I love the Jetiya, or at least my Moroccan friends assure me in awe. And I think I do. But the event brings about a surge of impressions that I cannot simply decipher as love or hate.
“It’s a flea market!” my English fluent counterpart informs me. But I disagree. I cannot call the jetiya a flea market, because a flea market which I have known in the past was not … this. There was no overcrowded fields patched with a disarray of tarps, each with a crouched Berber woman selling neatly folded takshitas, 50’s shoes and decade old pots. Neither were there many 30 foot tables with enormous mounds of used clothing, shoes and bedding each categorized by its own table accompanied by loud Moroccan men with speakerphones indiscernibly shouting prices. No, there are organized stands at a flea market put together with the intent of directing traffic. At a jetiya there are only “sits” on the ground with indefinite passageways, forcing one to always be cautious when placing their next step. And once you’ve discovered that item here that has been missing from your life all these years, prepare to fight. For Moroccans are tough bargainers. You must be prepared to offend your beloved item by finding all its potential flaws and maybe even a few angry walkaways in order to get a reasonable price.
No friends, this is not a flea market, this is my town’s jetiya, where I must go every week to get my dose of chaos, excitement and immensely vintage things!
In Moroccan culture whomever you are speaking is your relative. Depending on the age of the person spoken to they are either a sister, brother, uncle or aunt. I find this custom very endearing, even though the thing said before the family member name may be the nicest or the meanest thing ever said. It feels good, especially as an obvious outsider to be called “sister” by the lady at the cyber, or my grocer. What still really throws me off though, is this same term used by men as they are hitting on women. “You look very good, sister!” or “Oh sister, God did good creating you!” imply to me “I would like to have sex with you, sister!” and that’s a downright request for incest! Apparently I am the only one who notices this.
“It’s a flea market!” my English fluent counterpart informs me. But I disagree. I cannot call the jetiya a flea market, because a flea market which I have known in the past was not … this. There was no overcrowded fields patched with a disarray of tarps, each with a crouched Berber woman selling neatly folded takshitas, 50’s shoes and decade old pots. Neither were there many 30 foot tables with enormous mounds of used clothing, shoes and bedding each categorized by its own table accompanied by loud Moroccan men with speakerphones indiscernibly shouting prices. No, there are organized stands at a flea market put together with the intent of directing traffic. At a jetiya there are only “sits” on the ground with indefinite passageways, forcing one to always be cautious when placing their next step. And once you’ve discovered that item here that has been missing from your life all these years, prepare to fight. For Moroccans are tough bargainers. You must be prepared to offend your beloved item by finding all its potential flaws and maybe even a few angry walkaways in order to get a reasonable price.
No friends, this is not a flea market, this is my town’s jetiya, where I must go every week to get my dose of chaos, excitement and immensely vintage things!
In Moroccan culture whomever you are speaking is your relative. Depending on the age of the person spoken to they are either a sister, brother, uncle or aunt. I find this custom very endearing, even though the thing said before the family member name may be the nicest or the meanest thing ever said. It feels good, especially as an obvious outsider to be called “sister” by the lady at the cyber, or my grocer. What still really throws me off though, is this same term used by men as they are hitting on women. “You look very good, sister!” or “Oh sister, God did good creating you!” imply to me “I would like to have sex with you, sister!” and that’s a downright request for incest! Apparently I am the only one who notices this.
Oh and here's another reminder of how beautiful this country is. Here are the Cascades d'Ouzued.
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