𝘔𝘖𝘙𝘖𝘊𝘊𝘈𝘕 𝘊𝘈𝘙𝘗𝘌𝘛 𝘚𝘈𝘓𝘌𝘚𝘔𝘌𝘕

"In any pursuit be it business, love, friendship, or survival, never use deceit as a form of persuasion, it will leave a bitter taste in everyone’s mouth, and an empty void within your own soul.."

A country that had once intrigued my mind as a vibrant and positively enigmatic place soon become a place that made me hesitant and question my internal securities and insecurities. Morocco, whilst fascinating and full of rich culture, is also raw, distasteful, and challenging. I spent two weeks travelling through the country with two friends (M and X), arriving from Spain via ferry to Tangier then busing our way through Chefchauouen, Fez, Casablanca, Marrakech, and Tagazout. The journey was at times uncomfortable and challenging, but had moments of being spectacular and interesting. The following paragraphs provide a short tale that summarizes the time I spent in Morocco, and insight as to why a country that I was so eager to visit left me feeling slightly empty on departure.

We had been in Morocco for a few nights, and had made our way to Fez, the second largest city in the country. I use the term city very loosely here, it is not how you would imagine a city of over a million people to be.  Entering the Medina of Fez (the central pillar of the city) is like taking a step back in time. Still holding on to its 9th Century roots with large sandstone walls and giant gates encasing he intricate system of cobblestone laneways, excuse the cliché, but this place needs to be seen to be believed. The narrow laneways are difficult to navigate in the bustling daytime, not to mention the almost frightening empty passages lit by only the moon at night. Walking through one of the main thoroughfares inside the medina you will pass market stalls selling everything from beautiful bags of colourful spices to confronting butcher stalls selling chickens that will be decapitated and plucked right in front of the buyers’ eyes. Navigating the way to our Riad (a traditional Moroccan house with multiple levels and a courtyard in the centre, in modern times often used as hotels), we had to shuffle our way passed men riding horses and sheep being led to the butcher. After getting deep into the backstreets of the medina we were close to giving up on finding the riad we had booked in advance as there was no signage or house numbers, until a young child randomly confronted us and told us to follow him – he led us straight to a Riad, then demanded a payment for his services. I happened to have bag of lollies handy so I gave him a few, and watched him run off into the empty passages, noting that this would not be the last time we met this small boy.

   Inside the Riad, a beautiful old four level building with a large central courtyard was somewhat of an oasis in the middle of the medina, we met two men who managed the hotel. They were pleasant, offered us mint tea and showed us to the room. We then sat and spoke with them for a while, the younger man automatically became comfortable and labelled my two friends and I with nicknames that he would adopt for the following days. Matt Damon, Tom Cruise, and ‘the Russian spy’ (all based on the apparent similarities to these figures). We told him of our plans to visit the local tannery, a place where sheep hides are coloured, dried and then made into clothing and accessories, this place had been high on our lists of spots to visit as the tanning is completed by manual labour and the colour achieved using natural sources (saffron for yellow, poppies for red etc.). He informed us that the best time to visit would be the mornings between 8-11am as this is when the best visual display of work can be seen. We trusted his advice and planned to go the one morning, our first mistake in what would turn out to be a day riddled with unusual coincidences and deception.   

The morning arrived, we headed downstairs to be greeted with platefuls of breakfast and never-ending cups of mint tea, a common occurrence in Morocco. Two other Moroccan men happened to be at the Riad, an older man in his fifties and a younger man in his twenties, a father and son duo. Whilst eating we engaged in conversation with the younger man, Adam, who explained that his father helped with the accounting for the Riad. The initial peculiar thing about Adam was evident from the first sentence he spoke – he had an unmistakable Australian accent, a welcome sign for two Aussies and a Kiwi who had been away from home for over three months. He spoke like a typical Aussie, using specific slang you would expect from anyone who grew up in 90s Australia, referencing Weetbix, Milo, and the prevalence of ‘bogans’ in outer city suburbs. Adam was instantly relatable, informing us he lived in Sydney and often surfed at Dee Why – a common Northern Sydney surf break. We rapidly built rapport with Adam, laughing, joking and discussing life in Australia where he had lived for several years. We then informed him of our plans to visit the tannery, without skipping a beat he declared his father was the business manager of the tannery and they were just about to go there, offering for us to join. Without question, we accepted. Mistake two.   

