A Welcome Presence

Yesterday’s thwarted bombing attempt at the U.S. Embassy in Damascus served as a bit of a reminder to us of our guest status in this Muslim country, and a warning not to get too complacent or comfortable. We were struck too by the swift military and police response. The medina was crawling with uniformed officers and before we put two and two together, we assumed it must be some kind of parade or that Tom Cruise had decided to pay a visit. Watching all that military might patrol the streets had the desired effect of making us foreigners feel safer while at the same time driving home the seriousness of the situation. The recent red alerts in the States and London seemed very far away, even the attention surrounding the fifth anniversary of September 11th was remote until we found ourselves walking through the souks to our house along a familiar route now lined with stern, watchful soldiers.

The appearance of Morocco’s military has coincided with the disappearance of one of our trusted workers. Mustapha, our plumber/electrician has gone AWOL. Several weeks ago, he took a week-long vacation with his family in Jadida. At the time, we were a bit taken aback seeing as how his absence would hold up work at the house during the crucial final stages, but vacation is vacation and we wished him a happy trip. He returned from the seaside break a few days later than promised, but seemed refreshed and as anxious as us to get the job done. A few days later, Hamoud took us aside at the end of the day and explained that Mustapha wanted an advance on his final payment (including a healthy bonus) in order to enroll his kids in school. Evidently, he’d overspent during the holiday and was having trouble scraping together the cash for his kids’ tuition. We’re not talking break-the-bank prep school prices here, just 30 dirhams per month, but boy did he know which strings to pull with us. Despite all that we’ve been told about not paying people in advance, we acquiesced without a second thought, throwing in some extra money for school supplies.

Well, the next day Mustapha doesn’t show up. “He had to deal with some stuff,” explains Hamoud rather lamely. But when the same thing happens the next day, we hit the roof. This time, Mustapha’s excuse is that he doesn’t have any place to work, meaning the worksite is too crowded for him. With steam coming out our ears, we walk though the house room by room with Hamoud noting the electric/plumbing projects that are still incomplete and that the whole first floor is free of workers so Mustapha would have plenty of room to breathe. Alas, it looks like we’ve fallen victim to a classic construction woe and walked right into the situation like one of the lambs that will soon find its throat slit in our courtyard. Mustapha’s got another job and is two-timing us.

We have to remind ourselves that screaming gets you nowhere with Moroccan workers and try our best to channel our anger into the more effective grave disappointment. “Tell Mustapha we trusted him and were generous with him and now we’re very, very unhappy at how he’s mistreating us,” we tell Hamoud. The problem is we’re the only ones set to lose on this one; Mustapha has been paid, and to get another electrician/plumber will only cost us more time and money. Hamoud promises that if Mustapha isn’t at the worksite by 6:30 a.m. tomorrow, he’ll go to his house himself to shame him in. In the meantime, lovely Hamoud takes up a pickax himself to carve out a trench in the wall for our shower line.

The incident is a classic novice mistake, but to be honest, we’ve felt so lucky about our team and the pace and quality of the work that we’d started to wonder about all the horror stories we’d heard from other renovation projects. Maybe this day has taught us never to let our guard down, or maybe the appearance of the black cat is a sign that our baraka needs a little replenishing.