If you haven’t yet read last week’s post, it’s best to start with Part 1, in which I’ve meandered deep into the souk to do a little souvenir shopping with my last few dirhams before leaving Morocco the next day. A friendly man has taken me under his wing, shown me how to read the symbols on the rocks, helped me find the leather seller, and shown me the rug weavers in action. Now,I find my sweaty self in an air-conditioned room, feeling much too comfortable for comfort.
I know I’m somewhere I don’t belong. Best-case scenario, it’s a sales showroom where I’m expected to spend a whackload of money I don’t have. My worst-case scenario brain is concocting some kind of human trafficking situation. A new level of vigilance kicks in as my tour guide introduces me to the man I’ll call the rug merchant.
The rug merchant is dressed in a much more western style with a crisp button-down shirt and dress slacks. He’s a fast talker. “Please, sit here,” he gestures towards an upholstered bench. “Let me give you some tea, it’s our custom to serve tea to our guests, do you take sugar?” I shake my head no (No tea? No sugar? I can’t keep up), and he turns to my tour guide and speaks in Arabic, presumably asking him to go get some tea with no sugar.
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