Of all the kif joints in all the towns in all the world he walks into mine

After wandering around Casablanca checking out the coffee bars the medina (old walled city where the markets usually are) the waterfront and other places we can pose pretending to be Humph our host tells us that his uncle has some of the local intoxicant that we can try if we want. Not wanting to seem churlish we agree and as dusk falls we wander into narrowing streets and then stop at a 3 story whitewashed building. Mustafa knocks and after a few minutes a middle aged rotund man opens the small door and with much hugging with Mustafa and hand shakes for us two infidels we enter and climb to the second story where we are hustled into a small room that’s empty save for a few obligatory floor cushions and a radio cassette player. The arabic music is starting to grow on us both and uncle leaves for 10 minutes reappearing with mint tea served in glasses. Mustafa has a serious chat with his uncle and then tells us they are both going out to find what they think we’re looking for. We tell him not to go to trouble on our behalf but he insists as we’re guests and ought to be educated in the mysterious ways of the berber. Meanwhile one of uncles mates joins us and he decides to stay. It’s a bit uncomfortable as he can’t speak much french and Simon and I speak even less and no Arabic. It seems rude for Simon and I to talk much between ourselves so we all go into our own contemplative thoughts. To break the awkwardness the guy brings out one of the long kif pipes and after a few puffs proffers to us, which puts us all into even more contemplative moods. 

A few sharp knocks on the room door and it opens to reveal an overweight policeman. Simon and I do a double take and if set in a cartoon we’d have both rubbed our eyes with our fists. No way. Our companion smiles and jumps up for hugs and then introduces us to the law who promptly sits down and finishes the last of the pipe. A bit weird but everyone seems cool and our friend is obviously overjoyed to have someone to chat to without too much effort and goes into a long monologue at the officer. After a bit of heated discussion on some point our new buddy jumps up gabbling something about Mustafa and darts out the door leaving us two teenage white boys with a Moroccan policeman complete with revolver and kif pipe. We start to get a little paranoid that we’ve been framed and not in a way that will get us £150 quid from Harry Hill. I see Simon sweating, tho not as much as portly officer, and smiling at him we discuss in cryptic code the chances of rushing the door but how the hell will we find Mustafa’s house. Just at this time the radio breaks into the theme from Midnight Express. A great tune by Giorgio Moroder but really not what we wanted to hear sat in a room with kif paraphernalia surrounding us and an armed copper smiling at us. If you don’t know the film it’s about an American that is caught drug smuggling in Turkey and gets banged up in a madhouse of a prison where extreme wanton violence including sexual was common. To be honest I was crapping myself and I could see Simon again eyeing up the door. Just as we were on the edge of chancing our luck in the streets of Casablanca we heard loud voices on the stairs and the door burst open. We both jump up with the same thought - there’s a window behind us. The copper seemed surprised at the sudden motion from us and then lumbered up himself to greet Mustafa, his uncle and his mate as they jumbled into the room. They were laughing and joking having been successful in their mission and promptly sat down to share with Simon and I.

After regaining a bit of colour (we’d both turned whiter than the average Casablancan house and it’s not called casa blanca for nothing) we explained to Mustafa our ordeal. He seemed to think this extremely funny and to our horror repeated to the others. I wondered if the policeman would be offended but he laughed so much I thought he’d pass out. After a while and sampling the produce Simon and I saw the funny side as well. I know no one will believe us that the Midnight Express theme came on the radio but we were told that Moroder’s music was very popular and more accessible than a lot of western rock. I needed the loo and going up to a small outhouse perched on the flat roof my bowels opened. I thought it must have been the excitement of the evening with all the exotic food I’d been eating. The small outhouse had a squat down toilet, god only knows why it was on the roof, and a water tap with a bit of rubber pipe attached. I had no idea that I was meant to use the pipe to wash my butt so thinking there was no toilet paper I had a quick scout outside and found some foam rubber that I used to clean myself. Not really thinking too well I then wondered what to do with the soiled foam rubber. I tossed it off the roof to get rid of the evidence. Oh come on, it was barely water that came out of me that night. It is in my top 5 of regrettable actions. Guiltily sneaking back to the room we eventually say our goodbyes and make our way back to Mustafa’s house.

The sea side...