Ann, Sheila, Mohamed and the carpet adventure

We had a mission. Shopping. So we walked into a shop in the Petit Succo. No clue. A nice guy came up to us and offered to show us some djellabas and caftans. OK. Maybe a ‘pouf’. The little one is 180dh and rolls up real small, like this. Then he said we could see some women’s work, carpets, tablecloths.

Up the stairs we go, and there was the ‘team’. Sheila decided that she might actually buy a rug, and I’m sure the ‘team’ picked up on it. Do carpet purchasers give off pheromones? ”Sit down, please.” Out they came, the Garden of Paradise, the other paradise, the kilims, the blue men carpets (“they’re not really blue”, and points to his arm and I wanted to show I’m not stupid, so I made a turban swirl around my head – impressed them, I’m sure), all rolled out on the floor and then came the young woman with the tea, just as we’d been told. Mint tea, colored glasses. The certificates of authenticity and the hard work, tying all those knots. Sheila drove a hard bargain (2,800 down to 2,000). In the meantime, I said I wanted a smaller one (what does 3×5 even look like…?). They bring out a few and I think I want more burgundy. Off they take me to the corner to flip through, 20? 30? And here comes Mohamed. All smiles and not a little flirtatious, despite the raisin on his forehead. I go back to the first one they showed me, over in the pile. Yep. Especially since it can be cleaned, even wine or coffee, “with just a little shampoo, you know like for hair.” 800 for my carpet? No can do. 400? Oh no, really. I mean we’re including shipping and insurance. Door to door. But I’m a teacher. 500 dollars. “Really?” Mohamed laughs. OK. 550$. “Your bargain like a Berber”. “But my husband will kill me if I spend more.” So you leave him and come live in Morocco. You join my harem, you and her”. 600.00. OK. Done.

He hands me off to the money guy and the “big boss” comes over. “Oh, I somehow lost my tea in all this.”. More tea arrives. Magic. And low and behold the boss spent time in the US, New Jersey? New York? They will send my carpet with Sheila’s, so put the same address. Done. My credit card? 600 euros? Uh NO. Dollars. Yes. US Dollars. No problem. Mohamed is working on Sheila to get her to buy a runner. “She’s a teacher, too.” Then, I think maybe he can find me some pants. Pants? After all that? Yes. “I know where we can go” But they’ve got to be cheap. I just bought a carpet and I’m a teacher. Teachers don’t make any money.

Photos of us (with Mohamed of course) and our carpets. Carpets initialed, ready to go, 20$ for the helpers? At this point, all I can do is slip Mohamed the two 100dh bills (why the secret?) Sheila gives him the same, while I’m across the room. Boss is back, laughing as I look at a 500-pound decorative tea table. “Do you want to buy that table?” Can I fit it in my suitcase? Out the door, handshakes all around (oops?) and we’re out into the Petit Socco, Mohamed leading the way. Winding around, Sheila and I can’t quite keep up and I think we’re a bit dazed, but very happy. Mohamed knows everybody. Stop here, buy this caftan. No, I want pants, and they have to be long. Sheila likes the caftan, and then so do I. I put it on and it’s too big – like a pretty blue sack. OK – the little owner finds her the green top and, still dazed, I want the same (in a different color, quand même!) I was giving up on the pants – they were a pretty grey but no high-water for me. But that’s how they wear them. Not me.  OK, we have long ones in white and black. If I buy one more pair of black pants, my husband will kill me. Ok, buy them and come live in my harem. Your harem might object. You don’t know my harem. White pants and a size 1 of the shirt. Done. 350 each. I have 400, Sheila has 300. She can owe you 50. At that point we couldn’t even figure that out. But the clothes were in the bags.

“Now I take you to buy some jewelry.” No thank you Mohamed. It’s not far. In the jewelers…Here’s a photo of me with a famous movie star. What’s his name again? Harry Conick Junior, says Sheila. Yes, here with me and his daughter. He was buying her a present, right here. Nope – we’re done. We want to get some tea. I’ll take you there. OK. Here’s where you can rest up. We like that place over there – we were there yesterday. No problem. He shakes hands with the owner of the café he’s suggested. OUF. Off he goes, smiles all around. Tony shows up as we’re trying to process this, and we show him the photos of our carpets and Mohamed and we are proud. What a great experience. Just great. Sheila says “you can put this in your hospitality research”. YES. It might have been a commercial transaction but it was very, very human – very real. It was worth the 600.00 + 35 dh to have that experience alone. We pay after the tea, start to leave, and who is there? Mohamed. We introduce him to Tony as though he were a friend. In a way, he is.

He walks us out to the exit of the Petit Succo, where, it’s true, the sellers were pushy when we came in, hours and hours before (or so it seems – how much can you live in one afternoon?!)).  More good-byes all around. As I turn to take a photo of him leaving (he didn’t have to escort us to the gates of the medina – but he did), I saw him hop on the back of a motorcycle with somebody he happened to see and head through the gate and back up the hill.  You can’t  see him well in this photo; just our side of the arch/entrance).

 

By this time, I realized that the ethnographer in me had long since been replaced by the traveler, the adventurer, the curious, rather silly woman who wanted to have a real experience.  And so it was. This is the story of Sheila and Ann and Mohamed and the Petit Succo in Tanger. June 6, 2015. I can’t wait to tell it again.

June 7, 2015.

Yes, it was fun to tell the story. I began to wonder if maybe I’d imagined the friendliness of Mr. Mohamed. Nope – the next day, when we got back to the little passageway, there was the man who sold us our clothes. “We’re back.” Welcome back. Where’s Mohamed? He’ll be around. And then there he was. Chatted a bit, he made a half-hearted effort to get us back to the jewelry shop and then said maybe we should have tea. No, not today, and then we saw that Ali and Robert were still at the Tingis. We introduced Mohamed to them and sat down. Mohamed and Robert could be cousins – same energy. We learned that Mohamed is from the Rif, as is his wife, we learned that, concerning hospitality: “It’s inside us.” Yes. It is. He sat with us for a good while, conversations ranging from his daughter in Abu Dhabi to the Barcelona win last night to what American students could do here on a study abroad, from bookstores to the fact that he thinks he remembers Ali from all those years ago. He gave Ali his e-mail card – and one to me, too. “If you need anything…” Sounds good to me. Tomorrow afternoon, inchala.

To visit “our” café:  Café Tingis, Petit Souk, Tanger, Maroc, 360

June 8

Email exchanges with Mohamed. In French. “Merci pour toute votre aide ces deux derniers jours.  Accepteriez-vous qu’un collègue photographe prenne votre photo cet après midi.  Et merci encore! Ann”

“Oui Ann avec grand plaisire,je vous attend cette apres midi . Mohamed
Envoyé de mon iPhone”

We were hours late.  Almost dinnertime, but he’d waited for us. The pictures are stunning.  (Thank you Lincoln Philips). And the fact that Mohamed waited is now a part of this story.

 

And so we left Tanger.   Here are a few emails to show how things are going (Click on them to read).  The story won’t end here, I’m sure.