Osama, me and a mobile phone

Heading back to Marrakesh tomorrow, so just a couple of reflections on Essaouira and its festival.
Firstly, the positive. The standard of the acts appearing at this years festival was astounding. Toumani Diabate, alongside his son, playing a sort of version of duelling banjos, but on the Kora, was absolutely stunning, and myself and Mrs P. even managed a quick ‘bonjour’ with the great man himself yesterday morning. Basseko Kouyate also exceeded all expectations, managing some unbelievable solos on the ngoni, a sort of three stringed guitar. Wayne Shorter, though, was a big mistake. The audience clearly didn’t appreciate five musicians playing what sounded like 5 different pieces in free-form jazz style at the same time.
The numbers at this year’s festival were vast, and I would say the festival is almost outgrowing the town of Essaouira. When we were last here 3 years ago although there were large numbers of visitors it always felt comfortable and everyone seemed to be there to enjoy the music. This year the small lanes in the medina resembled the exits at football matches before the Taylor Report into the Hillsborough disaster. There also seemed an extraordinary number of young Moroccan equivalents to ‘hoodies’. Sulky, moody, aggressive young Moroccans pushing and scowling at everyone around them and dressed in the familiar sort of imitation street bronx gear. They looked more like extras on the street corners in ‘The Wire’ than young kids out for a good time at a music festival.
My outlook wasn’t helped by some tosser tea-leafing my mobile phone, and the pathetic response of a police force so bloody dozy Rowan Atkinson could have used them in a sitcom. All I wanted was a crime report for the insurance company, but unless I had been seriously hurt, threatened at gun point, or mentioned the fact that I thought the theft had been masterminded by Osama Bin Laden, they couldn’t have cared less. The real difficulty in the police station was working out who to talk to. The police officers all looked like unshaven Ronnie and Reggie Krays, and most of the villains had a far better dress sense.
(I told Mrs P. I wasn’t going to mention the Osama Bin Laden bit here because getting out of the airport in Marrakesh could get a bit hairy). Be back online sometime Wednesday…. maybe!