Disco night

But the evening was beautiful. All right, I’ll come with you for a last drink. What I missed most there was paper and a pen, because I would have liked just st, looked and wrote down everything about a Moroccan disco, I could almost write a book. It is quite different than ours (although I’m not necessarily the Disco specialist in my age).

It was still quite empty and we found a table comfortably, which of course was not without many hugs and kisses between Kamal and the crew was going on. He seems to be known everywhere like a colorful dog. The first thing that was very amazing is the number of staff. I guess, in this rather small disco at least 30 people, they were in the beginning in the majority. But that should change. The guys in the white shirts, five of them, seemed to be very important. The short sleeves stretched over the muscle-bound biceps and the tie pointed to authority. At first I thought they were waiters, but they were security officers, or more of a bouncer? As the night progressed and the room filled, the more I saw how they had everything under control, the room was constantly being surveyed. Sometimes they even accompanied the girls to the exit or to the bathroom. I did not see any unfriendly gesture among the guests anywhere, but I can already imagine that it can easily come after a rich consumption of alcohol. But the five grim-looking guys can handle it.

That brings us to the second point, alcohol. On each of the empty tables stood a bottle of still water, a bottle of soda and a bottle of coke. Is one so abstinent here? Kamal asked me what I wanted to drink and I wisely said the same as you. Then came a big champagne bucket filled with ice cubes, a tabletop rocket, and a bottle of Jonny Walker. This is so common here. You do not spend the night with a bottle of beer. And I also saw the waiters. They consistently wear a white shirt with advertising imprint on their black trousers, but with a long arm and no muscles. And then there are the guys wearing a gray T-shirt. These are the coalmen. On each table is a chicha ready and they are constantly on the go with the glowing coals to replenish. Of course, one has never heard of a smoking ban in rooms, my lungs were very happy, to be fresh enough to cope with the smoke-filled air.

What also attracted attention was the large number of young, smartly dressed girls with meter high heels. I know, what they say about this girls being prostitutes. However, I can not confirm that exactly. Some, perhaps, but some also just wanted to have fun with their girlfriends. At any rate, I did not notice that they were particularly sensitive to the men. That did not concern us, we were 3 men and 3 women and thus immune from all female attacks.

And the music! No rock, but really oriental and loud. And so rousing that even I could not keep calm on my feet. You do not necessarily have to go to the dance floor, you dance while sitting, touch your hands, get up and swing in rhythm. I fully participated and all my friends know how rare that is. It was just nice. Two birthday parties were there and of course each group was celebrated by the musicians with a big hello. But not only that, the musicians came to each table, Kamal had previously told them my name and they always sang it to me. What else could I not understand. And of course, big banknotes were constantly changing hands. Yes, that’s Morocco too. There is not just the tourist industry, or poor Morocco, that drives people to flee. There is also a middle class that really came into existence after King Hassan II. Kamal kept pulling me from my seat, including the other girls and encouraging me to dance. Oh, what a night. Needless to say that soon the whiskey bottle was empty and Kamal was full. And I should slowly make my way to my bed.

That actually ran smoothly, was accepted and a heartfelt farewell followed. And already a bodyguard was on the spot, who accompanied me to the edge of the property. Asmaa came to my hotel on the other side of the street and told me to visit her in Casablanca. What always astonishes me the most in Morocco is the missing border between the young and the elderly. It just do not exist, just friendship and humanity.


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