a Moroccan tale

There once was a family that traveled to the faraway city of Casablanca. Moments after arriving to their fine hotel, the matron of the family declared they take a quick walk to see the sights and smell the smells and hear the sounds of Northern Africa before dinner.

Two or three steps away from the hotel, the family encountered a nice man who welcomed them to Morocco and went on his merry little way.

"That was nice. See, son. Aren't you glad we came out?" said the mantron.

 Suddenly the nice man turned around with a beaming smile to report some very exciting news to this stroller-pushing, light-eyed, touristy, American-looking family.

"Today," he said, "Is the only day of the year that the Berber people set up a display at the government palace. You should go have a look."

"Oh, really? Today only?" questioned the matron.

"Follow me," he said.

And so, the family followed. All the while, the matron imagined a beautiful display of rugs and trinkets and scarves too look at and adore.  They tripped over garbage, dodged puddles and traffic, and navigated their way through broken concrete and cobble stones. The friendly man just kept looking back, smiling, and helping with the stroller when necessary.

Just as the patron began to grow worried about the distance they'd walked from the hotel, the friendly man opened the door to a shop. For a second, the matron naively thought and hoped that the shop door led to a magical art display, but quickly realized that she was in a rug shop.

Having experienced this once before in Istanbul, the family felt especially duped, but also knew what to expect. Tea, chit-chat, playing with the children, glancing at rugs, and then BAM BOOM WHAM, bombardment of sales pitches and ONLY ONCE A YEAR's and IT'S AN INVESTMENT's and THE MONEY GOES TO WOMEN IN THE MOUNTAINS THAT TAKE MONTHS TO WEAVE ONE RUG's and IT IS GOOD QUALITY's and YOU CAN EVEN SET THE RUG ON FIRE AND IT WON'T BURN's.

Unlike Istanbul, the family could not resist the Moroccan rugs.

The family invested in a rug.

A few days later, the same family set out to explore the old market in Casablanca. A kind man began showing them around and telling them about the market. They knew they would give the man a tip and be on their way when the patron announced, "Hey. We've been here before," as they arrived to the door of the very same rug shop.

Duped again. But, this time the family only drank the tea and ate the cake.

 




The end.