Rials, Francs, and Dirhams...And Everyday Drama at the Souq

During our language lessons in my Community Based Training(CBT), I remember thinking how it would be unlikely that I would have to use numbers past a hundred at least for a short while. Going to the souq (outdoor market) during CBT was a wake-up call because no one there used dirham, the name of the national currency.  I was still trying to memorize the names of the veggies and fruits I wanted to buy. I still did not have a grasp of how things were priced or even why or how vendors would compute rials or francs to give prices.

Moroccan money

Rial and francs are simply the names of the currencies Morocco has had over the last 100 years. According to the authoritative Wikipedia, the rial was the name of their currency from 1882-1921.  Later on, the rial was converted to Spanish pesetas in Spanish Morocco and the Moroccan French Protectorate area adopted the franc. Once Morocco gained its independence, they changed the currency name to dirham. However, the name change did little to change years of history as people were already used to pricing everything in rials and francs. So for foreigners, the challenge is to refresh our mental arithmetic to be able to figure out how much anything costs and not get hosed in the process.

At Ain Leuh Souq

Rials are very popular at the souq and I´ve heard francs being used when buying appliances, negotiating rent, and other high ticket items. So for example, produce like onions, tomatoes, and potatoes, was yelled out in rials: tlatin(30) rial, sttin(60) rial, and tmnin(80) rial, and then for some of the expensive veggies like avocados, tlata miya u tmnin(380) ryals. My initial reaction to these large numbers was a “what the…@#&%!” Am I hearing this right? 30, 60, 80, and 380.  Can't be!  And thinking that I won't be able to buy much of anything with my Peace Corps allowance.  Thankfully, the mul xodra, vegetable vendors or literally masters of veggies, call out the prices of their entire produce line continuously.  The second time around I heard rials,  which was a relief, but now I had to figure out what all those numbers were in dirhams.

Fortunately, our Moroccan Arabic textbook has a graph with detailed instructions breaking down the rial, franc, and dirham confusion. Here’s how it goes:

Rial, franc, & dirham breakdown

Basically, one way to remember it all is that a dirham is the equivalent of 20 rial and 100 francs.  After a while you get used to hearing the rial prices at the souq, but sometimes you have to do some quick thinking when negotiating for a meal at a restaurant.  The other day I was at the Essaouira fish market looking to buy a plate a seafood.  Essentially, you go up to the fish stand--fish still wiggling and flopping around and crabs still snapping in defensive retreat--select what you want, and then haggle a price with the vendor.

At Essaouira a ready-to-grill fresh fish stand 

As you can imagine, I am no match for a professional haggler who knows the cost of his product and knows his rials and francs frontwards and backwards, but a measured pause can actually work to one's favor; that is, if you don't do your arithmetic out loud or use your fingers to calculate it all.  On the photo, you can see me staring off in the distance trying to compute the price.  The vendor, chilled out as ever, gives me the classic yawn as he awaits my counter offer.   

I still have those about-face reactions when people decide to use francs. The other day I went to buy a foldable clothes hanger for indoor air drying (great for the wet winters), and the gentlemen told me "ashreen alf"(20,000). I responded with a somewhat critical and surprised tone, "SHNU! Ash qulti?" (What! What did you say?). To which he responded, Iyeh! ashreen alf wlla rb3 alf rial (Yeah! 20,000 or 4,000 rial). After hearing the rial, I then proceeded to do some quick calculations without staring out yonder. Luckily, the round numbers were easy to calculate. So the item was actually only 200 Dirham, about $25. A bit steep, but not an overblown price. So I responded in typical Moroccan fashion, "Hadak gali bzzf, gali 3lya, nqsh swiya a3fk" (That is very expensive, expensive for me, lower it a bit please). I was ready to compute the new prices. I was ready to divide by a 100 or by 20, but it never happened as the gentleman stuck to his price and told me, “hada tamn mzyan, jouda mumtaza, u safi” (This is good price, excellent quality, and that’s that). It was a disappointing bargaining attempt, but nevertheless a learning experience.

Bargaining can be a lot of fun. When I step back to watch Moroccans do it, it’s like watching a mini-drama escalate to a climax that ends in either a deal accompanied with a handshake and a couple of God phrases like llah yxlf and/or llah yrHmu walidinik (God replenish you and God bless your parents) or a solemn goodbye followed with still a number of God phrases like, llah ya3wnk and/or llah yfdk (God help you and God protect you).

