Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Malika the Shopkeeper





Day in and day out, Malika positions herself on a battered plastic stool inside her cramped shop in the old medina. She places her plump arms across the tiny counter and gazes out at the street. Praise God her shop fronts on a well travelled street, otherwise it would be impossible to stay in business. Like hundreds of other shops in the medina, Malika sells Coca Cola, jars of instant coffee, processed snacks, yogurt and small household necessities.

Every shop owner amongst the thousands of streets that twist throughout the ancient walled city offers the same basic merchandise but thanks to God, Moroccans love to eat and shop close to home and so they provide a steady market for necessities that can be had for just a handful of dirham. Tourists aren’t as plentiful as they used to be but there are always some and no one thinks twice about charging them a little bit more for their goods. Most transactions are very small -- a single cigarette, a round of fresh bread, one disposable diaper or a packet of candles -- but ninety percent of the time people who stop make a purchase. Allah be Praised, there is usually enough of a profit at the end of the day to meet the modest needs of Malika's family. If only ninety percent of her customers had the money to pay! It was impossible not to extend credit to the neighbors but doing so put a strain on Malika’s own budget. Ah well, Thanks be to God, somehow she managed.

Everyday Malika opens the shop around 8:00 and closes by 10:00 at night -- except on religious holidays and Friday afternoons, of course. Her elderly father used to open the shop for her in the mornings so she could get her daughters off the school, but he is a bit deaf now and his eyesight isn’t very good. He can no longer be counted upon to make correct change so Malika keeps her father away from the money and has him run errands for her. Sometimes she wished she could trade places with him, though. She barely had room to move in the cubbyhole she worked in and there were times when she imagined pulling the metal shutter over the opening to her stall, locking it out of habit as well as necessity, and never coming back. But Malika is a steadfast Moroccan woman who has learned to accept what Allah, Peace be upon Him, has provided.

Malika turns on the old tv in the front corner of her tiny domain. Of course watching locals and tourists walk up and down the cobblestoned street often surpasses watching tv, except for the fact that she can’t turn that channel off. Sometimes variety is called for even in her limited world. She turns on the station that provides still images of Mecca and a montage of nature shots while teachings from the Koran melodically filled the space she occupies.

Malika's movements are limited; she can sit down or stand up. From the middle of her shop she can take two steps in all four directions provided the floor isn’t stacked with cartons, which it always is. The only other position available to her is to stand and lean on the counter which is actually her preferred posture when neighbors and friends  to gossip or make speculations about mutual acquaintances that invariably turn into gossip. Since her house is nearby her daughter almost always comes by to do her homework or just sit on her mother’s lap and receive some loving. Her older daughter has grown too big to come inside now but she prefers to run around on the streets with her friends and cousins. Malika’s days have comforting rhythm and a mind-numbing predictability.

The busiest time of the day is after the fourth praying when the women come out of their houses for a fresh perspective and to pick up a few items for tea and dinner. People crowd in front of her shop and compete for her attention for the rule of first come, first served is not practiced here. Orders are shouted, coins are tapped on the counter and Malika pulls what her customers have come to buy from a shelf. She then makes change or puts the purchase on account. She grabs bits from the right, the left and from the small refrigerator in the rear of the shop which is rarely turned on.

All the shelves in Malika’s shop are within arms reach but they go up pretty high so sometimes she has to stand on her stool and stretch precariously to reach the items on the upper shelves. She likes to think this provides her with some much needed exercise. But most items such as fresh bread, cigarettes, rolling papers, sundries, sweets and packaged snacks don’t require her to get up so most of the time she simply twists around on her cracked plastic stool.

Tomorrow, thank God, is Friday and she will close up shop after the second praying to have couscous with her family and then head off to the hammam with the women and children. Once there, she can rid herself of her clothes and scarf and douse herself with the hottest water she can withstand. Maybe she will be lucky enough to talk her sister into massaging her neck and back after she scrubs off a week’s worth of grime and dead skin. Malika can't wait to relinquish herself to the weekly ritual and set aside the realities of her daily life for a few precious hours.


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