How Easy It Is to Just Get Married…

While traveling in Marrakech a couple months ago with my visiting friend Carol I embarked on a mission. It was absolutely imperative that I found art supplies. And not just the dried up watercolors and synthetic brushes that are available in any mktuba, but a real, specialized art store with quality paper and fancy paint. We were only in Marrakech for the day, so time could not be wasted. My motive to find this store was work related, which gave me an added sense of determination and empowerment. Even though the directions I received routed me to the entire new Marrakech, I was going to find the store. I could feel it!

The trip could not have started smoother. Once getting into a cab at its appropriated stop (which already is difficult if you aren’t Moroccan) the driver turned on the meter! And for all you who have never set foot in Marrakech, let me just tell you what an ecstatic feeling that is. The typical Marrakech taxi ride begins with obnoxious bargaining, which sometimes starts at an insultingly high price. A lot of the times extreme bargaining tactics have to be used (when your “I’m not a tourist…” line does not work) sneers and arguing can commence and at times angry slamming of doors and even making the driver pull over and walking out is not that uncommon. That said, Carol and I thought we were on a smooth sail. I of course seated myself in the passenger seat not to insult the driver and Carol got in the back. After telling the driver to go to the needed part of the city, typical conversation ensued…

“How are you? Everything is good?”
“Everything’s good. Thanks be to God. You learned Arabic?”
“A little.”
“No, no. You speak very good!”
“No, no. A little. Not a lot.”
“You learned it good! Where did you learn it?... You live here?.. What do you do in Morocco?... Do you have children?.. Are you married?... Why not?“

It still impresses me that I am able to speak a form of Arabic. A language that I’d never guessed I could learn. Since most foreigners visiting Morocco know not a smidgeon of the language, everything I say is in comparison absolute mastery of the dialect. Because of this at times I can become somewhat flaunting with my new skills. I therefore had no intention of quieting down and just watching the scenery as we drove. I persisted to inquire about the store, even though I realized “specialized art store” was not in my vocabulary. This is how I thought the conversation was going:

“I want to draw! I need a place where I can get things to draw!”
“You want to what?”
“I want to draw! I heard there is a place in Gueliz where you can get things to draw.”
“You want to draw?”
“Yes! Do you know where the store is?”
“Yeah! Yeah, there is a place in Gueliz! I know. I know where it is.”
“Can you drive us there, please?”
“Yeah. Yeah. I know where it is.”

At this point I tried to translate the conversation to Carol, as we were entering new Marrakech a.k.a. Gueliz. All of a sudden, we started pulling into a different part of Gueliz. The colorful store displays had disappeared and we were now on a road with more official looking buildings. The driver parked. He got out of the car and Carol and I warily followed. He headed straight for what I took to be as a school, though it had some kind of a formality around it, that I quite couldn’t put my finger on. “Maybe this is an art school and he will ask the teachers where the store is...” I guessed.

We entered a gate, came through a wide hallway and ended up in an office filled with several officials at their desks. The driver approached the man who looked most important. At this point I became a bit uneasy and chose to stay a couple yards away from the men. Carol must have been experiencing similar emotions as she failed to even enter the room and only observed from the hallway. The men exchanged a few sentences and the official then glanced at me with an annoyed expression. He quickly looked me over and then asked me something in French.

“I don’t speak French” I replied.
“Do you speak English?” it seemed he was even more annoyed.
“Yes.”
“What do you want?” he asked.
I think I totally froze at this question, because the man continued…
“You want to get married?” he asked.
“No, no…” At this point I gave out a nervous laugh and my face began to flush.
“Do you know where you are?”
“No, I do not.”
“This is a court!”

I glanced over at the driver. Somehow, he had failed to observe the tension that was going on in front of him. He was watching our conversation with a sincere smile, while nodding his head as if in agreement. I began to hear Carol chuckling in the hallway.

“I’m sorry. I did not know.” I started to come to my senses.
“What do you want?” the man repeated.
“ I wanted to find an art store. I need paint. That’s what I tried to explain.”
“What did you say in Arabic?” the man prodded, as the whole office watched on. Everyone in there was now smart enough to put down everything they were doing and watch the free entertainment.
“Gult bghit nrsm. Bhit hwayej bas nrsm bhum.” I now had to practice my skills in an office full of fluent Darija spectators. Tough crowd this time...

“What?
“I need to find paint. A special paint. You know paint, like to draw?” at this point I resorted to full out hand gestures and demonstrations.

“Oh! Paint!”

The man’s annoyance seemed to now shift from me to the driver, whom still seemed absolutely clueless about what was going on and was surely awaiting someone’s wedding to take place. The men exchanged several sentences in very rapid Arabic that was difficult to understand. The official scolded the poor driver and eventually told him to just take me to any damn mktuba to which at this point, I was not going to object.

We walked out of the building with our tails between our legs, followed by some evident snickering from all of the observers present. The poor driver was scarred and embarrassed. I was laughing hysterically, yet nonetheless mortified. We got back in the car as if to continue our search for a mktuba. After one had not appeared after several blocks, I begged the driver to let us out wherever, assuring him that there are a lot of them and we would find one eventually. He did not object for long.

As the driver later explained to me “rsm” is a verb that means to sign a contract, the verb to draw is “rasm”. Omitting a vowel had caused me quite a bit of confusion, embarrassment and one bruised ego. Needless to say, I won’t forget this language lesson. However, if I ever do need the equivalent of a Vegas wedding chapel here, I know where to go, or at least what to say.

As far as the art store quest, our embarrassment and effort did eventually bear its fruit. We found a live practicing painter, all the art stores in Marrakech as well as a night at a Western style art opening (including the hours devours and the wine). However the remainder of this trip is an another story all together…The Jakaranda tree is now in bloom in most of Morocco. Truly the most beautiful tree I've seen to date. This picture is in Marrakech, about a month and a half after the described trip.