Looking for the Tannery

1 Picture 200 Dirham

MARRAKECH, MOROCCO It's only one o'clock and I'm glad to be off the streets and back in my riad (a small hotel, something akin to a B&B). Out there, everyone is grabbing at you, the poor and handicapped asking for alms, the street vendors selling their wares, snake charmers saying, "Go ahead, take a picture," and then saying, "You owe me 200 Dirhams ($25) and acting terribly indignant when you give them only ten Dirhams. But maybe the worst of the scoundrels are those offering directions, the one service none of us foreigners, even with maps in hand, in the maze of crooked streets and blind alleys, can do with out. I wanted to see the outdoor tannery, a disgustingly smelly place I heard, where sheep, camel, and goat  hides are prepared, died, and auctioned off to the artisans, who make the leather goods that are sold in the market place. I thought, with the help of a map, I could find it on my own, having already developed a distrust for those hanging around quick to offer directions only to ask for something in return. But even with the map, I became hopelessly lost.

 Tannery Guide?

Seeing me studying my map, a large man, yelled out, "You looking for the tannery? I show you." "No, it's okay." I responded. "Thank you. I'm sure I can find it." "You just go to the next street and turn right," he persisted, in good English. I turned away and headed in the direction he pointed. But at the intersection, there were two alleys that veered off to the right. Confused, I took the one that looked the most promising. From behind the man raced up to me and told me you must take the other alley. I thanked him and told him I could manage now. He continued to follow me from a few feet behind and when another man appeared from a side alley, he quickly jumped ahead and introduced me to the man, as someone who just happened to be going in the right direction. This man too spoke good English and said he worked at the tannery. Skeptical, I told him I could manage alone. The first man, appearing satisfied, that I was now in good hands, disappeared, giving me some degree of assurance. Should I follow this new man? After all, he was going in what I thought was the direction of the tannery.

Tannery

"You just follow me. I have to go to the tannery anyway. It's safe here. Moroccans just like to be helpful. I have family. You have family?" I let him walk ahead. We passed through some empty alleys. "Don't be afraid. Moroccans are not criminals," he shouted over his shoulder. We made several turns, and suddenly we were at the gate of the outdoor tannery. A young man greeted me and the man that led me to the tannery said, "Good bye." For a moment, I actually thought I had been overly paranoid and these guys really just wanted to help me. The young man took about twenty minutes to show me the tannery - indeed, an incredibly smelly and disgusting, but interesting, place - and then took me to an upstairs shop, where one of the artisans, using the newly tanned skins explained their process and tried to sell me a purse, a foot cushion, or whatever. I told him I had no room in my suitcase. He told me, "No problem. I just want to show you how the process works." I turned and walked down the stairs and outside, thinking that I had an unusual, but an okay experience, my paranoia, obviously unwarranted.

I started down the street when suddenly the young man from the tannery caught up with me. "Pay me 200 Dirhams for the tour." I couldn't believe his aggressiveness. He had been so friendly before. "No, I'm not paying you 200 Dirhams," I responded, but he persisted, grabbing my arm. The other man, who brought me to the tannery "miraculously" appeared. He said something to the young man in Arabic. They argued for a little while. Finally, the man turned to me, "Give him 100 Dirhams and he'll go away." Reluctantly, I handed him 100 Dirhams, thinking, after all, he did take me on a personal tour. I then proceeded to walk back the way I had come, while the man, who acted as my mediator, followed after me. We walked through a small alley without any shops or people. Again, I became paranoid and rightly so for from behind, the man came up to me and said, "Pay me for helping you." I said, "No." He persisted, and became increasingly belligerent. Suddenly, out of a dark corner, the first man, the big man, appeared. At first, he too seemed willing to help, but then it became clear his intention was to block my way.

The other man shouted at me, "Give me money." I said, "No." He said, "You Jew?" I said, "What are you?" He said, "Muslim," and grabbed me. I thought I was done. Ahead, there was an intersection with another alley. A man sauntered through the intersection. I shouted as loud as I could, "Let me go! Let me go!" The man in the intersection, stopped and looked. The man holding me let me go and the big man stepped aside. I quickly walked to the intersection. The two followed directly behind me. As I turned the corner, there were two shop owners, standing there talking. I turned to the two men following me and said, "Don't follow me!" The shop owners looked at me and then at the two men. The two men dropped their gazes and pretended to be preoccupied with something else. I returned to my riad without asking for directions from anyone.

Morocco Photo Album