SA%26Iuml;D BEN SA%26Iuml;D sits in a pool of sunlight at the front of his shop and waits
for the rush of customers, a rush that never comes. In the darkness behind
him is a treasure hoard worthy of Ali Baba.
Stacked up on shelves and piled high in orderly heaps, lies an assortment of
antique wares - brown Bakelite radios the size of suitcases, gramophone
players and gilt clocks, graceful bronze statuettes, espresso machines,
vintage posters and chamber pots. What makes the collection unusual is that
it comes, almost in entirety, from the Art Deco glory days of Casablanca.
The city, created as a showcase of French Imperial style and might, boomed
from the Twenties until the Forties, when it began its gradual and
ignominious decline.
The little junk shop owned by Sa%26iuml;d Ben Sa%26iuml;d sits at the far end of a
labyrinthine flea-market in the working- class quarter of Hay Hassani, on
the western edge of Casablanca.
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