. I note the many stares that we are receiving, but Leila reassures me that there are other foreigners here as well. I am not convinced as I slip on my sunglasses.

Leila and I meet up with her friend, Hanan, who greets us both with a kiss on each cheek. She takes us to her home and there we are served the traditional mint tea, along with cakes and cookies. After a very warm welcome, we leave in search of cloth for a djellaba.
We walk along the streets; donkeys, wagons, and horses fill the streets. The buildings are tall and the streets narrow. I must be careful where I walk as the rain has made the street slippery. We go into three cloth stores; each with beautiful varieties of every color of cloth one can imagine - an artist's dream come true! Leila settles on a blue cloth, but I am unsatisfied at the 210 dirhams the vendor has offered me for my cloth, so we wander over to the souk.

Jewelry, shoes, purses of every kind; old and used clothes, fruits, vegetables, breads, and woodwork meet my eye all at once. I step back, almost overwhelmed by it all. We go to cloth store after cloth store, and finally find the color I am looking for. Hanan begins to bargain. The vendor is relentless, not wanting to budge from 200 dirhams. Hanan raises her voice and starts speaking more quickly in Tachelheit. The vendor goes down to 190. Hanan keeps going. The vendor begins to get angry, explaining that this cloth is imported and it is first class rate. Hanan says to him that it pains her that he will not go down anymore. There is more gesturing, as the two keep at it. Finally, both slam down their hands. The bargaining is complete at 180 dirhams. ($22.50) And we are all exhausted!

We step out of the souk, but not before being greeted by a man in a red outfit with a very large, decorative hat, offering us water. We cross the street and head for the grand taxis. The sun has come out now, drying the puddles of rain and warming up the air. We are once again greeted by shouting taxi drivers and ushered into the first available grand taxi. We give a quick goodbye to Hanan and squeeze into the taxi. We whiz down the main street, horns blowing and drivers gesturing. We stop, get out, and hail the familiar orange petit taxi. I begin to recognize streets and buildings - we are once again in Agadir after a morning that I will never forget...