This particular Harry had spent his entire youth in Africa, and when, in his fifties, he discovered Morocco—southern Morocco, the part that is already African—he felt as though he had been rejuvenated. He had only one thought in mind: to find a way to settle there, at least part-time.
In Paris, he ran his own practice, which he operated from a house in Courbevoie, on the banks of the Seine. Well-established enough not to really have to seek out clients, he was growing quietly bored with his work. His wife had a side business and ‘ran the shop’, so it was entirely possible to consider scaling back and spending a few months a year in Morocco.
Harry had come to Ouarzazate because he was passionate about fossils. He spent nights online haggling over rare specimens, and was tracking down the world’s oldest dinosaur, which had been found nearby. He asked my husband to find him a house, or a plot of land to build on; he wanted somewhere that would allow him to live and accommodate his wife and two children during the school holidays, a room to set up a fossil museum, a garden with a small swimming pool, and enough space to build one or two extra bedrooms.
No sooner said than done. I met Harry when he came back for a week to see what my husband had found for him. I also met Khalid.
Khalid is a middleman. He buys and sells everything, and above all, information. He can find you a 4×4, a villa, a work contract for Europe, or a kilo of meat for lunch. Most Moroccans go through middlemen and trust them more than a estate agency.
Khalid shadowed Harry all week; if Harry had a coffee, Khalid would sit at his table; if Harry wanted a smoke, Khalid would find him what he needed… Harry went on viewings, and Khalid was there so he could later ask the owner for his commission. There were two houses that Harry really liked.
And then Khalid suggested they go and view a villa at the golf course.
For those who aren’t aware, the Ouarzazate golf course is a golf course in name only. A few years ago, the groundwater used for irrigation became contaminated with salt water, the grass on the course completely withered away, and the king wisely decided – in a region that is rather short of water, despite the El Mansour dam – to wait for things to return to normal, rather than attempt costly, water-intensive and uncertain treatments.
The entire golf course, situated in the middle of nowhere about 20 minutes from Ouarzazate, has therefore lost its purpose. The splendid villas currently under construction remain unfinished, their walls covered in graffiti featuring mobile phone numbers; those that are finished are rarely occupied; and to make matters worse, the lake attracts biting insects.
But Khalid knew what he was doing.
We began with a tour of one of the most luxurious villas: a marble-clad hall with a ceiling easily 10 metres high, a two-level infinity pool, cedar furniture, and the caretaker serving tea and explaining that Viggo Mortensen had stayed there during the filming of Hidalgo, and that the villa rents for around 300,000 dirhams a week.
Harry is dazzled.
We moved on to another villa, a little less luxurious, but which, according to the caretaker, was also being let at astronomical prices.
Harry starts dreaming of setting up his fossil museum at the golf course, and explains that with water, he’s sure his wife will love it, as she doesn’t like the desert. He starts talking about quad bikes and jet skis…
We finish with the villa that Khalid has been trying to sell for two years (precisely since the golf course started to look a bit shabby). Much smaller than the previous ones, it’s right at the very end of the estate. The structural work is done, as are the initial interior fittings (marble floors and wooden balustrades), but that’s all; there’s no kitchen or bathroom, and as the villa has never been lived in, sand has accumulated inside, and the woodwork needs to be redone.
The house has only three small bedrooms, the garden hasn’t been landscaped yet, and there’s no swimming pool.
The asking price is astronomical. Let’s just say that, based on the living space, the price per square metre is higher than that of a riad in Marrakesh.
That evening, without Khalid, who had reluctantly had to leave Harry behind, no doubt to look after another potential mark, we pointed out to Harry that films aren’t shot every week in Ouarzazate, that the season in the south is short, and that even with a 100% occupancy rate during the season, that would amount to no more than four months a year – besides, he could see for himself that the only two accommodation options at the golf course were empty… We add that there is a lot of work to be done, not enough space for what he wants (as you can’t rent out tiny rooms at luxury prices), that the golf course may turn green again, Inch’Allah, but nobody really knows when (it’s still yellow…) and that the 300,000 dirhams a week must be reduced by various commissions.
A few weeks later, I met Harry in Paris. He’d taken out a mortgage on his house to buy the villa. We had to act fast, of course. The owner, a decent chap—can you believe it?—a Hajj to whom everyone kisses the hand in the street, had received a much higher offer from some Australian buyers. A man of his word, he wanted to give preference to Harry, with whom he had made a commitment, but we had to act fast, really very fast, because otherwise the Hajj would change his mind anyway; the Australians were offering 20% more… (and 20% too expensive is a huge amount).
And then, Harry explains, when he signed the offer to purchase, he paid a 10% deposit, which he’ll lose if he’s unable to go through with the purchase – for example, if he can’t secure financing…
Note for prospective buyers: with regard to preliminary sales agreements, Moroccan law is quite similar to French law, and if a condition regarding the securing of a mortgage is included, the deposit paid upon signing the preliminary sales agreement is refunded. Furthermore, only a relatively small sum is required, typically between 1,000 and 2,000 dirhams.
Harry was lucky. His payment wasn’t held up for months by a solicitor who couldn’t find the account number where the funds had been deposited; the villa was properly titled, Hajj was indeed the owner, and Harry found himself the owner fairly quickly.
Khalid, on the other hand, was furious, because he hadn’t received his commission. Or, to be more precise, he became furious when, one evening, I told him the price Harry had paid, because the very honest and respectable Hajj had quoted him a much lower selling price.
But Harry’s misfortunes were not over yet: ‘to be continued in the next issue’.
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