Fruit stand at Sefrou souq

It all starts with a question that is sometimes accompanied with a serious look as you try to discern the price and try not to give the seller any nonverbal clues that would reveal your interest in the product. The price is given. The buyer looks surprised, eyebrows go up, eyes open wide, and the jaw drops. The seller is sometimes indifferent or sometimes fires back with a few statements to prop up his goods. The buyer counters with his opinion of the product or shoots down the assertions of the seller with arms flapping and sometimes a little saliva flying out from all the hard Xs, breathy Hs, and the gargled Ghr sounds in their speech. The arguments cease and the buyer or seller offers price alternatives. The alternatives open up another round of arguments with sometimes some white lies about competitor prices, sulking looks from the buyer, and the occasional silent treatment to see who will give-in first. Then finally, ultimatums are given. The buyer pleads and the seller reasserts. Sometimes the buyer caves in and other times the buyer throws his final bluff, the slow walkout, hoping the seller will finally agree. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. For some ladies, that’s the drill just for buying a few of kilos of tomatoes.

Price haggling is certainly a skill worth mastering. In most cases, my Moroccan appearance automatically gives me the regular Moroccan price, but that doesn't mean I can’t bargain that price down. I just start lower than many of my fellow volunteers. It’s comforting and nostalgic to go to a supermarket where all the prices are labeled, but it is definitely not as exciting. I like to see some drama from time to time even if it’s just about a few kilos of tomatoes and a few dirhams.

The Slurrrrrp

Medina Harira

I remember the day when I was handed my first bowl of harira, a dish that ranks up there as one of my all-time favorite Moroccan dishes. It´s a chunky tomato-base soup with chickpeas, lentils, onions, parsley, some vermicelli  and sometimes with a bit of meat.  I proceeded as I normally do with my soups to dab the bread and to munch on the dunked portion. I went about it without a care in the world completely immersed in the smells and the warmth of the soup. I was focused on my bowl, my bread, and devouring it all. As my tunnel vision began to dissipate with every bite, I remembered that others were at the table with me. I looked up from my bowl and saw my host family staring at me. I carried on with my bread dabbing, but much slower this time. As I placed the doused bread in my mouth again and savored the bite, everyone began to laugh. I laughed along with them and then tried to tell them in my limited Arabic how delicious the bread dunking really was.

My host father then proceeded to show me his way of eating the soup which involved grabbing the small bowl from the bottom, swirling the soup around in a gentle circular hand motion, and then to avoid the burn sssslurrrrping it with authority. I saw the rest of my family do the same so I decided to give it a go. My first initial slurps were painful lessons that quickly taught me to create the great vacuum that would enable me to slurp the scolding hot soup without having my lips, tongue, and throat suffer 3^rd degree burns.

Moroccan mint tea aka Le Whisky Marocain

Although I have burnt the roof of my mouth and tongue on occasion, it has not deterred my will to master the slurp. The slurp is not only used for soups; it is also commonly heard in many cafes where hot sugary mint tea and coffee are served. Often, when several teapots are delivered at the same time, you can hear for a very brief moment a symphony of slurps. There is the full, open, and loud slurp that is usually followed by a deep sigh of contentment, and the shallow, less overt slurp that is usually accompanied by a measured sip and a comparable sigh. I have also noticed that some simply seem to enjoy slurping and engage in what other Moroccans regard as long somewhat overdrawn slurps. My host father from my home-stay would probably fall in that category. Every here and then, we would compete to see who could generate the most volume and who could drag it out the longest.

Not everyone in Morocco slurps and I have encountered some Moroccans that dunk their bread like I do. I continue to dunk my bread, but I have also added the slurp into my eating and drinking repertoire. It feels good to slurp and to have Moroccans offer a bssha or “To your health” as I do so. If you haven’t slurped loudly and freely in a while or ever, I invite you to do so. Forget the spoon, grab the bowl or mug, swirl it around a bit, and then slurp like there is no one but you and your soup, tea, coffee, or whatever it may be. If you get some strange stares, tell them that this is how they do it in Morocco.