In the comment section of a previous post, I was asked by MtBrooks “And how did you employ the “batshit crazy foreigner” tactic to get of other trouble?”

Here is the story of just one of the places where I had to employ tactics that I had learned from a Belgian guy called Beet that I met in the southern part of Thailand, on how to deal with threatening situations.

Every now and again in my life, I’ve come across people who are almost Christ-like in their beaming warm countenance, trusting nature and overwhelming desire to be martyred.

Back in 1982, when I was in Chaouen, Morocco, I met one of those “not long for this earth” saints that I was referring to.  He was a mousy blonde, shoulder-length-haired and bearded elf of a man from Montreal.  Sort of like a neo-hippy Gelfling with a French accent. 

I first came across the Gelfling in the cheap hotel that we were both staying at.  The first indication I had that the Gelfling would be seen as the new white meat in town, was as soon as we stepped out of the hotel to go to the markets together.  As is usually the case in Morocco, there were a couple of local guys hanging around the entrance ready to pounce on any hotel guests and offer their services as guides, with the ubiquitous chant of “gid! gid! gid!” 

Finding your way around in Morocco isn’t all that difficult, most of the time.  The towns are usually fairly small with the poorer neighbourhoods at the top of the hill, and the markets and commercial areas at the bottom of the hill.  I’ve never felt the need to have any guidance when I’ve travelled so I just walked right by the guys who were offering their dubious services.  I had taken about five or six paces when I realised the Gelfling was no longer with me, so I turned around, only to see him bailed up by the so-called guides. 

There he was, patiently listening politely to the hustler’s banter.  Deciding that he probably didn’t have the assertiveness to extract himself, I walked up to him and asked him if he really wanted those two guys to be following him around all day and expecting to get some kind of kickback from whatever he buys from the shopkeepers, and then have to pay out a “tip” for the honour at the end of the day?  I could see that the Gelfling was conflicted about what kind of answer he should give me in front of the two “guides. As he dithered and struggled to come up with an answer that would please all parties without causing offence, I just said to him.  “I’ll meet you up the markets” and walked off on my own.

I didn’t see the Gelfling for the rest of the day and when I was heading back to the hotel in the afternoon, I passed by a tea shop, where the two hustlers from the morning was sitting with a few of their friends drinking mint tea.  One of them noticed me and nudged his friend who said something to his other friends (I’d bet it was something like, “watch this”)  as they both got up and made their way towards me.  One of the so-called guides stuck up his hand and barred my way, as he said to me,

“Why you say you no want gid?”

“It is our job!”

“In other country they keel you!” As he made a slashing gesture across his throat with his hand. 

He then took a step forward and stuck his face right up to mine and with as much menace as he could muster, threatened me with, “we keel you!”

Without even thinking, I stepped onto one of his feet and pushed him over with my left hand displaying as much contempt as I could.  I then spat on him and told him he was a dog in Arabic (wah-enta kelp!), and that I would kill him if I ever saw him again.  They both knew I was serious, and they couldn’t get away from me fast enough.

The next morning as I walked out of the hotel with the Gelfling in tow, the two so-called guides were outside waiting, but as soon as they saw me, they made themselves scarce, quick smart. We had decided to walk out of the town to an old ruined mosque. 

 When we got to the very outskirts of town, the juxtaposition of the whitewashed houses with their blue doors against the deep green hills in the background made for quite the picturesque scene. The Gelfling got his camera out and took a photograph.  As soon as the shot was taken and we got ready to move on, out of the blue this speck comes running to us from far off down the road.  As this speck grew larger as it neared us, we could hear that it was yelling something at us.  Within seconds, we had a Moroccan guy in our faces yelling and screaming at us.

“You take photo of my grandfather!”

To which the Gelfling, in his saint like manner, tried to explain that he was taking a photograph of the scenery and the Moroccan guy was so far away that he wasn’t even in the viewfinder when he took the photograph.  The Gelfling then held out his camera so the Moroccan guy could see through the viewfinder thereby demonstrating the truth of what the Gelfling had said.  The guy wasn’t interested in looking through the viewfinder and he just pushed it dismissively out of the way.