On the way to the tannery we stopped in at a café for a coffee, Adams shout (peculiar act number two, as we later found out Moroccans are not known for their generosity). We quickly found out that Adam went to university in New Zealand to study mechanical engineering, it just so happened that M also went to the same university, and studied mechanical engineering, albeit a few years apart. A happy coincidence or a flashing warning sign? We took it as a happy coincidence, as Adam could name the street he lived on near the university, which happened to be just around the corner from where M had lived. This inflated our already high level of trust with Adams likeable character. We moved on to the tannery, complete with a full tour and explanations of the processes involved – free of charge. The tour, as always, concluded in the store (by this point we were contemplating that we should purchase something, which as we come to know from our travelling was often expected in places like that), however to our surprise both Adam and his father insisted that we didn’t buy anything, nonchalantly shaking it off with “don’t buy anything unless you really want something, otherwise you are wasting your money”. Adam then offered that he would show us the best way to enjoy local food and eat with us. Of course, we again accepted the invitation. (I would like to say this was mistake three to keep with the story, however what happened the next few hours at lunch was everything you could want out of a travelling experience).   

We entered what seemed to be a house with no signs, no shop front, just a bunch of empty tables in the back room. Adam explained that today we would eat like real local Moroccans. He led us to a small overheated kitchen where an older lady was busy preparing food, we then were offered to taste three different dishes and order our meal based on the taste test. All three were delicious so we ordered the whole spread (agreeing to a set price prior to ordering). We were served our meals by a man in his seventies who spoke only Arabic, however had absolutely no trouble communicating with us. From the moment he ran out of the kitchen and launched into a handstand, then proceed to grab each of us and kiss us on the cheek, we automatically knew it was going to be a fun few hours. We labelled him Robin Williams. He was an entertainer. He was a magician. He was a complete ball of energy. A wonderful cultural experience and amazingly delicious food. The day had been fulfilling and we were brimming with positivity.   

Over lunch Adam began to divulge what he did for a living, he exported handwoven carpets from Morocco to Australia, and then sold them at prestigious art auctions. He was currently back in Morocco to acquire more carpets for his next batch of selling. He was buying rugs for ~$2000 and selling them at the auctions for a $5000 profit per rug. By this point all three of us were so enchanted by Adam and his story that all logic had been disregarded, we didn’t even blink twice at this, and pressed him further about his business plan. Due to import laws he could only import eight rugs every three months, approximately $30k profit per import, money he used to travel for the next three months without having to work. As three guys who are disenchanted with the nine to five, our eyes lit up at the possibilities. Adam was very casually discussing this with us, not being pushy, just as if we were chatting amongst friends. The third peculiar act then occurred, and the first sign that the day was maybe not as genuine as we thought. M informally asked Adam who his lecturers were at university. Adam hesitated. Before vaguely brushing it off saying that he couldn’t remember. M asked again, confused as to how you couldn’t remember a single lecturers name. Adam then reached for his phone, saying he would show M his course breakdown. As he picked up his phone both myself and M noticed he held down the power button, turning his phone off while simultaneously claiming his battery had just died. We didn’t push the matter and moved on. Mistake three.   

Adam then invited us to the gallery that he purchased his rugs from, saying it is an interesting place to visit. We had no other plans so again accepted the invite. Mistake four. By now we were interested in his business plan and were discussing the possibilities of purchasing carpets ourselves. Adam was very casual about it, saying that if we wanted he would come to the art auction houses in Melbourne and Sydney to introduce us to the owners (naming the specific auctions, which we had heard of back home). He persuaded that we should just start with one carpet each and see what we thought, all three of us were very open to the idea at this point – especially with the offer that he would help us sell them once we were back in Australia.  

The carpet house was nothing short of stunning, a beautiful building with what seemed like hundreds of rugs. He took us to the rooftop where a lone woman was working on stitching a new rug, allowing us to perform a few stitches each. We were informed that the carpet house was setup with a government initiative of employing widows to sew the rugs, giving them an income stream, a sense of purpose, and a sense of community. A fantastic initiative that we were all impressed with. Downstairs we were invited to sit as a showman started to sell us all the qualities of the rugs (thread counts, time taken to make etc.), whilst the show was going on we were served multiple cups of ‘Moroccan whiskey’ (mint tea, with fresh mint and what seems like 45 tablespoons of sugar, no alcohol whatsoever). The combination of the charismatic Adam, the stunning building interior, and the sugar high from the whiskey, we were taken on a magical carpet ride. Adam quickly selected his rugs, then offered advice to us on which rugs sell the best in Australia. We were prancing around the room, watching as rug after rug was thrown in front of us in glorious fashion. Feeling the quality of the rugs, examining the patterns closely, like we were some kind of seasoned experts that would not be out of place on Antiques Roadshow.   

