Do you want to buy a carpet? Well, not really, but . . .

I bought a rug. I hadn't meant to but there I was in a woman's workshop in Tinehir and she had just unfurled a rug unlike any other I had seen. It was a simple design, dyed red with henna and gold with saffron, consisting of four squares near each of the corners of the rug. I flipped through some of the rugs and asked some prices. They were far lower than had been quoted in other parts of Morocco. I began to bargain.

It had taken four forms of transport to arrive in Tinehir from the desert. That morning I had taken a camel back to the village of Mezourga, then a motorbike to the town center to catch a taxi to Rissani. From there it was another taxi to Erford where we caught a local bus headed for Tinehir. It took forever.

Tinehir proved to be a cute town with an interesting mellah unmentioned in the tour books. A man who worked at my hotel glommed onto me when I was walking by and said he'd show me the market; he was on his way home anyway. I had nothing to do and followed.

The market was split into the women's and the men's market and we walked through one and then the other and then dove into the mellah proper, with its mud buildings and dark passages. We arrived in a large square surrounded by buildings and he told me that that was there they celebrated weddings. I told him I had the sneaking suspicion that I was on a tour, and he said no, that I was free to go anytime. I had a suspicion we'd end in a shop, but I was fascinated and continued to follow. Then he told me his aunt was an artist.

Oh, I asked. What kind of an artist? "She's a weaver," he said. "I can show you if you like. She weaves rugs and merchants come to buy from Fes, from Marrakech, from big cities. You want to see?" I couldn't help it. I said yes.

He lead me to her house and I was determined not to buy. She showed me how they spun the wool from sheep into thread, and then how they spun that thread into even finer thread. Then she showed me the carpets. Made from sheeps wool, from camel wool (Rare, he told me. They only shave wool from camels once every three years and only from the breast and the back), and from cactus silk. I was entranced, and before I knew it she was wrapping up the rug and I was walking home happily with it tucked under my arm.

On the way back to the hotel the man told me that his aunt teaches weaving to whomever wants to learn. She charges girls nothing, and they come from all the nearby villages. "So," I asked, "if I wanted to move to Tinehir to learn she would teach me for free?" "No," he said. "It's woman's work." "So if my sister was interested?" I asked. "Of course," he said. Posted by eku at September 20, 2005 12:44 PM