On Searching For Karima - Part 1

I’ve been a little under the weather for the past week or so, but on Saturday I finally felt well enough to go on my first real adventure since my return to Fez.

Last time I was here I had a dear friend named KARIMA. She’s amazing. (Warning...get ready for a flashback.)

My host sister DOUNIA got married while I was here last time, and I had the honor of attending her wedding. I wanted to have a Moroccan dress called a CAFTAN made for the occasion. An American friend named PATTI told me she knew a seamstress who could use the work, and I was more than happy to exchange my DIRHAMS (Moroccan currency) for her goods and services in the fashion market. I couldn’t tell you why, but for some reason I expected the seamstress to be a frumpy older lady who would grunt at me in darija. I figured I’d just point and nod and hope that whatever she produced would be acceptable attire for Dounia’s wedding.

Anyone who knows me well can tell you that I have a terrible poker face. Everything that goes through my head is painted right there. And I’m pretty sure my eyes popped out of my head when Karima greeted me at Patti’s house. She wasn’t exactly what I expected.

She was around my age – about 22 at the time, I think – and she was beautiful. Her HIJAB (headscarf) matched her purse and stilettos and she looked so...fashionable. There was also something striking about her demeanor. Something about the way she carried herself demanded respect.

She answered the door at Patti’s house, took me by the hand, and escorted me into the salon. She sat me down and tried to get an idea of what I wanted in my Caftan. I really had no idea. It’s all foreign to me. I just wanted to wear whatever was trendy at the moment. Heaven forbid I be the laughing stock of the wedding when I show up wearing last year’s style.

Karima and I then ventured out to the market where I could look at some models of the “in” fashions and buy the fabric for my own creation. She didn’t speak a word of English, but was so patient to speak to me in Fusha and took such great pleasure in teaching me fashion-specific vocabulary...button, belt, silk, lace, etc.

Eventually we bought the material, and I gave Karima full artistic license. I swear she had a twinkle in her eye when she said, “Ok, come to my shop in a week for a fitting.”

Well...as things tend to go in Morocco, the dress wasn’t even close to ready in a week. But I went anyway. Over the next few weeks I visited Karima quite often, occasionally for fittings, but mostly to chat. Sometimes we’d leave her shop and go make lunch or listen to music, or hang out with her sister in-law who lives with Karima and her husband. We talked about everything, and the more we talked, the more I admired her. She’s smart and funny and kind...and she thinks critically about everything. I love that.

Finally, after a few weeks my dress was ready. Before showing me the finished product, she warned me that it was a little different. It was certainly still a Moroccan dress, but she customized it a little...just for me. She said she didn’t want anyone else to have a Caftan like mine at the wedding, so she did something funky with the sleeves. She said, “You speak Arabic. You can get around Fez like a Fezzi, But you’re still different. Don’t lose that.”

In short, the dress was beautiful, and Karima is brilliant.

(End Flashback)

I think Karima is one of the most admirable people I’ve met here in Fez. She’s exactly the kind of person I want to write about in my book.

Interview Question #1: “Karima, how did you get so awesome?”
Interview Question #2: “Karima, can you be my best friend?”

I really truly value her friendship. Something about being with her is so edifying, and I need to have people like her in my life. Ever since I’ve been back here, I’ve been wanting to go find her. I don’t have her phone number, and she has no idea I’m back.

Finally this weekend I was able to make the trek out to EIN SMIN – the neighborhood where she lives and works. It’s way way way out on the other side of the city, and there’s really no reason for foreigners to go there ever. Unless, of course you want to hang out with the best seamstress in the world. Most Moroccans give me a funny look when I tell them I’m going there, and when I walk through the neighborhood people just stare at me. I’m sure they’re thinking, “Is she lost??? She must be REALLY lost, because the neighborhood is a good 20 minutes off the main road...”

I didn’t want to take a taxi because it’s so far, and therefore expensive. So I walked. It took me about an hour and 15 minutes. When I got there, Karima’s HANUT (shop) was gone. I couldn’t remember how to get to her house, and I had no idea if she was still around.

I just stood there for a minute, staring at the place where her shop used to be...right next to the elementary school. Everyone was staring at me. I was really disappointed. My whole expedition to find “my dear friend Karima the seamstress” (as I always call her with my Moroccan family) was a complete failure. I got in a cab and went back downtown.

Of course I haven’t given up. Sometime this week I plan to go again and do some sleuthing. I’ll ask the neighbors what happened to her shop and if she still lives in the neighborhood. If that doesn’t work, when Patti returns to Morocco in a couple weeks I’ll see if she has any information on the whereabouts of my dear friend Karima the seamstress.

To be continued...