All three of us were at the point of selecting a rug. Then the glamour, the stories, the sugar, all began to wear off, as we started to think logically about it. Discussions were getting intense – do we buy one each? Should we go halves? Are we really ok with paying $2000 for a carpet? Something inside of me felt uneasy, it may have been the thought of departing with that sum of money while not knowing when my next paycheck would be, or the superficial salesman that lacked the same charm as Adam.  This feeling made me back out, I decided not to purchase. M and X were still undecided, leaning in favour of purchasing one with a nothing to lose attitude. This is when the day took a turn for the worse. The salesman started becoming very pushy telling us we need to buy one right now, pulling out the purchasing book and trying to fill in our details. X decided that he would commit, half out curiosity and half out of the pressure of the moment, putting his details down. The time for payment then come, fortunately, in fact, very fortunately, his savings card did not have sufficient funds, and I would have to transfer money from another account to make the payment – the transfer would take overnight, thankfully. When we informed the salesmen of this they become agitated, trying to formulate ways of us paying now or leaving our card details with them. The situation escalated and became uncomfortable, we told them we were done and we would now be leaving. They would not let us go that easy, they said they would be over at our Riad at 9am the next morning to complete the transaction, we found it strange they were so intent on getting the transaction done. When we left the carpet store I pointed out the sign on the wall asking if that was the name of the place, I was quickly ushered away by Adam who didn’t answer and changed the topic – again very peculiar as I was merely asking out of curiosity.   

We said farewell to Adam who said he would come and hangout the following day with us (the trust for him had not waivered, we were only annoyed by the carpet salesmen). Back to the Riad we started to discuss the events of the day. The convenience that we wanted to go to the tannery and the business manager just happened to show up at the Riad. The coincidence that Adam lived in Sydney and spoke with an Australian accent. The coincidence that he went to the same university in NZ as M, and studied the same course. The confusion that he couldn’t name a single lecturer. The act of claiming his phone battery was dead while clearly turning it off. The fact that Adam left the room to make his ‘purchase’ of the rugs. The avoidance of telling us the name of the carpet house. The pushy salesman coming to our Riad at 9am the next morning. Something just wasn’t adding up. A deep level of skepticism had crept into our conversation. What was real? Who could we trust? or were we just being cynical?   

Back in the room we quickly googled Moroccan carpets. I am now not surprised what the search results returned. Multiple trip advisor comments and blogs detailing similar level of scams to persuade people into buying carpets. Information that the carpets could be sold in other countries for $100-200, not $7000 as we were led to believe. The name of the carpet house being tainted in comments sections. The warning signs were everywhere. We were shocked. We were angry. We were frustrated. We felt deceived. We had been deceived. The skeptic conversation then reached new heights, we come up with the idea that everyone in the city was involved in the scam, from the young boy showing us to the Riad, the Riad owners arranging for Adam and his father to come over, the day of charm from Adam and the lunch with Robin Williams, the collusion between Adam and the carpet house owners, the sob story about the widows, there was a whole syndicate involved here. Everyone was getting their cut of the pie, and we were being taken for a magic carpet ride with a fictitious genie telling us all our wishes will come true.   

At this point we trusted no one in Fez, we felt uncomfortable, we were irritated. So, we did what any person in a foreign country would do, we bailed. We went and bought a bus ticket, and then at 7am the following morning we snuck out of the Riad and caught the bus to Casablanca, three and a half hours away. We had debated staying and confronting Adam and his syndicate, but decided that some battles are best left untouched.   The experience in Fez wasn’t so much eye opening (we had all travelled previously and knew scams were out there, in fact we had also thwarted an attempted scam three days prior in Chefchaouen -  that is a story for another day), but we took issue with how elaborate the scam was. It was detailed, it was thought out, it was researched, it was planned – there was a long game, and they were playing it. Adam, the genuine guy with the Aussie accent and charismatic stories, turned out to be one of the least genuine people I have ever met, still to this day I don’t think he has ever stepped foot in Australia and that all the happy coincidences were achieved with a little bit of Facebook stalking (the owners of the riad had supplied them with our names upon arrival). The level of deception was astounding. The rest of our time in Morocco was then overshadowed with deceit and trust issues, never letting anyone else get to close and shutting down many potential positive experiences with the fear that something more sinister was at play.   

Reflecting on the time in Morocco I can understand the reasons behind the scams, the dishonesty and the money centric attitude – but by no means do I accept it. It is a harsh country, impoverished, with disillusioned communities, political policies that don’t allow for growth of the people, and an inequality between rich and poor, a daily struggle for millions of people. However, it all comes down to the basic human need for survival, these guys are just trying to survive, trying to get ahead in a country that will almost always push you down. In no way do I condone their behavior, as stories like this tarnish the name of their people and their country, but I do feel a certain level of sympathy for them having to delve so low in order to try and succeed. I left Morocco feeling underwhelmed and hostile, I was frustrated that my trust had been taken for granted and that I had now put invisible barriers up, feeling skeptical of every situation I was faced with. It took a few weeks for those feelings to dissolve and for me to be able fully give myself to a situation.