I went to pick up his musket.
But Mustapha shouted, ‘Watch it, western tourist, that’s my only armament, apart from my faith.
‘For Allah is everywhere, in the sky and one’s heart.’
I clicked my camera and strolled away from this old soldier guarding a mosque,
so keen was I for another Facebook snap.
Alas, I’m an inveterate show-off.
Paddling in the cool sea, I was intrigued to see a woman receive curious looks.
She hadn’t read a memo from the tour company, warning, ‘Don’t wear a bikini.’
Shortly after she was admonished by the cops.
Then a camel trotted by, offering a ride, and I was deposited alongside a snake charmer.
I let him put his slimy animal around my neck, for a photo opportunity.
Then, eager to slake my thirst, I found a place serving English tea,
alongside fried chicken from the US state of Kentucky.
It made a change from sugary coffee, but sitting down, I discovered a snake under my hat.
I fed the slithery reptile, even though I’d caught it slithering off with my wallet.
I’d assumed the tour guide had meant the human kind, when he’d warned about pickpockets.
Then wondered, ‘Was the camel in on it?’
The next day I saw a monkey riding said animal, festooned with cameras and wallets.
‘Peace be upon you, little friend,’ he beamed.
But the grinning mischief grabbed Mustapha’s musket.
‘He’s got your gun!’ I cried.
The guard laughed, ‘Yes, but like everything in this land, it’s only a relic.
Besides, animals such as he are revered in this country.
‘They scamper about, grinning at their own cheek.
In olden days they were used to repel invaders, thus are reputed to possess magical powers.
‘I was brought up in the High Atlas Mountains to the north, son of a muleteer.
We carried baggage for adventure tourists, on my trusty steed, Mickey the mule.
‘Now his place is taken by Western companies with minibuses.
They bring much needed money, but do annoy the old folk.
‘With their cameras, they are too curious.
‘So I came south to guard this sacred place, I’m like a painting in a gallery, so take a picture.’
Then I cracked a joke, ‘You musket get another gun!’
To my surprise he laughed, ‘Ah, western humour!
‘I think that was what my English teacher says is a pun.
What with McDonalds, Kentucky chicken sellers and Facebook,
we are being slowly infiltrated.
‘Still that fellow in the White House warns, ‘Beware the enemy within!’’
But I warn, ‘Beware the enemy without, and his accomplice!’
The monkey, wearing a bikini, scampered past beach police, who bowed in deference.
Then a camel appeared, with a poster on its expansive rear,
advertising a new Moroccan resort, and a picture of its owner, the US President.
But Mustapha the guard was watching and, remembering the tales of his fighting forebears,
declared, ‘We are being taken over.’
‘Not if I can help it,’ the monkey with magical powers said.
Then a musket that wouldn’t fire erupted, sending a ball right into Donald’s grinning face.
Mustapha said, ‘Well, we’ve got rid of that charming fool.
Tourists are all very well, but if we allow him in, it will set a precedent.’
‘Yes, but his followers will follow,’ I warned, ‘as sure as night follows day.’
He walked over to me, saying, ‘Take the musket, my new pal.
‘For I’m returning to a simpler life in the mountains, with my trusty steed, Mickey the mule,
way up in those mountains known as the High Atlas.
Away from McDonalds, English tea and Kentucky fried chicken sellers.
‘Come up and see me, take photographs, but don’t put them on Facebook.
They will attract unbelievers.’
I walked away, a very disturbed tourist.
