Goons go to Morocco

I didn't do French, I did woodwork. S said he had a smattering of French, but not enough to understand what was going on. P said he did O' level French twice (we sighed), but he failed it both times. K said nothing but slowly shook her head. We'd all assumed that one of the others would be able to communicate on our behalf, or that a mix of Spanish and English would work. We were wrong.



We were stood in a strange (but beautiful) house which we'd rented for the weekend in Morocco. In front of us stood a woman who was clearly very friendly and welcoming, glad to see us, mid way through cooking our dinner and trying to get something across in a language none of us understood. Bugger!



We were using Spanish and English and she was using French and Arabic, but her husband spoke some Spanish so he was called in to help. It went something like this:
Simo: My wife she cooks your food, yes?
Us: Ahh, yes.
Simo: But she needs deen...no, one moment, she wants you to understand about dee, deener. Now, yes, if it's possible?

Us: Ohhhhh, she wants to show us what she's cooking. (We go into the kitchen, followed by Simo and his wife, who are talking together in rapid Arabic.)

Us: Hhmmm it smells wonderful.

Simo: No.

Us: No?

Simo: No, you don't understand. The deener for food, yes?

Us: Yes.

Simo: No. You pay for house, yes?

Us: Yes.

Simo: And the deener food is from us.

Me: Wow, thank you so much. That is so kind of you...(to the others) Dinner is on the house.

(We all smiled a lot, shook their hands and thanked them, but they just looked confused.)

Simo: (Muttering in Arabic takes his wallet from his pocket and gestures giving money to his wife.) She cooks your dinner, you have to give her deenero.



For any none Spanish (or Spanglish) speakers, "dinero" is Spanish for "money".



Six people, four languages, one syllable...an ebarrassing cock-up.