Morocco part 3

I know this story is long but i think it has to be told!!

These sort of questions played upon us again as one of the Moroccans (there was a whole band from the local villages, most of them teachers posted there from the bigger cities and also a young, musical and open throng from Agadir and Taroundant) stole some stuff one night. I had been taking an unusual nap in my tent that evening and I awoke to hear much commotion in the camp. The main fire (central meeting and eating point) was vibrant to the sound of conversation and argument. Three backpacks had been stolen alright, but nobody knew who had done it. Suddenly a place we had felt so safe at was not so secure anymore, the eerie silence around us breaking our confidence. We huddled around the fire in defensive fear as the local Moroccan huddled around in their own version of a local inquest. Mohamed was eventually cited as the culprit as he had left earlier than everyone else and his house would be searched in the morning, the villagers agreed. Mohamed was one of those crazier locals who made a lot o

I was altogether relieved nothing of mine had been stolen as everything was in my tent, well ... except my car keys who I had left to my Israeli travel companion Kermit (yeah, poor girl with the name of the most famous frog in the world) and so I went to get them and guess what? Yeah, you guessed it. She had the bag stolen they were in. I was gutted as I had no spares. The next day we tried to get in and once we did started hacking away at my ignition with the help of a retired mechanic. After an hour of hacking with a knife the inevitable happened. The villagers with some Rainbow family came back from Mohamed's home with most of the stuff and the keys themselves. We tried the keys and of course, the mechanic had broken the ignition beyond recognition. He reassured me and said in the name of his honour he would repair it successfully. I meandered off unable to stand it any longer. Sneaking a few peeks I saw them dismantle the steering wheel area until all that remained was a huge hole where it used to be. I winced and inside could see them coming to me with typical Moroccan apathy saying that they couldn't fix it. Maybe they were even working in collaboration with the thief... With my stomach all over the place and my thoughts driving me to the point of delirium I returned an hour later to find the car back in a perfect state with only the steering lock disabled. I was eternally grateful as his reluctance to charge for a few hours hard work showed me there are good people in Morocco too.

I left a few days later with some other guys but Mohamed struck again not longer after. Returning to the fire remorseless the night after his antics he was welcomed with hugs and conversation I found it hard to conjure. But around a week later he took another bag I was told later. This time he stole around 1000 dollars in travellers cheques and taking it with him to cash them in Agadir was tracked down and had his bus stopped in the mountains got headbutted by a Rainbow guy, (lightly they say) and then stripped down to nakedness where they found the cheques in his underpants. He was clearly a screw loose because after all he did he went to the police to say they had assaulted him. Of course, everyone testified to Mohamed's crimes and the police decided to throw him in prison for a couple of years. His father tried to avert the family shame by paying the theft victim a large sum of money estimated to be around 1000euros but when they went up to the station the police decided to chuck him into prison anyway and the money was used to reimburse everyone that had stuff stolen and then still had enough to pay for a lovely mule for the donkey caravan across the Anti-Atlas which around 15 Rainbowers participated in.

By the time of the happenings I was in Agadir hanging out with Soufian and his friend. After a few nights of living with their kind families we drove to Imsouanne, a great little surf spot north of Agadir and Taghazout where most surfers hang out. We surfed though the swell was too big on the point and not west enough to empty into the bay, frustratingly enough. We didn't stay there long and knowing Cap Sim would be firing drove up to this fickle but high quality point break only to see it firing but being too exhausted to surf it, mentally and physically. I just sat on the hill above it snapping some pics which was fun as it was pretty crowded and I wasn't in form.

After that we headed to Essaouira with Soufian's relatives there and even a house his granny owned before she died. I stayed one more weekend in Cap Sim living in a cave with my friend Marc who I had also met in the Rainbow awaiting a big swell to surf the point again. On Sunday it worked again but Marc trashed his board on the rocks and I was still struggling with my fitness and antagonised by the cold Northerlies which kicked in a bit too early this year, ended up paddling out with only two people surfing perfect waves.

Driving south with the boys I soon ended up in Agadir again driving around with these two skaters like homies patrolling their neighbourhood. We surfed a bit and ate some good food including the excellent grilled sardines and it was good to be there enjoying the good life and sleeping for free while the sun shone merrily for us every day. After that I decided to go to Ouarzazate to see a friend called Mohamed I had met the the year before through couchsurfing. On the way I visited Taroudant where I hung out with ever so cool Khalid who I also connected a lot with. Pretending to be a beggar in the street, visiting his friends throughout the souk and slurping delicious avocado juices made my stop great fun and soon I was back in Ouarzazate with Med, whose intelligent conversation and observation kept me entertained, his brokenness after not being granted a visa for Europe and his dependence on hash making me wince. I squatted his dad's new house, with many times just me alone in this 3-storey monstrosity, his parents refusing to move out of a neighbourhood they knew. I hung out with Med's escapist friends whose French expat companions bought whisky at nights and laced with hashish spent evenings hidden away from the public eye under lavishly decorated shops selling lamps and fossils to tourists.

Then came the breakthrough I had been waiting for – a job in the cinema industry. It was only a day but it was so much fun dressed as a French soldier being ambushed by Berber raiders in the middle of the desert. They shaved off my beard but I fought them off when they tried to touch my dreads. They called security in as I fought the scissors with all my heart until they finally ceded and just pinned it all in under my standard issue French foreign legion hat. My uniform on we marched into the desert and I even was deemed trustworthy enough to carry a loaded gun, with blanks fair enough, but still heaps of fun. I fired and my spent cartridges went everywhere. All the realism and we could repeat it around 10 times. At the end I got a bit bored and with a French friend we swapped sides. That ended up being the final shot and I don't think anyone noticed our little switch.

Those French guys really made it special too. Their black humour had me in stitches when I caught it so when after the shoot they told us we would have to return in the afternoon for another go for more money I agreed without hesitating. More laughs and more antics eventually led to the evening coming and a healthy 75 euros being given to us. We smoked and talked that night and a couple of days later I was gone and never saw them again.

f noise but not much positive input.