FISH
Once upon a time, if you’d have said to me you’ll go for a ride in a Mercedes-Benz I’d have conjured up a picture of luxury. I’d have been sitting behind the wheel bathed in rich leather and deep pile carpets. There’d be electric everything, wood fascia, the whole deal. And as I stared out of the front window, I’d see the classic Mercedes badge at the end of the bonnet.
The North African beige Mercedes taxi is a different beast entirely. It isn’t really a Mercedes at all. It’s something between a beat-up entry in Wacky Races and a physics-defying entity that laughs in the face of all known mechanical laws.
Until recently I’d never really thought about what the collective noun for cars might be but, standing by the taxi rank by the main square in Marrakesh, it occurred to me that maybe “a skip” would be a good bet. There was a skip of cars, all the same, yet all different. The same in that they were all beige Mercedes, four-door 280D model. Different in that some of them had doors that fitted, some had windows...
After a bit of chat about where exactly it was we were going and how much it was going to cost – the usual – we were ushered into a particularly… personalised model. It wasn’t held together so much by Blu-Tack as belief. And it was easier to believe if your eyes were that same herbal shade of red as our drivers. I can’t say I noticed that before we sat down.
“Which way are you going?” I said as I noticed that we weren’t going the way I thought I recognised.
“Don’t worry, my friend” said our driver, who introduced himself as Asif. “Don’t worry, be happy!”
As if.
I’d be happier if I knew where we were going and if you’re eyes weren’t looking so… relaxed, I thought. But didn’t say.
It was a two lane road. And there were three cars driving alongside down it. And a couple of mopeds. And some bikes with extended families hanging off them.
I think Asif spotted my concern.
“Don’t worry, my friend” he said as took his hands off the road and reached inside his jacket. “Have a cigarette! Don’t worry, be happy!”
I looked outside at the night as the red dust of the Moroccan sky reflected in Asif’s equally red and dusty eyes.
“Cheers Asif” I said, and I smiled to myself as I realised that I was having a cigarette, long after having given them up because they’re bad for your health. “Don’t worry, be happy!”
Poppy
