Kilim

When I got to Marrakech at 3 a.m. the flat was a shell of cinderblock, three rooms, a toilet and small kitchen. It was "under construction" Casablanca friends said. Everything was under construction in a country where eight hours seemed like 24 and you instantly became a character in a strange wild film. Beautiful intensity.

Hustlers shuttled visitors back and forth. They cast them from one to the other. They were the jugglers and I was the ball. I learned this in the Marrakech souk.

A boy led me through a maze of blind trash filled alleys to the tanneries. He handed me off to a man who guided me passed workers standing in giant cement vats full of urine solvents cleaning leather and multi-hued colors for dyeing. He, in turn, handed me off to Taib selling kilim carpets.

“I have worked in the tanneries for 37 years,” Taib, a 47 year old said over tea in his showroom overlooking the vats. “We start at 5 a.m. and work to dusk.”

Taib described the workmanship of various silk kilim carpets piled in the room as his helper unrolled carpet after carpet. The silk work was a beautiful assortment of reds, oranges, blues, greens with intricate patterns.

“These are made by Berbers 1400 kilometers to the south,” he said. “They bring them here and we trade them leather. The silk comes from Mali, South Africa and Europe. Every kilim tells a story.”

Small ones sell for $150, 4×6 carpets for $300. “We take all credit cards,” he said smiling, “and of course cash.” His team of salesmen herded French tourists into an adjacent room for their sales pitch.

“I don’t sell in the souk,” Taib said. “The taxes are too high and they pass the extra cost on to the tourist.”

When I left Taib, the boy appeared out the shadows with his hand out. The tannery man also expected something for his 'troubles.' It’s a handoff. Fleece the foreigner was the name of the game. Scam and scram survival.

I got on my magic carpet and sailed high above the Red City toward the snow capped Atlas Mountains.