Combine a greedy, dishonest old prune of a seller with an incompetent notaire, and our deal to buy the centuries-old riad in Azemmour went south in a hurry.
It was a heartbreak, for sure. Michel and I loved that old house. Yes, it needed work. But it was a project we could have done together, over time. One corner of the house needed immediate reinforcement. We had that covered with a contractor lined up and ready.
Eventually the renovated riad could have been a bed and breakfast where we could welcome tourists from around the world to enjoy the bright side of Morocco. In any case, the rest of the house was in a condition we could have lived in for years with no urgent repairs needed. Or so we were led to believe.
First, let me say that we have been well aware that Morocco’s real estate market is murky. We did not go into this with blinders on. However, buying and selling property here is not only possible, but can be lucrative and advantageous if one keeps an eye out for the pitfalls. I’m going to tell you about the pitfall that kept us from buying what would have been our dream home, if only the seller and notaire had been ethical in their dealings with us.
I’ve bought and sold a few properties in my day. I knew that any house that has been sitting empty for five years would very likely have issues with plumbing and electrical. Therefore we refused to pay one dime of advance on the contract until Radeej (the local utilities company) reinstalled the meters and gave both services a test run. This caused friction in the notaire’s office because the seller insisted all was in working order and the notaire insisted we had no right to have these utility functions inspected before purchase. First red flag. We were ready to walk out the door when the seller agreed to have the meters reinstalled if we would pay for it. A hundred and fifty bucks? Sure. It was far preferable to risk losing that amount than eighty thousand euros on a house we couldn’t live in.
To my dismay, the notaire failed to add language to the contract that I had requested, language stating specifically that in the event the electrical and water services to the house were not in proper working order, the contract would be void. His neglect to do so was my second red flag. However, when we pinned him down about that, he showed us a clause in the contract that would serve as an “escape” in such an event, and told us that since we didn’t yet pay the advance to have the contract legalized, it would be invalid until the amount was paid anyway. Fine. We proceeded to the Radeej office and put plans in motion to have the meters reinstalled.
Yep, you guessed it. Neither the electrical system nor the plumbing were adequately functional. A geyser of water gushed from the kitchen wall and flooded the countertops,
The toilets wouldn’t refill to flush, and the taps upstairs had almost no water pressure whatsoever.
One circuit breaker tripped immediately and when we challenged it, the whole panel tripped. Total blackout.
We called the notaire and informed him that we needed to renegotiate at once to allow for repairs or the sale was off. He told us to be in his office the following morning at ten a.m. to discuss options.
We showed up at the right time the next day, but the notaire wasn’t there. Instead, he phoned in via his secretary that he had taken it upon himself to contact the seller overnight and request repairs to the wiring and plumbing so we could proceed.
Wait. What? We never agreed to that. In fact, that was the specific reason we had demanded language in the contract stating all agreements would be void if the electrical service and plumbing did not function as the seller had represented. I had foreseen that the existing utilities might not work after five years of disuse, and knew the seller was distrustworthy enough to slap them together with bubble gum and duct tape just to push the sale through.
It’s important to note that the house was not being sold “as is.” The seller had stated on no uncertain terms that those services were in working order, despite my repeated questions about the length of time the house had been vacant. For me to feel safe living in that house, I would want some say regarding the type and quality of repairs made. Neither Michel nor I were comfortable with surrendering control over that to a person who had already been disingenuous with us, but we were willing to have the work done ourselves, once the sale price was renegotiated to compensate for our expense. No other solution was acceptable.
Drama ensued. Much drama. The seller refused to renegotiate the price. We refused to proceed with the purchase. Because we’d had the foresight to withhold any advance payment, there wasn’t much the notaire or the seller could do about it. We also found out later that the notaire had lied to us about the function of the power of attorney he planned to charge us three hundred euros to execute. Despite the fact that he had shown us language in the document that supposedly extended the reach of the power of attorney to all banks, the banks told us otherwise. A separate power of attorney would be required for them, because the one from the notaire was valid only for the purchase of the property.
At this point I don’t know if the notaire is corrupt or just utterly incompetent. But it was a lesson learned, and it cost us nothing but a few high blood pressure pills and a hundred and fifty dollars to Radeej. Well worth the sacrifice.
We did find another property that we like. But there is some issue with the seller being out of the country and the international border closures, so that’s on hold for now. It’s a lovely but much smaller riad, further from the river but with a good view of the ocean from the uppermost level. There’s the possibility to purchase adjacent properties as well, and we are interested.
In the meanwhile, we looked at a couple of ruins in the medina for a quick cash sale and encountered only more incompetence and deplorable ethics with local samsars (unlicensed real estate agents.) This was no great surprise but it led to more frustration, since unprofessionalism on so many levels has resulted in dozens of historic properties languishing and falling into ruin in Azemmour. The real estate market here is a sucking vortex of need for capable property management and it’s tempting to try and fill that gap with a legit immobilier company… but then, who’s to run it? Neither Michel nor I know the area, nor do we speak the native language. The only other option is to shy away from real estate here altogether and focus on other projects. And right now, that is a very tempting solution.
We moved recently from the riverfront riad to a much smaller apartment elsewhere in the medina. The riad was lovely--don’t misunderstand. But it’s located in the busiest and noisiest part of the square and is better suited as a commercial center or cafe than a private residence. It is such a prominent house that it’s easily distinguishable in satellite images and if ever I’m independently wealthy, I’d love to buy it as investment property. But for now, it was far too much for me to take care of, three levels with stairs I had to crawl up more than once due to issues with lupus and rheumatoid arthritis. The neighbors weren’t the greatest, either. A family of alcoholics and glue-sniffers live directly behind that house, with two brothers already serving time in prison and another we had to file a police report about, along with some sisters who are becoming increasingly violent and erratic. This is not typical for Morocco, at least not for this part of Morocco. The average citizens here are peace loving people, sometimes very poor and uneducated, but not criminal by nature. It is a tremendous relief to be away from that part of the medina.
Our apartment is ground floor, conveniently located near a main medina gate and so close to shops and cafes that Michel sometimes prefers to step outside with his coffee mug for a “nous nous” poured by a waiter rather than brew a cuppa on our stove.
Our door opens onto a picturesque, lovely medina street that is frequently the subject of photos, as evidenced by the black and white collection hanging on the wall of a local cafe. The color image is mine, taken just outside our apartment.
Everything here is new, from the tile floors to the paint to refrigerator and stove to the kitchen sink. The bathroom is my favorite kind, a “wet room,” where the whole room is a shower with a drain in the floor. We have an outdoor room for the dogs to potty at their convenience--a private, high-walled patio area with no roof where they feel like they’re outside but with a tiled floor and a drain that makes cleanup a snap. Two large bedrooms (both big enough for king mattresses!) and a lovely little front sitting area with a window that opens onto the street. Compared to my life in Appalachia, I’m living in luxury, for about $160 a month.
Michel and I will have to do some soul-searching to figure out where we want to go from here. Should we continue our search for real property to build a business, or should we just hide away for a while in this lovely little apartment and see what develops? The world around us has changed. Who knows what life will look like a year from now. We have not given up the idea of launching a tourism-based enterprise. I am also still advancing the idea of a nonprofit for animal welfare here in Azemmour. And then there’s the publishing company, in need of rebranding but still viable. There is much for us to think about. Time will tell.
