Cheating a boy in Morocco
Being a backpacker, I was always trying to be careful during the travel not to be cheated by local merchants for unreasonably high prices for low quality products or services. Not that I had a terrible experience of being cheated before, but just out of my personality.
After spending a week in Morocco, I would say I was not cheated even once; I do not think anyone ever tried to cheat me. The matter of fact is, I am the only one who did, even though unintentionally, cheating.
I met the boy in the town the name of which I do not know. It was such a small town, and you could look through the whole main street of it from one end to the other, standing in the middle of it. There seemed to be hardly any industry that would generate income. All it had was the very minimum function for the residents to survive - butchers, pharmacies, café, telephone shop. Makoto (a friend of mine from Geneva) and I were on the bus from Essouira to Marrakech, and got off the bus at this shabby town for 10-minute break.
At the time I was having a nasty cold for a couple of days. I was having a fever, and my body temperature fluctuated awkwardly in a short time. It would be just above 37c, and before long it would get over 38.5c. I was coughing as well. I had no idea if I was feeling cold or hot. I was sneezing, but the sunshine was so strong that I felt like taking my coat and scarf off. The air was dry and made me feel thirsty every 30 minutes. My lips were starting to have cracks like a rundown wallpaper.
The boy was one of the shoeshiners hanging around the main street. He would wait for coaches going back and forth from Marrakech to Essouira, and when the bus stops and passengers get off, he would hastily look for somebody with a pair of shoes covered with dust and offered shoeshining for a nominal - well, at least for tourists - price. There were about ten of these boys in the town, and only a few would get a customer for each arrival of the bus.
I admit that the first time the boy talked to me, I did not even look him in the eye but shook my head vaguely and turned away, murmuring "Non, Merci." After all, I had a good reason to decline a shoeshining offer: mine were one-week-old white Converse. I was watching a stall in front of a café, wondering if I should buy a bottle of fresh orange juice.
It was the second time the boy talked to me that I realized that he was not offering shoeshining. He was showing me a small gold coin on his left palm.
"Changer," said the boy. I did not understand it. I just started learning French 3 months ago, and all I could do in French was simple self-introduction and ordering food and drink.
"Changer," he said.
「両替してほしいみたいだよ(I think he wants to exchange it)、」Makoto came to me and said. 「これ、ポンドだよね？(This is British Pound, isn't it?)」
Oh yes. CHANGE.
It took me a little while to realize it was really a British pound. I had not seen it for several days and I did not recognize the picture on the surface of the coin. But on the other side, there was certainly the portrait of Queen Elizabeth. Ok, this is a British pound.
「両替してあげたら？(Why not exchange it?)」Said Makoto, while I was examining the coin.
"This is British Pound, yeah?" I said to the boy. He did not seem to understand, but repeated: "Changer. Please."
"How much do you want for this?" I said. Again, he did not get it and looked at me vaguely, with his mouth slightly open. I tried my poor French:
"Ce combien?(How much?)"
"Huh?"
"Combien?"
"Dix(ten)."
Almost intuitively I tried to start the rate conversion. What was the exchange rate between British Pound and Moroccan Dilham? I tried to calculate via Japanese Yen, but my brain was not functioning. I gave up after 5 seconds and said, "No, I can't do that."
I walked away from the boy, but he followed me and cried:
"Cinq (five)! Cinq!"
Seven, it might not be too bad. I said to myself. I was so malfunctioning that I thought cinq was seven. But I did not turn back, and mindlessly watched the people around the bus. Some were trying to push a sheep into the trunk of the bus. Some other were smoking cigarette, chatting in Arabic. An white old man - apparently a tourist like me- was shaking his head to another shoeshining boy.
Drink, I thought. I approached the juice stall in front of the café and asked the vender guy, "Ce bouteille combien? (how much is this bottle?)"
"Six Dilham."
I took out 20-Dilham note from the pocket and handed it to him. He gave me the change, and I took the bottle of fresh orange juice.
"Changer! "
The boy cried, for the third time, running towards me. Two other shoeshining boys were following him now.
I vaguely mumbled in Japanese,
「１ディルハムが１０円で、
１ポンドは２３０円で、
１０ディルハムで１ポンドだと、」
(1 Dilham is 10 yen,
1 Pound is 230 yen,
so 10 Dilham for 1 Pound is,)
A great deal. Too great, even.
I again took the coin from the boy's left palm and read the engraved letters underneath the portrait of Queen Elizabeth:
ONE POUND
I put it back on his palm, and then took out a bunch of Moroccan change from my pocket. One, two, three, four, five. I put five 1-Dilham coins on his palm and picked up the 1 Pound coin.
"Alright?"
"Merci," said the boy, and ran away.
You cheated. I said to myself after getting back on the bus and left the town the name of which I do not know. You cheated the boy who did not know the exchange rate between British Pound and Moroccan Dilham. Or perhaps he did not even know which country the coin came from. Presumably he had got the coin from a British customer who realized that he or she did not have a Moroccan coin after having shoeshining. And the fact is that under a fair exchange rate, you could have 16 or 17 Dilham for 1 Pound.
To be honest, the first thing that came to my mind when I realized the boy was asking for exchange was that the coin might be a fake. But come to think of it, who the heck in a right mind would try to cheat you with a fake British coin in a shabby town in Morocco, even without the knowledge of its real value? It's such a farfetched stupid idea, but that's what I was thinking when I first turned down his offer.
Will the boy ever have a chance to know the real exchange rate between British Pound and Moroccan Dilham? Will he then recall that he was once given 5 Dilham for 1 Pound, from a young tourist with black hair and yellow skin?
Maybe not. Not many people give him 1 pound for his shoeshining, and even if it happens he will have forgotten about me by that time. Or even more likely, he will not recognize 1 Pound coin the next time he sees it.
I don't remember the boy's face, as he was just an ordinary Moroccan boy. And he wouldn't remember my face either, as I was just another tourist. What I will remember, instead, is the fact that I once cheated a boy in a small town in Morocco the name of which I do not know.
