'Do you know who that was?' Tom said to me when he left. I had no idea.
The year was 1993. We were in Taghazout, which is about ten miles north of Agadir on the Atlantic coast in southern Morocco. We had been on the camp site for almost a month. The newcomer showed up as we sat around our Tagine with its contents bubbling away over the charcoal. 'Hi guys...that smells fantastic' he said as he sat down on the floor next to me. 'Hiya mate....you can try some if you like. It'll be ready in about twenty minutes' I offered in response. 'Nice one...that sounds great' he replied.
The campsite and village attracted surfers from all around due to the fine waves to be found on this stretch of the coast and it was fairly common for some unknown surfer/traveller type to roll up and engage in conversation as though we were part of the same family. I didn't surf but my friend Tom did and he looked the part with his dreadlocks and ethnic clothing.
Tom and the newcomer began a conversation about the waves and general surfing conditions of the day as I listened in with my usual feigned interest. Around the Tagine were myself, Tom, the newcomer, Tom's girlfriend Kate and two French lads we had met named Roland and Denis. There was plenty of Tagine to go around and we all took in the smell as we listened to it bubbling away.
The newcomer pulled out a ready rolled spliff from his shirt pocket and lit it up. He smoked a little and passed it to me. I did the same and just as the spliff got to Tom at the other end of the circle, the familiar sight of two police officers appeared over the small hill on the site. The police knew we were sat smoking weed and we knew that they would want a little 'gift' to leave us alone. It wasn't the first time we had seen these two characters on the site. I knew that the grubby, skinny police officer had a penchant for young boys and I knew that the larger police officer had a penchant for intimidation and extortion.
As they approached, Tom discarded the spliff in the coals of the Tagine and we all did our best to look as unconcerned as possible. The police had a fair bit of power over us in this situation. They could, if they wanted, have us all arrested and threaten us with some horrid Moroccan prison on a trumped up charge. We all knew this and obviously tried to avoid such an occurrence from ever happening. My camera had been used as a sweetener a few weeks previously with the very same police officers. Because of this, I have no photographs of my Moroccan adventure.
The two officers stood over us and looked down as we shuffled around uncomfortably in anticipation of the next exploitation experience. 'It's OK don't worry, we know you're all stoned' said the skinny officer. His eyes were almost closed. Just two little slits. He was hammered. We said nothing in response. The larger officer then looked directly at me. He smiled menacingly and said 'Do you have film for the camera?' The larger officer didn't look stoned but I suspected he was probably drunk. Even so, they knew what they were doing. It seemed to be all they did, every day.
I did have a film in my tent, but did not want to be an easy target. The last time we met it had been my camera that got us out of a pickle. This time it would have to be someone else. I did not want these two characters making a habit of paying me a visit. 'No...the film in the camera was the only one I had' I told him. His face became more menacing while still keeping the smile and he looked across the others in anticipation of his bribe.
'I'm going to the toilet' I said. No one said anything in response as I got up and headed over to the toilet block. The toilet block was a couple of minutes walk over to the other side of the campsite and I made the walk last a little longer by calling at my tent on the way back. I unzipped my two man dome tent and slipped inside while the others dealt with the policemen. Inside the tent was a small bong which I pulled out and made use of. Just as the smoke was dissipating, the newcomer appeared at the door of my tent. He crouched down and looked inside, 'Can I come in?' he asked with a smile. 'Sure pal...no problem' I said as I moved over to one side, 'come and have a bong...I'll shift this ham' I added.
Roland and Denis had left their salted ham with me for safekeeping as they were due to go away for a few days the following morning. The ham was wrapped in greaseproof paper. It was large and heavy and occupied much of one side of the tent. I'd never seen anything like it in England. Roland and Denis would eat small strips from the ham throughout the day. I pushed it to the top of the tent next to my pillow. The newcomer squeezed in and sat up in front of the ham. I passed him my bong with a ready loaded cone and watched on as he pulled the bong in an accomplished fashion and blew the smoke out through the door of my tent.
We sat up in the tent for another ten minutes or so. We smoked a couple of bongs and I found out that his name was Andy. He'd flown over from London just a few days ago and had surfed in Taghazout before. I gave him a quick rundown of our travels over the last couple of months and then my thoughts turned to the others.
'I'm just going to check on the coppers' I said as I crawled out of the tent and took a peep over the slight hill that sat between my tent and the space next to Tom's tent where the food was cooking. To my surprise and delight the policemen were gone and I could see Tom working the Tagine in preparation for dinner. I went back to my tent, told Andy the good news and we followed our noses over the little hill to the Tagine and the rest of the group.
The next hour consisted of us all stuffing our faces and having a laugh about the police. The police had left empty handed this time with the promise of a radio from Roland in the near future. We knew they would be back before too long.
After dinner Andy thanked us for the hospitality and made off back to the village. As soon as he was out of earshot Tom said to me 'Do you know who that was?' I was a little perplexed and said 'Who? Andy?' Tom smiled broadly when he realised I had no idea who he was. 'Yeah Andy...It's Andrew Ridgeley' he replied. I racked my brains to remember who Andrew Ridgeley was. I'd heard the name before so had an idea that he was famous. Tom smiled even more broadly at me as he could see the penny had still not dropped even though he had just told me his name and I'd just spent time with him smoking bongs in my tent. 'For fucks sake Ian' he chortled out to me, 'you know...Andrew Ridgeley...from Wham.' Now I knew who he was. 'Fuckin 'ell...George Michael and Andrew Ridgeley' I said.
Andy had been wearing a woollen hat and black wraparound sunglasses. He had a scruffy, slightly greying beard that covered most of his face. The only image I could remember of Andrew Ridgeley was of him posing with George Michael on a cheesy pop poster. He looked nothing like that here in Taghazout.
My friend Tom had met Andy right here the previous year it turned out. Andy did indeed visit regularly. The other surfers knew who he was but he was just one of the lads here in this cool environment. No wonder he visited often. It must have been wonderful for him to be treated normally away from the world of fame.
I don't know if Andy knew that I didn't know who he was. I like to think that he thought I was just one cool dude who didn't bleat on about his celebrity and treated him like one of the lads.
Have you ever hung out with a celebrity? And did you know who they were? I'd love to hear about it if you have.
I hope you enjoyed this first Moroccan Memory.
Keep an eye out for more.
As this is a @comedyopenmic entry I nominate @masiha and @vafa to put in an entry.
Thanks for reading.
STEEMONKEY🐒
Image: ITV