First, if you're going to do business here and you're Western, you are going to have to arm yourself with a good pair of rubber boots and a shovel; to dig your way through all the bull shit.
Argan
Big beauty industry here is Argan oil. I think Morocco has some beautiful natural products here that are bio and wonderful for the cosmetic industry. Like so many others, I want to create beautiful bio bien être products for use in the USA. I'm just at the beginning stages of this business.
I met with the director of the American Chamber of Commerce in Casablanca. She told me it might be a good idea to first begin with the cooperatives. She called a guy running a cooperative out of Essaouira. He happened to be coming to Casablanca.
All of the Argan is done only between Essaouria and Agadir. As far as I currently know, that is the only place in the world where Argan trees grow.
So, all I wanted was a list of products from this guy, prices, and samples if any. I met him for coffee in town with Xavier that night. He brought nothing, just a meet and greet. He told me the samples are traveling that night and they will arrive tomorrow. He offered to have lunch the next day, there he would give me everything I'm asking for.
So, the next day we meet for lunch. I received nothing. He said the samples haven't arrived yet. He offered for me to come back to Casablanca the next day. I said no. I told him I was planning to take a trip to Essaouira next week, when I come down, we'll get together in the morning, he can give me everything then. I gave him my email address.
So, we plan our trip to Essaouira. Xavier took off of work and we collected Driss to make the drive. Otherwise I would have gone alone with Driss. Driss is 34 and in a relationship. I'm 36 so, I'm not too comfortable with the idea of spending a few days alone with Driss. That's a lot of time to spend with someone. Xavier was even less keen on the idea.
Xavier also had a lead on a house for sale somewhere between Safi and Essaouira. It looked like a dump from the photo. But, what the heck? He wanted us to camp in this place overnight to see how it feels. So, we packed the camping gear as well. Why not? I've slept in worse.
We finally arrive at this dive of a house in the middle of nowhere. Driss was terrified. Xavier still insisted on sleeping in the house. There was no phone reception, so if we have a problem we can't call for help. Driss said there is no security. I don't know what's worse, being in town with tons of people, or in the middle of nowhere with no neighbors. So we set up camp. There was a gecko in the house. Driss didn't sleep a wink that night.
The next day, we got coffee and called my contact for Argan. He came with a buddy, some guy who owns a travel agency in Essaouira. Not sure why he came?? So they bring us back to his house and gave breakfast. We had Amlou, honey, Argan oil and olive oil with bread and rolls and mint tea of course. It was very good. Amlou is crushed almonds with argan oil and honey. Very yummy. Argan oil tastes nutty, kind of like peanut oil. After breakfast, we went to look at Argan trees.
We told them were we slept and they said we got very lucky. They said in that exact area, there was crime committed every year. People would set up road blocks on the main road (4 meters from the house we slept in) and rob people at night. They said it was incredibly stupid of us to have slept there, with no neighbors and no phone reception.
We took this guy's sister with us for some reason and then picked up some guy on the road who ended up being their chauffeur. Then, we picked up another guy on a moped who was waiting for us at the beginning of the Argan forest. Presumably, he owns the land the trees are growing, but not sure. From this point on we off roaded it through a dirt path with the cars. They explained the fruit on the Argan tree, that you pick it up when it falls freely from the tree. Well, actually the women beat the tree and the fruit the size of small yellow prunes drop off. Then they collect the fruit, wait for them to dry. They beat them open with rocks. Inside there is a shell that they use to feed goats and to light fires. Inside the shell is the little nut that looks like a slivered almond. Inside you can have from 1-3 "argan nuts." Very small quantity of things. If you are going to eat it, you grill the nuts first then grind them to oil. If you're making beauty products, you grind the raw argan. Edible argan is more expensive to make, probably due to the extra step, plus it has a stronger nuttier flavor.
Once the argan is ground into a runny paste, the women mix it into a bowl with water which separates the ground nuts from the oil and they manually squeeze the oil out with their hands. It is a laborious process. The women at the co-ops get paid per quantity they produce.
So, I took some photos of Argan trees that are over 100 years old, or so they said. Finally, at the end of this long haul, we ended at the farmer's house. He got two mules and insisted that Xavier and I ride the mules. So, that was my first experience riding a mule on the side of a hill. I actually could have gone on faster on foot, but it was on my list of things to experience before I die. Ride a mule, check....
We got back to the farmer's house, he showed us this mud hut that his wife built to bake bread. We went into his family room. The room consisted of 1 meter by 3 meters, a tv, some mats on the floor in the corner, a very low round table and about 200 flies. We were hot and sweaty and sat down on the mats surrounding this table. They brought out the ceremonial hand washing pitcher and basin for guests made out of tin. You hold your hands over the basin and the host pours water from a pitcher over your hands to clean them. They brought out a giant round bread, not made of wheat, but of something else the name of which eludes me, slathered in homemade butter from their own cows. It was very good. We drank water from their well. I was really worried about getting sick from drinking well water, especially after I looked inside the well and saw how dirty the water was, but I felt pressured to drink some. (I never got sick, though the water had flavor.)
