Harry was the owner and thought his troubles were over. Quite the contrary: that was when things started to go wrong.
Harry had to at least redo the woodwork, the entire interior fit-out, and enlarge the bedrooms, lay the lawn, and dig the swimming pool. To be able to accommodate more people, he’d had the idea of digging out some pseudo-cave dwellings at the far end of his plot, which sloped gently down towards the lake. It was outside the boundaries marked on his title deed, but some official had assured him he’d be allowed to go ahead with it. The official was a good friend of the Hajj seller, incidentally.
What’s more, this official had a very good architect to recommend; imagine that – a European based in Marrakech, a specialist in swimming pools and luxury homes ‘just like what you’re planning to build’.
It was just as I was explaining to Harry that no verbal promise made without witnesses was binding on an official, that he was simply being encouraged to believe whatever he wanted to believe, and that he would be well advised to be wary and choose another architect, outside that clique, that I was branded a prophet of doom, and that Harry cut all ties with me.
So we followed his adventures through the grapevine, but word gets around in Morocco. (It’s the grapevine)
On Hajj’s recommendation, Harry began by hiring a caretaker – actually, someone who looked after the neighbouring villa. He was a decent chap; just imagine, he’d make tea when Harry arrived… and, incidentally, he was immediately paid a salary of 1,500 dirhams a month, to encourage him to look the other way at an empty villa over the hedge, and to wait until he had a lawn to water.
Harry then hired a European contractor from Marrakech – a Swiss man, I believe. He was paid 6,000 dirhams a month to supervise the work. Harry rented him a house in Ouarzazate so that he could be comfortably accommodated whilst he oversaw the work in a villa that was hardly fit for habitation. And, of course, he paid for the hire of a car to make the journey between Marrakech and Ouarzazate, once or twice a month. All this was in addition to the usual fees, calculated as a percentage of the cost of the works.
What do you think happened?
The contractor decided to tear everything down to create ‘true luxury’. He moved the staircase, the patio and the kitchen. He wanted ceilings with palm beams and reeds. He wanted to replace all the balustrades entirely, rather than simply sanding and refinishing them.
They started laying turf to make it look nice, before tearing it up to dig the swimming pool. The pool was dug before work began on the cave dwellings.
Fortunately, the contractor realised the risk and decided not to continue with the pool until the cave dwellings had been built.
But the official in charge had moved on, and the new manager flatly refused to allow any building work outside the boundaries of the plot. So we had to fill in the openings to the cave-like rooms and say goodbye to the ramp that was supposed to lead down to the lake and the jet skis.
With all these unexpected events, it was already May, and it was too late to lay the turf.
That wouldn’t have been possible anyway, as the building materials and palm trunks were stored on the future lawn, whilst the rubble from the interior refurbishment was stored in the swimming pool pit.
Harry, who was busy trying to earn enough money to pay for it all, didn’t visit Morocco very often. His villa wasn’t nearly as luxurious as he’d imagined!
During one of his inspection visits, the contractor, to prove to him that work was progressing, had the façade completely repainted in a beautiful deep red that stood in stark contrast to the ‘Marrakech’ red of all the other villas.
Of course, the property would need to be repainted in order to obtain a certificate of occupancy.
But there was no rush, as there was still no electricity inside. The cement formwork for the new rooms had been completed, the kitchen had been fitted in wherever possible, and each bedroom now had its own bathroom, though the shower openings were so narrow that you could only get in sideways.
The little game went on for two years.
After two years, and having sold his Parisian home, Harry realised that, on top of the original purchase price, he had spent over 2.5 million dirhams on renovation work that had ruined his villa. (In total, around €260,000)
He took the matter to court.
The businessman, who had suddenly gone bankrupt, was given a three-month suspended prison sentence.
Khalid’s mobile number is now painted on the wall of Harry’s villa, which is ‘for sale’.
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This article was first published in October 2007 on Casawaves.com.
Since then, Harry hasn’t managed to sell his villa. He was asking a fair price, hoping to get back on his feet, but potential buyers were put off by the state of the property.
The crisis had taken its toll; two years on, it was too late. I’ve bumped into Harry several times ‘in town’. Most of the time he avoids me, but every now and then we have a coffee together, and he tells us it’s almost finished – he just has to fill the pool and do a few odd jobs…
I think Harry is divorced, and his daughter doesn’t visit him very often.
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