The previous evening had brought heavy rains again and I think the atmospherics triggered the zoomies in both cats, as they were behaving crazily into the early hours; it was another sleepless night!
By the morning, the rain had stopped but the sky was thick with grey clouds.
I therefore got stuck into my tax return, as this year is the first where I also have to file accounts for a limited company and I hadn’t realised the deadlines are different, so I want to have everything in order to help me find an accountant that understands my somewhat unconventional streams of income – until now, I’ve been using the same accountant my father used and they still send me paper forms to complete.
I’ll admit I did also doze a little on the sofa under a blanket and was soon joined by cat #1 lying on me and sleeping too – something that’s highly unusual, as she’s not a lap cat.
As it was a Wednesday, my ‘get Sam out of the flat’ mission for the day was to go to the local weekly market (aka Anza souk) to stock up on food, but given the weather was pretty dreary I also decided today was a good day to do housework.
I’m super mindful that I’m in someone else’s home and want to ensure it’s maintained properly.
So I swept all the floors, cleaned the bathroom and kitchen, changed the bins and hand-washed some more items so that they could dry on the little rack I’ve propped up across the kitchen window.
By the time I was ready to leave, it was after 3pm.
I knew from the previous week that the market would still be open then – whereas in the UK that’s when they’re starting to pack up – but I didn’t know for how much longer it would remain open.
However, the number of people at Anza souk when I arrived suggested that this was actually the preferred time of day for most visitors. Perhaps as it’s after work/ school.
Whilst most of the souk was the same as the previous week, the layout for some stalls were slightly different making for a strange sensation of familiarity combined with the feeling of being somewhere new.
I took my time, browsing the stalls, even paying careful attention to those I didn’t have interest in buying from.
My main objective was to secure brunch ingredients: eggs are a breakfast staple here, and I already have cheese, so I wanted to pick up accompanying vegetables plus olives, dates and anything else that took my fancy.
Focusing on the stalls where the most locals were purchasing items – as there were many, many stalls selling the same items and being popular with locals is usually a good sign – I began ticking items off my list.
First: eggs. I asked the seller the price for 12 eggs in French and he told me 18 MAD. That seemed about right, based on what other customers were handing him, so I nodded my agreement and he began placing eggs into a large blue cardboard egg crate. He then folded it in half, so it became a sort of box and tied it firmly with black string.
Eggs secured, I repeated the process for a kilo of tomatoes (3 MAD), four avocados (14 MAD), a big bag of black olives (5 MAD), a big bag of dates (3 MAD) and a sizeable bunch of red grapes (5 MAD). At the tomato stall, I was inspecting tomatoes to make sure I was buying firm, undamaged, tomatoes and a man behind the stall approached me with two handfuls to choose from, which he’d brought from amongst those not on display and not yet handled by many others.
At each stall, the seller gave me something to try – either some of what I was buying or some fruit. One of which I still haven’t worked out what I was given. But it was good!
I’ll pick up some bread (1 MAD) or msemen (4 MAD) in the village tomorrow and eat like a Queen for the next few days!
Here I’ve mainly been eating two meals a day maximum, so this was a big chunk of my food shopping for my remaining week and it still provides me the flexibility to try some more local foods here and there before I leave.
I didn’t feel brave enough yet to buy meat from the market as I’m so used to getting it from a supermarket I’m not sure how it works, and I’m also working with unfamiliar cooking devices and in a language in which I’m not yet fully proficient. In Anza village, I’d realised at the chicken shop, which has cages of live chickens and a counter on the street, you choose your chicken and they take it into the back to slaughter it for you; I feel hypocritical but I’m not ready for that, either. Eggs and cheese and veggies will suffice for now.
Heading back down the steps to the lower levels of the souk, I passed a large group of locals sitting on low benches and stools next to a stall, eating a porridge-like substance from decorated bowls.
I asked the seller the price and he told me 3 MAD – I thought I’d misheard him as that’s around 23p! I told him I would like one and he ladled the porridge-like substance into a blue and white bowl, before pouring over a substance that looked like milk from a big plastic tub.
Trying to carry the bowl without spilling the contents was impossible, as it was so full. A man sitting on the nearest bench lifted it out of my hands and gestured for me to sit before returning it to me. People here are so kind.
I still, somehow, managed to spill some of the contents and the seller placed a box of tissues in front of me. Can’t take me anywhere!
Much like the avocado juice, my first taste of this meal was surprising and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.
The milk-like substance tasted like thin, sour, yogurt. The porridge substance wasn’t blended with it so you eat the grains and then sip the milk from the edge of the bowl. Or, at least that’s what I observed and copied.
An elderly lady sitting on a stool opposite me seemed to inhale hers as it disappeared so quickly; I was barely a few spoonfuls into mine whilst she polished off the bowl and paid.
People came and went whilst I was eating. A lady who spoke English to me, to ask if I wanted a photo of myself (I declined though I probably should have accepted) with her mother, who ordered extra milk to drink; a mother and child; a father with two children – and various individuals of various ages.
About halfway through I started to feel very, very full but everyone else had scraped their bowls clean and I didn’t want to offend by leaving food.
So, I persevered.
I could see why this would be a popular meal as it’s cheap, nutritious (I’ve since learnt it’s made with Lben, which is a type of fermented milk high in protein and probiotics) and incredibly filling.
Later, I asked Aziz what it was and he told me that it’s called ‘Saykok’. The porridge grains are barley cous cous.
Once finished, I handed the bowl to the seller, who was washing bowls and spoons in two buckets of water, and handed him the money.
Making my way through the back streets of the souk, which are a little emptier than around the stalls, I passed two men wheeling wooden carts. Men with carts are a common sight both in Agadir’s Souk El Had and here in Anza. Some carry flattened cardboard boxes but I hadn’t really figured out what the carts may have been for, other than transporting produce for the stalls. These men, however, appeared to be carrying purchases and it occurred to me that perhaps you can hire them to carry what you buy. This was later confirmed, as I saw another full cart being pushed through the parking area.
On my way out of Anza souk, I stopped at the grill where a man was selling sweet corn, chickpeas and nuts. I was too full to eat any more but I’d read about spiced chickpeas being a traditional street food and so I wanted to try them as I’ve not seen them anywhere else.
He told me they were 10 MAD and gave me a handful to try, almost burning my palm in the process as they were so hot. He filled a plastic bag with a more-than-generous amount and sprinkled over cumin and chilli flakes.
As I emerged from beneath the final canopy I found a sugar cane juice seller on the edge of the road. So I took a plastic cup of this with me too, to sip on as I walked home. It was 10 MAD, like the one in Agadir so I think this is the standard price for them.
At home, I spent a frustrating few hours trying to upload a photo for the next blog update to go live: photos just don’t want to upload here. But, eventually, I succeeded and I spent the evening doing some Kizomba promo, in addition to writing this post.
Tomorrow, I have to go back to the Bureau Communal d’Hygiéne for my third rabies vaccination: this time, I don’t feel nervous.
And I plan on trying to take a bus, not a taxi – for the plot!