Marjanes and Souqs

Reading a colleague's blog the other day, I was reminded of some differences I've seen over the years between cultures when it comes to shopping or purchasing any type of small consumer goods.

Immediately, I recall my American shopping experiences as my "default setting."  Admittedly not one for shopping, they varied between small shops to monolithic experiences at Wal-Mart.  However small or large, the experience was typically regulated, inspiring consumer confidence by offering me such things as warranties, registration procedures and set prices.

The one anomoly that sticks out to me is the small American market.  Whether the random flee market or the more-frequent farmer's market, these venues struck me as the only places (excluding the black market, garage sales or classified ads) where someone could go, barter a price and find an "atypical" American shopping experience.

To my surprise, the same bit of disparity exists here in Morocco.  To be more clear, I expected the market, or "souq," experience: crowded alleys, bargaining prices, no guarantees.  Fes is world-famous for it.  I also expected the small shop experience: crowded storefronts filled to the brim with shelves of cheap goods, family owned and operated.

However, I didn't expect the final end of the spectrum: the Super "Marjane" or Moroccan Wal-Mart (no known affiliation!).  Further, I've been pleasantly surprised with the number of established electronic and furniture stores in the neighborhood.  Think mini "Best Buy's," complete with over-the-shoulder sales hawks hovering behind the consumer at a respectable distance, patiently waiting to swoop assist.

But back to the "Marjane."  Mirroring any large American retail and grocery store, Morocco's mega-store is located in larger cities, offering competitive prices and trying to fill the consumer's every need.  Large, neatly-organized, florescently-lit isles lined with kitchen appliances, computers, printers, TVs, groceries, fresh fruits and vegetables, clothing, exercise equipment, toys and power tools.  Despite the presence of my shopping cart-led peers, this is ultimately a materialistic and lonely experience.

Supplemented by a Pizza Hut and numerous service shops, the "Marjane" succeeds in providing enough options to the casual customer to keep him or her there longer than planned.  Using a different tactic, the other end of the shopping dynamic easily accomplishes the same.

The "souq's" tightly-packed cobblestone alleys offer shoppers an entirely different - and entirely Moroccan - shopping experience that fills the senses and empties the pockets.  Claustrophobic stalls rub each other's shoulders as shop owners entice passers-by for a minute of their time.  They sing tried and tested welcomes, thrust out their best deals in clutched hands extending from jalaba-covered arms; they scurry their children in pursuit of a particularly tempting target with a lucrative buy and pitiful eyes.

Puddle and cardboard-littered lanes replace clean and organized isles.  Smells assault the nostrils: a dung patty repulsing them in one step, skewered beef enticing them the next.  Roasted almonds sweetly tempt to the right.  Biscuit aroma from the back of a Renault.  Between them, huddled forms atop burlap satchels extend skyward palms.  Generosity is cashed here easier than your Visa.

Fresh produce, leather goods and custom fabrics further humanize the experience, requiring the foriegner to enter the old city's gates well-armed with expressions of dialect, an open mind, stong will, compassion and the energy to travel the winding road of bargaining in a second or third language in the professionals' home field.

Even in Rabat's modest souq, I find my "default" setting tested.  Trying to navigate the poorly-marked trails of Arabic and Darija during conversations often leads to more questions than answers.  I don't find my treasure (a power converter) this particular day.  But I still find an experience worth remembering.  And I can't remember saying that after a trip to Wal-Mart.