Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Tales from the Moroccan Marketplace

I desided I wanted to buy a painting, so I headed into a stall in the Marrakesh Souk selling paintings.

“Bronger,” the shopkeeper greated me.

I did not respond, but lifted one of the paintings to examine it.

“Hello, do you like this?” the shopkeeper came up beside me and handed me another painting.

I smiled and examined the painting he gave me.

“Are you from London?” the shopkeeper asked.

“No,” my husband shook his head. “Guess where we are from.”

“Are you from Australea?”




“I know, you are from Africa like me.”


“Are you from Mars?”

I smiled at the shopkeeper. “Yes, he is from Mars.” I gestured toward my husband. “But I am from Venus.”

The shopkeeper laughed and handed me another painting to look at.

“Is this you?” My husband pointed to the signature at the bottom of the painting.

“Yes, yes, this is me. You are psycic.”

“No, not pscycic,” my husband shakes his head. “I am American.”

“American?” The shopkeeper beams at us. “I love American.”

I had always thought the rest of the world hated Americans. Half of the time I just lied to people and said I was Canadian. “Why do you love America?”

“Because President Obama has brown skin like me.” The shopkeeper put his hand out next to mine and pointed to the backs of our hands. “See dark, light, my skin is just like Obama.”

“But we are not different.” I take the shopkeepers hand and flip it over. Then I place my own palm next to his. “See we are the same.”

“Yes, yes, we are the same.” The shop keeper puts his hand over mine. “In Africa we see proficy, praise to Ala, in hand. Can I look at your hand?”

“Yes,” I blush as the shopkeeper begins to read my palm.

“You have a very long life line, you will live to see your grandchildren. But I see confusion in your hand too. You tell me, do you have a hard time making up your mind?”

“Yes,” I laugh.

“Praise Ala, I knew it,” the shopkeeper claps his hands. He touches his hand to his cheek and turns his head. I bend forward and kiss the air an inch away from his cheek.

“Hey, hey, hey,” my husband shakes his head at the shopkeeper. “Lets look at these paintings.”

“Ah yes, which one do you like?” I look through a dozen paintings and find the one I like best.

“How much?”

“Normally 500 dirham, but for you my beautiful friend, 400 dirham.”

“No,” my husband shakes his head. “100.”

“What? This is a good quality oil painting. You can dump water on it even. See, see.” The shopkeeper grabs a jug of water off the floor and dumps it on the painting. “See, very good quality, 350.”


“You think I’m trying to cheat you? This is nice painting. You don’t want to buy, just to insult me.”

“120 max.” We turn and walk out of the shop.

The shopkeeper calls after us and we continue walking. He puts the painting in a bag and runs after us. “Ok, my friends, sold. 120 dirham.”

We give him the money and continue on our way.

Joke of the Day
What is a mathimatican's favorite item of clothing?
My sister in laws answer - A two-two
My brother in laws answer - An alge-bra
My husbands answer - A three-three (I have no idea what he's wearing most of the time maybe this is why)

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