A House in Fez: Building a Life in the Ancient Heart of Morocco by Suzanna Clarke

Author:Suzanna Clarke [Clarke, Suzanna]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Biography & Autobiography, General, Personal Memoirs, House & Home, Travel, Essays & Travelogues
ISBN: 9781407024158
Google: 0u1RrnxfHFwC
Amazon: 1416578935
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 2008-11-10T13:00:00+00:00

OUR CHAOTIC NEW life began to develop a pattern. Most mornings found Si Mohamed and me running back and forth between home and Bab Guissa, shopping for supplies for Mustapha, while Sandy stayed home to supervise. One day, Mustapha gave me an order for five hundred bricks, but I discovered to my amazement that there were no first-quality, handmade bricks to be found in Fez. A woman in Marrakesh had bought them all, and as only one factory made such bricks, it would take a few days to restock.

On our way back to the riad, we passed a house that had just collapsed. Emergency workers were clearing the rubble while a curious crowd packed the street, hampering their efforts. Si Mohamed asked a bystander what had happened, and we learnt that a pregnant woman had been killed when the roof collapsed. Such occurrences were unfortunately regular in Fez, although after the collapse which killed the eleven mosque worshippers, the authorities had erected scaffolding to prop up more than a thousand endangered buildings.

I returned home with a renewed respect for the dangers of cracked walls and rotten beams, and found two potential new employees waiting for an interview. Fatima and Halima were, as David put it when he recommended them, ‘lady strippers’. They stripped paint off timber and ironwork with Decapant, a chemical paint remover. Both in their forties, they were dressed, like most women of their generation, in traditional style, but had been forced into a non-traditional role because their husbands were sick and they had children to support.

Fatima, the more assertive of the two, had a narrow face and a beaky nose. Halima’s face was softer and round, with two teeth crossed over at the front that gave her a slightly goofy look. But appearances were hardly relevant. They were keen, and the idea of employing women appealed to us. It was rare to find women working in the building trade in Morocco – it was unusual anywhere, for that matter.

I told them we’d give them a week’s trial, and after that we’d see. As few Moroccan workers bring so much as a screwdriver to work, it was no surprise to find these confident women giving Si Mohamed a list of things they needed. I followed him to our local hole-in-the-wall hardware store at R’Cif to pay for it all. It was just as well I did, for when the list was being assembled I noticed two huge wire brushes on the counter. I stared at them in alarm. Were these what the women intended to use on our delicately carved wood? It would be shredded in seconds. When I questioned Si Mohamed he argued with me.

‘These are what everyone uses for Decapant.’

Not convinced, I asked him to wait while I called David, who couldn’t have been more emphatic.

‘Do not let a wire brush into your house,’ he said. ‘Absolutely not. Get soft steel wool instead. Just ask for halfa.’

Armed with my newest Darija word, I completed our purchases,

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