“You take photo of my grandfather!”

“The Koran say you not make picture of people!”

“You make picture my grandfather!”

“Give me film!”

All the hullabaloo was starting to attract a crowd, and I could see that the situation was going to get ugly very quickly so I grabbed the Gelfling by his shirt and tried to pull him away.  The Gelfling being a good ambassador of western humanitarianism and decency pulled himself free from my grip and said, “no, no, I want to explain to him”.

Again, the Gelfling lifted up his camera and offered the Moroccan a chance to look through the viewfinder.  This time, the Moroccan knocked the camera out of the way with such force that if it hadn’t been attached to the Gelfling’s neck by its strap it would have hit the ground.  Once again, I grabbed the shirt of the Gelfling said “come on, let’s go, this is going to get real bad, very quickly.”

Unfortunately, the Gelfling seemed hell-bent on martyrdom and he continued to try and get the Moroccan to see reason.  The Moroccan continued on ranting the same thing over and over again.

“You take photo of my grandfather!” “The Koran say you not make picture of people!” “You make picture my grandfather!” “Give me film!”

“You take photo of my grandfather!” “The Koran say you not make picture of people!” “You make picture my grandfather!” “Give me film!”

The little crowd of onlookers were starting to turn into a mob.  Some of the members of the mob started shaking their fists and yelling at us and it wasn’t very long before they started hemming us in and jostling us.  With an increasing sense of urgency, I kept on saying to the Gelfling, “COME ON, LET”S GO!” but he just persisted on trying to convince the Moroccan guy that he hadn’t taken a photograph of his grandfather.  Which was the obvious truth.

The Moroccan guy just kept on ranting his mantra of,

“You take photo of my grandfather!” “The Koran say you not make picture of people!” “You make picture my grandfather!” “Give me film!”

By this time, the mob was about ten people deep all around us and some of them started pushing and jostling us even more.

Then all of a sudden, the Moroccan guy changed his mantra to, “you must pay money!”

“You must pay money!”

“I was only taking a picture of the mountain!”

“You take photo of my grandfather!” “The Koran say you not make picture of people!” “You make picture my grandfather!” “You must pay money!”

“You take photo of my grandfather!” “The Koran say you not make picture of people!” “You make picture my grandfather!” “You must pay money!”

It was at about this time that I noticed that some of the guys in the crowd were starting to pick up large rocks and I’d heard about foreigners being stoned (in the bad way that is) by mobs in Morocco before, so I decided to take the rapidly deteriorating and very dangerous situation into my own hands.

I just grabbed the mewling Gelfling by the scruff of his shirt and shoved him behind me, as I told him to ”SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Then with as much force as I could, I pushed the Moroccan into the rest of the crowd and he fell over backwards onto the ground. I then leant forward and drew a line in the dirt after which I drew my hand across my throat in a slashing motion and said to him, “if you cross the line I’LL KILL YOU!”  I then grabbed a hold of the Gelfling and threw him into the crowd, which knocked about three or four of the guys in the mob out of the way.

The mob instinctively shrank away from us as I continued to shove the Gelfling through the crowd like a battering ram before he could regain his balance. By now, the mob had got the idea that I wasn’t going to be putting up with of any more shit from them and I was quite serious about hurting them.

Hell, I had just roughed up one of one of my own kind, what was I going to do to them?

Amazingly, we just walked away from the situation without a single rock or word being tossed in our direction.

I’ve noticed, more than several times, when I’ve been in the Third World that there seems to be the perception amongst some of the locals that people from countries with Western liberal traditions can be manipulated by their need to do the right thing and to be liked.

Unfortunately, sometimes, it’s useful to get in touch with one’s inner batshit crazy self and channel a little dormant aggression. I guess the question one has to ask oneself in such situations is, do I feel like being a victim today?

As for me,

I’d rather be a sparrow than a snail
Yes I would, if I could, I surely would
I’d rather be a hammer than a nail
Yes I would, if I only could, I surely would

Except my interpretation would sound more like this.