I’ve never been too concerned with cars, even though by my provenance I should be. As a youth growing up in suburban Detroit, I knew the difference between the Big Three (Chrysler, Ford, General Motors), who was at the helm, and how my family felt about their products. Michiganders had big opinions about which manufacturer excelled over the others. I vaguely remember that to buy a Chrysler would have been considered heretic in certain circles.

Fast forward to what feels like a hundred years and here I am living in Morocco where it’s a novelty to spot an American-made car. I think I’ve only seen one.

My husband Aziz and I live in the port city of Essaouira, on the Atlantic Coast of Morocco. We moved here four years ago to start a new life and a new business: Mid Century Maroc , an online souk full of mid-century furnishings found in Morocco.

Four years in, and still every day feels like the first. I wake up, pinch myself and get ready for the day’s adventures, because there always is certain to be one. I am in love with Morocco and the life we are building here.

My learning and observation curves have been steep. I’m doing both simultaneously from sun up to sun down and am particularly drawn to the quotidian and the mundane. How do people go about their daily lives? How do people make ends meet? How is Moroccan culture being kept alive?

One of my obsessions is how people move about here. With an average monthly wage hovering around $385, suffice to say, owning a car, let alone a motorcycle, is a luxury to most. But people still have to move stuff, to work and get places. What are they transporting and what are they being transported in?

At any hour, in any city or village of Morocco, you are sure to find an elderly man sitting side saddle on his donkey with big bushels of mint cascading over his saddle bag. At sunrise, driving to the beach for my morning jog, I often share the road with a string of camels heading in the same direction for a day of delighting tourists. In Marrakech, countless mopeds cram the streets and alleyways of the Medina often with a family of four crunched together like sardines, keeping warm. Then there are the countless trucks and Dockers, full of horses, cows, chickens, or sheep, on their way to the market.

But nothing delights me more than, up until now, what had never entered my consciousness: the sight of the classic Renault 12, or R12, manufactured in France between 1969 – 1980.

Robust and virtually indestructible, the R12 was developed as Renault’s first ‘world car’, responding to a global need for reliability and economy and particularly popular in Africa, Eastern Europe and South America. But practicality and economy were not the end-game for the R12. To lend a sporty look to an otherwise economical 5-seater, a pointed front and sloped back end were designed to create harmony, giving the R12 its distinctive look.

As an admittedly ‘non-car person’, how did the R12 land on my radar?

On our frequent drives between Essaouira and Marrakech, Aziz and I go through the town of Sidi Mokhtar which is quite an unremarkable town. The main drag is basically one huge glorified mechanic shop with car oil darkening the streets, stall after stall full of discarded car parts, a few butchers, and lots and lots of men in djellabas, a hooded, loose-fitting outer robe very popular in Morocco.

Unidentified man driving his R12 in a djellaba

But one thing stands out in this otherwise ‘unremarkable’ town: the place is swarming with Renault 12s!

The R12s of Sidi Mokhtar are a special breed. Always perched on some kind of tilt or another, they all look like they’re on their last legs. Slow driving, often with up to 8 occupants, the last of which is often seated on the lap of the driver, the R12 of Sidi Mokhtar sputters along. The driver, sporting a ‘hoods up’ djellaba, is always on his phone. To add to the already oversubscribed occupancy, nine times out of ten, there will be a bushel of something-or-another tied on the roof, enhancing the already careening chassis.

A loaded down R12 (photo credit: www.al3omk.com)

The R12s of Sidi Mokhtar are mostly operated as taxis and done so within the town boundaries, thus avoiding omnipresent police checks further down the road.

The bane of every motorist in Morocco, police check points are numerous. When pulled over, which we often are, one is asked for every paper under the sun. Infractions are either dealt with by issuing an official ticket or through a ‘gift’. These transactions must be done in cash then and there.

By keeping their jurisdiction very local and avoiding police checkpoints, the taxi owners can steer clear of all sorts of expenses associated with car ownership like car registration, car insurance and regular MOT checks, to name a few.

But the kicker, the thing that actually takes my breath away…many of these relics are fueled by a boite d’gaz which lives in the trunk, funneling gas to the carburetor through a copper pipe.

Boite de gaz in the trunk (photo credit: www.al3omk.com)

The boite de gaz, a metal cylinder containing compressed portable gas, is a ubiquitous household item here in Morocco. We use one to fuel our gas stove top and oven. Everyone does. When yours runs out, there are countless options in the city and countryside to buy a new one. It’s taken me a little getting used to, but I’m firmly with the program and can assemble and dis-assemble the boite all the while imagining my imminent death due to boite de gaz explosion.

At 120 dirhams a pop (roughly $11.00), the boite is more cost-effective than say, fueling up at a gas station. And with a standard fare running roughly 50 cents, I can see how the Sidi Mokhtar taxi drivers are eager to find savings.

Aziz swears he will never ride in a R12. He says if he has to walk ‘50 miles with no water in the Moroccan sun’, he will before sliding into Sidi Mokhtar’s formidable ride. I feel differently. The truth is, I’m dying to have a ride in a R12. How and when I manage this may be a topic of another blog entry, but I know it will be a ride of a lifetime.

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Welcome to the Mid Century Maroc family.

Aziz & Brooke

Photos:

Unless otherwise noted, all photos are by the author.

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