Then he brought out the ceremonious mint tea and some homemade cookies. I had gorged myself on food for breakfast stuffing my belly full of super rich amlou, so I had to make an effort to eat, though I had absolutely no desire. The flies seemed to slowly leave, then he brought out a whole plate of couscous.
Kindly, he gave us all spoons. In Morocco you eat couscous with your fingers and bread and everyone out of the same platter. Being western, I have a really hard time putting my fingers in food and then into my mouth, especially if I don't have access to soap first. Still I felt obligated. The meat in the couscous is sheep's head. Having never eaten sheep's head before, fresh from his yard, I wasn't too keen on starting now. Eating sheep's head is NOT on my list of things to experience before I die, however, it will now be on the list. The man who owned the travel agency passed me a piece of meat with his fingers all covered in couscous and said this is sheep tongue, eat it. So, I tried it. It had solid pieces that I discreetly laid on the table since I had no plate or napkin. Then, he gave me another piece of meat, this time an ear. I'm thinking, man I really don't want to eat it, especially after so many fingers have touched it??? But, I did. It's chewy. Then, with couscous it's customary to serve milk called Leben, like buttermilk in the states, though with lots of chunks. One man gave me a bowl and mixed the milk with the couscous and gave it to me to eat. Yet another name for that which eludes me. Xavier offered a financial gift of 50 dhm to the man for his time and effort (really that of his wife). At first he refused, then Driss offered to give it to his children. This, he was accepting and grateful. It was a bit awkward because in the West, offering money is really rude. Here, it was the right thing to do. Kudos for Xavier for thinking of that, because I didn't.
All in all, it was ok. I had a hard time drinking the Leben, since there were so many unidentifiable solid pieces in it. After, we went to a co-op. It was a tourist trap, yet I still took photos of the women working. There was a woman there doing sales and I started asking her questions, wanting price lists, product lists, and certifications. They had none. All of the men swarmed me to stop me from asking her these questions. They said we would come back, but we never did.
The next part became very bizarre. The travel agent took us to a junior highschool/orphanage. This was a school for poor girls age 12-15 whose fathers have died. The guy gave us a tour and then pressured me to sit down with the girls and talk to them. I was very uncomfortable. I was also totally annoyed with these men because I felt like they were trying to keep me from my real purpose in Essaouira. So, I asked the guy "why did you bring me here?" I wanted to hear him say it. The yankee cash cow has arrived and we plan on milking the shit out of her. After some thought and insistence for a response he said "because I wanted to show you the real back country of Essouira."
So, I gave the girls a hello, how are you? Study hard pep talk. Told them my first language isn't French either. Explained to them that I'm American, but didn't tell them what I was doing there, since I didn't know myself, other than suspecting they were hoping for a large donation. I asked the girls what they wanted to be when they grow up. Doctor, math teacher, good answers. I told them to study hard, pass their BAC, then go onto university. I told them they can become anything they want, they have to just study and work hard. The girls were very cute and nice. Some were very shy, almost terrified. Others were very excited. It was nice, not very helpful for my business, but nice.
The travel agent insisted on taking lots of photographs, then had all of us stand up together. It was kind of weird. At this point I was ready to leave, but they insisted on having dinner. The next thing I know, the director of the school is coming with us to dinner, met with their local doctor who checks all their samples.
At the restaurant, we had mint tea, again. Then, they brought out two tajines with meat and potatoes. We had to eat it with our fingers and bread again. I didn't have an appetite and was being slightly criticized for not eating enough. I tell you, I have a hard time with the finger thing. After dinner, we just wanted to get out of there and to the hotel. I was starting to get annoyed because I felt like they were totally manipulating me to keep me there among them and NOT letting me get on with other things. We ended up getting to a hotel around 9 PM. By then I was really irritated.
Conclusion:
There is a strange mentality in Morocco. If you are Moroccan, you are poor. If you are French or European, you are rich. However, if you are American, you shit money. To them, I was a yankee cash cow. I spent that day with the men blowing enough smoke up my rear end that I could be a float in the Macy's Parade. They wanted me to pay for the orphanage. They wanted me to pay for them to begin another co-op. I could tell them the truth, but they hold onto this fallacy, this dream with such fervor, I don't think they could accept reality.
Current Reality of me:
Jennel is currently a housewife = no job = no money
There ain't no kind of yankee cash cow in the building.
* * * *
The next day was much more productive. I visited roughly 10 co-ops and got 2 decent contacts out of that group, both run, owned, and operated by women. I have blown off the men gently and politely since then. Driss thinks we got run in with the local Essouira Mafia who were trying to hoodwink us, not very successfully. They tried to get Driss to sleep at their house instead of at the hotel with us. We kept Driss with us. The men never did send me any information and or samples.
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