Armed with my pass – handed out to the group by the moqqadem, bearing a signature that looked very much like a stamp, though not an official one – I went on my very first outing after eight days of lockdown.
Bad luck – just as it started raining really heavily, a proper ‘March shower’. So I waited patiently, keeping my distance, under the arcades, for it to ease off.
First observation: there are few people on the streets, just a few very small groups. The taxis driving past have no passengers in the front seat. Few people are wearing face masks (though we can see some FFP2 masks), and very few are wearing latex gloves or gloves of any kind.
Once the downpour had eased off, I popped into the local corner shop to try and avoid going to the supermarket. He’s got bananas and Bounty bars (Bounty bars are great – they’re made without palm oil), but he doesn’t have any yeast. He’s keeping a very good safe distance; we take turns moving away from and approaching the counter to hand over our purchases and change. He isn’t wearing a mask or gloves.
The chemist’s next door has set up its ‘night-time’ service: the shutters are down, and there is a slot for handing over medicines and money. The chemist is wearing a face mask, but not gloves.
So off I went to my Marjane Market, a five-minute walk away, to get some yeast. I’ve started baking my own bread again; it’s really the only thing that freaks me out, given the usual conditions at the local bakery (everyone, including the shopkeeper, handles the bread with their bare hands). I don’t trust bakers’ ability to maintain strict hygiene standards – I’ve seen too much of it ‘before the coronavirus’. It’s not malice, but ignorance.
What’s more, the pain maison is delicious!
At one point, I nearly got run over by some mad driver with a ‘WW’ number plate who was driving at breakneck speed, just to make sure the coronavirus didn’t get to him in his brand-new car, with the windows firmly shut. [I’m used to reckless drivers in Casablanca, and I’ve lived in Paris, but this time it really came within a hair’s breadth of my knee.]
There are still very few people on the streets – or at Marjane, for that matter. None of the shelves are empty, but the stock has been rearranged to make more room for essential items! As for pasta and couscous, the choice is very limited, ranging from a few budget options (including a ‘buy two, get one free’ offer on Marjane pasta) to premium products that aren’t selling. I can see a few more face masks, and boxes of gloves are on sale for about one dirham per glove.
Personally, I’ve put a glove on my right hand to handle the shopping trolley and the items, and I keep my left hand free so I can give in to the urge to touch my face! I hate having to wear latex gloves for long periods – my hands get really sweaty as it is.
We pass each other, taking care not to touch or face one another. An elderly gentleman, who must be suffering from loneliness, starts a conversation: “You have to put up with so much; I just don’t understand people”… I cut him short (it annoys me enough even under normal circumstances!).
I only buy pre-packaged products; when it comes to fruit and vegetables, I’m lucky enough to have them delivered by my supplier at the Marché Central, Rachid, who has three great qualities: good produce, fair prices and great kindness.
When we reach the checkout, we move closer, but not too close. The cashiers are wearing face masks, though not all of them have them covering their mouths; they are protected from us by a very large plexiglass screen. An employee – who isn’t wearing gloves – offers to empty my trolley and pack my shopping into bags for me. I let him empty it, but I pack the bags myself (not out of fear, but to make sure they’re properly balanced). The person who went before me is taking ages; she’s on the phone instead of putting her shopping into her bag.
Once she’s gone, I pack everything up, collect my change, and put it in a separate pocket (for your information, there’s no need to leave the notes to ‘settle’ for several days; you just need to iron them on a dry setting for a few minutes: three minutes at 67° is enough to kill the coronavirus).
A (harmless) attempt at a minor scam by a taxi driver
A taxi drives past, which will make my journey home a bit shorter (it’s a bit of a slog, after all).
If you’ve read my guide to Moroccan taxis, you’ll know that there’s a minimum fare of 7.50 dirhams for journeys during the day. Marjane – from my house, it’s about 4 dirhams….
A taxi pulls up; it’s empty, and as soon as we’re on our way, the driver strikes up a conversation:
- ‘You’ll have to pay 15 dirhams,’ he told me
- Oh really? Why?’
- ‘Those are the new prices because of the virus’
- ‘Eh? Are you sure?’
- ‘Yes, it’s official’
- ‘No way, I’ll pay what I owe you – the prices haven’t changed’
- “Oh really? Well then, give me 10 dirhams,” he said.
- “Listen, if you hadn’t tried to charge me 15 dirhams, I’d have given you the 10 – I always do that – but right now, I’m just giving you what I owe you: 7.50.”
- “Oh, sorry, madam, I’m just joking with you. Give me whatever you like.” Since you’re French, I thought you were rich!
- Oh no, not all French women are rich
- So you’re not giving me anything? I’m doing you a favour of my own free will – we’re just joking
Actually, I did pay for it, of course – and left a small tip. All they had to do was ask nicely, instead of trying to force the issue.
I quite like the “I was only joking” excuse, actually – that’s always what people say to me when they realise I’m less of a tourist than I look. But if I didn’t say anything…
I enjoyed this stress-free, pollution-free, peaceful outing, now that the sun has come out again. The shops are well-stocked (even with toilet paper), and there’s no price gouging. Where I live, people’s attitudes haven’t changed. Every now and then, from my balcony, I see lorries, disinfection trucks and a motorcade of very important people passing by, but apart from that, once the shops close at 6 pm, it’s absolutely quiet. I can even hear a cockerel crowing… and I haven’t seen a single person checking my permission to go out.
Be careful when crossing the road! There are still no safety distances on the road.
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