Another Marriage Proposal

I am at the suq, the open air marketplace, looking for bargains on fruits and vegetables.  As always, I am with the mother of my Moroccan family.  One of the vendors knows her and her family.  He knows that I am American.  He is delighted to meet me and right away proposes marriage.

We should get married and move to America.  He practices what may be his only English word on me.  Money. Money. He mimics putting a ring on his finger.  Finally, he thinks to ask my companion what my name is.

He is handsome and charming. I laugh and say no, no.  No, no. No.  He throws in an extra potato or two into my bag.  He gives me a small cabbage and a pomegranate. This brief flirtation nets me about 10 pounds of various vegetables at bargain prices.

Later, I am slightly stunned to discover that both the mother and father of my Moroccan family are taking the proposal seriously.  My would-be suitor is known to be a good Muslim man.  Divorced.  Eligible.  A good catch.  Do I want them to invite him over for tea so we can meet?  Their son would act as translator.

When I first came to Morocco, I thought that I would find a husband here. I have found, however, that being an American here is like being a Hollywood celebrity or a millionaire.  People often don't see you, they see a door to a fantastical material world to which they don't otherwise have access.  It is human nature, is it not, to want to better our lives?  There is no fault in it.  But what I want is to be a companion, not a door to another world.