ESSAOUIRA, Aug 20 — The call of the muezzin wakes one up to a chilly Moroccan morning. Prayers echo mesmerisingly in the mists that seem to permeate through the windows to arouse you from a heavy night’s sleep.
This is Essaouira, an enchanting seaside port and town on the Moroccan coast. It faces the Atlantic ocean with its ensuing strong breezes, thus giving it the name of “The Windy City”.
Laidback and hypnotically redolent of salt together with seaweed, this town is the perfect place to relax and unwind. The biggest decision of the day would invariably be what sort of meal to have.
From my rented accommodation outside the medina I avoid the ubiquitous little blue Renault cabs. Instead I opt to take the slower but infinitely more interesting local taxi, a horse-drawn carriage, towards one of the gates within the massive walls surrounding this medieval town.
As I approach Bab Sebaa, one of the bigger entrances, there is a magical anticipation that another world awaits.
Seagulls circling up in the stunningly azure blue sky above accompany me, as I amble towards the souq. I had meant to meet up with Othman, a local chap, who looks after one of the many stalls inside the medina. The amazing clarity of ambient light that exaggerates the souq’s colours is mildly intoxicating.
Othman greets me with a warm “As-salaam alaikum” with the traditional hugs on both cheeks. As is the custom with some young men, he has chosen to help out a distant relative at a little shop selling traditional Moroccan clothes.
One fact that stands out here is all business is run by locals, thus there is an honest simplicity and authenticity that’s prevalent.
He mentions that the family unit is the glue that holds Moroccan culture together. It is therefore not unusual, especially in the smaller towns, for one member to help out another in whatever way they realistically can.
This gives rise to a rather complex system of networking that outsiders can only vaguely grasp at. The camaraderie that abounds here would certainly attest to that.
You get the notion that everybody has a vested interest in ensuring that society thrives and prospers alongside everyone.
Othman is testament to this fact. He has been running this place with assorted cousins since leaving school. However ambition is inherent, so having his own shop at some point is there.
As a back-up plan, he also takes classes in the hotel industry. A very sensible decision when one can see that tourism is vital to the Moroccan economy.
After all as he eloquently points out to me, another younger sibling can run his shop should he decide to work in a hotel or ryad somewhere. Ambition, hopes and dreams do exist no matter where one chooses to go.
It is amusing to notice that Othman, despite being in his early twenties, is an old hand at this retail game. The items for sale appear to be stacked everywhere but he seems to know when to get what and where. Part of the intrinsic charm of a local outlet.
Also, necessity has made him reasonably proficient in most European languages. His effusive and charming banter with the tourist customers is most entertaining to watch. The younger ladies, it must be noted, are very taken in by his tintedly flirty ways and usually walk away with some item or other.
His swarthy good looks, sparkling eyes and brilliant smile can entice most of them to get just one more dress, scarf or pair of shoes. Definitely a natural salesman.
It must be noted that bargaining is definitely a way of life here in Morocco. It is here that Othman the salesperson/actor extraordinaire excels indisputably.
His experience and instinct dictates the level of showmanship to display. The exaggerated feigned looks of despair when an overzealous customer pushes down the price further is pure drama unfolding before your eyes.
Eventually an effective compromise is reached and all parties are content. All in a day’s work plus comic relief thrown in for good measure.
The hours pass languidly by and soon it is time for lunch. As if on cue, another relative turns up for the lunch shift. We head towards the local fish market where the day’s catch is set out.
If you are expecting plastic-wrapped seafood in Styrofoam containers, this is not the place. The locals expect and get the freshest fish possible.
Othman then blithely guides me to a cousin’s stall where we choose from what was in the sea just hours before.
Within the market there is a corner set aside where the seafood is usually just grilled over hot flames. The only seasoning is a sprinkle of salt and some lemon squeezed over. Then you grab a bench at a common table to feast.
This is accompanied by a simple salad of chopped tomatoes, cucumbers and onions. As is the rule of thumb everywhere that one chooses to visit where the locals go, it has to be good and authentic.
Here you can see the Moroccan extended family at its best. Othman seems to know every other person there. It’s a truly boisterous atmosphere where even I as as an outsider am welcomed into the fold.
It is unfortunate that I cannot understand the local patois, but the joy that is unmistakeably reflected in my friend’s eyes and smiles speak volumes. Once again I am reminded of what Othman has said. Family and friends are all that matter here.
After that eventful lunch, it’s back to work. A small boy soon comes in and the Moroccan classic is ordered. Mint tea. Over here just about every chat, debate or tirade is done over a glass of piping hot sweet black tea in a glass stuffed with mint leaves.
It is an old tradition going back generations. No one in Morocco can or should, for that matter, avoid this at any time of the day.
The hours pass and I then decide to go back for a siesta. I leave my friend Othman with the promise to meet later for dinner. Just an ordinary day perhaps in the life of someone several time zones away but revealing in its simple strength nonetheless.
As I walk towards the huge wooden gates of the medina, my next thoughts are, “What will I have for my Tajine dinner later…”
