Salty McNabb

So far, I’ve met only friendly Moroccans in this visit.  They are nice to me even when I alarm them with my atrocious French or offend their linguistic sensibilities when I speak a confusingly incoherent jumble of FusHa (Standard Arabic) and Moroccan Arabic.  But whenever one visits at any famous tourist attraction, one can’t avoid the faux guides.  They can be anywhere between 5 and 65 years old and will relentlessly solicit their guiding services into the medina(old city) or kasbah, from which no white tourists without a guide will ever be able to find their way back.  This claim is, of course, proper nonsense, but I can see how convincing they can be.  After they’ve shown you around the medina or kasbah and “subtly” though incessantly mentioned a certain coffee/rug/brass shop that is worth stopping by, they ask you for money.  Now, I sound curmudgeonly, but the truth is that it’s a fun game if you know the rules and the outcome. 

And so, after I walked out of Rabat’s medina and into its beautiful white and blue Kasbah des Oudaias, I was assigned a guide.  I don’t know why I didn’t dismiss the 12 year old kid—maybe I didn’t talk to anyone all day except for hotel staff, store owners, and waiters—but we commenced the tour given my silent approval of the deal.  And so, we walked through the narrow streets of the kasbah, and the kid recounted (rather accurately!) the history of the kasbah in a beautiful melange of Moroccan Arabic and French.  He also mentioned a few times, lest I forget, the Café Maure at the entrance to the kasbah, which I planned to go to anyway.

When we concluded the tour, I handed him 20 Dirham (about $3) and 2 Euro (about 20 Dirham as well), which is what I had in coins.  I thought it was a fair rate for a half hour.  (If I got this much for a half hour when I was 12 I would be ecstatic. But then again the faux guidemanager probably gets a cut from this.)  The kid was obviously not happy with this meagre compensation.  His outrage may have been genuine but is still part of the act.  Trust me, I’ve got the same disappointed look many times when I was in Morocco with Mark in 2004.  We went to the manager, who explained that they have a set tariff of 120 Dirham (roughly $17).  I gasped at the sound of the rate and said I regrettably had no more money.  (Which was a lie, but so is the story about the “set” tariff.)  They didn’t buy that, quite understandably, and I suggested that he would give me a business card and I’d contact him when I get to the hotel.  (The Moroccan government cracks down on these faux guides and requires that they all be licensed.)  He ignored my proposition and suggested that the kid would accompany me back to the hotel so I could give him the rest of the money.  It was my turn to ignore his idea, and we agreed to meet the next day at 10 a.m. so I pay him the rest of the money.  At the end he asked me if it’s my first time in Morocco, to which I reply with a No.  “Yes, I can tell you’ve been here before. You speak Arabic.”  It’s a good thing he didn’t say I’m a cheapskate.  (Though I must be because I really am on a tight budget here, and $120 is roughly what I spend on food for two days here.) 

I never got back there, but I do want to check out that café at the entrance to the Kasbah. There’s only one entrance to the kasbah, and the kid and his manager are bound to be there.  My plan is to either refuse to pay next time, saying this is roughly what I would be paid per hour for a professor assistantship at my university (almost true) or to make a deal with them:  I’ll pay them the rest of the money, and they in turn will participate in my study and help me recruit more people.  This might be the beginning of a beautiful business partnership.