by Janet Pywell
‘Yes, and now,’ I say with a smile, not able to resist showing off, ‘to recalibrate.’
‘What does that do?’ he asks.
‘When I film you, I want the horizon levels to stay fixed. So, I need to calibrate the sensors.’ There, I say, watching the screen. ‘Calibrating in progress, it will take a few minutes.’
We wait and watch the screen.
‘Now I need to adjust the gimbal roll.’ I know I have his attention and I’m enjoying his silent interest.
‘Do you want me to show you some of the film I took earlier of you?’
‘Yeah.’
We sit companionably on the floor while I find the video footage of the Parks. On the first day there were stunts in the desert, and the last two days have been in the Kasbah and the hotel, jumping, running, and climbing over the balconies.
‘Impressive,’ I say. ‘That’s an amazing J-step kick. It’s almost as good as your butterfly kick and front hand spin.’
‘Cool,’ he replies, impressed that I’ve mastered some of the parkour steps.
We laugh at some clumsy moments and how one scene had to be re-filmed. My legs are cramped so I stand up, leaving him with the console, watching the images of the Parks.
‘How did you get so good at this?’ he asks.
‘I used to kitesurf and snow-ski with my ex. We used drones all the time.’ I’m helping myself to a mint tea when he stands up and follows me to the table.
‘What’s that, Mikky?’ he asks, placing the console on the table.
‘Mint tea, would you like some?’ I offer him mine. ‘I’ve only just poured it out.’
He takes it doubtfully. ‘What’s that in it?’ He pulls at the fresh mint and slides it with his finger to the edge of the glass.
‘Mint.’
He smells it and stares at me. ‘What does it taste of?’
I laugh. ‘Mint. Try it and see if you like it. It’s Maghrebi mint tea, green tea with spearmint leaves and sugar.’
He shakes his head. ‘I’m thirsty. I want a cold drink.’
‘All Moroccans drink this,’ I reply.
‘Some guy in a shop in the Kasbah wanted me to go inside and drink it with him … but I didn’t.’
‘By offering you mint tea, it’s an expression of their hospitality,’ I explain.
Ali looks doubtful, and when I laugh, he grins ruefully.
‘Come on, Ali, take a sip, it won’t kill you!’
He brings the small glass to his lips, and I watch his expression change; his nose wrinkles and he grimaces dramatically.
‘It’s not bad. A bit sweet.’
‘It can calm you, or it can be refreshing, awakening, and enlivening. It could give you the energy, Ali, to do what you do …’
Ali grins and continues to sip the mint tea while I pour one for myself.
We stand companionably under the shade, watching the crew outside in the Kasbah, and the action going on around us.
‘You know about a lot of stuff, Mikky.’
‘Do I?’ I’m surprised.
‘Yeah, drones and stuff. You even changed a motor. It’s all technical …’
‘It’s what I do, Ali. It’s quite easy really.’
He focuses on Keith and Matt chatting on the edge of the sprawling Taourirt Kasbah, a suitable and convincing backdrop for filming in places like Somalia or Egypt.
‘Are you enjoying this filming experience here in Morocco?’
‘It’s very different. I don’t know how to … The people are—’
‘The Berbers can be quite intimidating?’
‘Yeah.’
‘But it’s fun, no?’
Ali’s brown, watchful eyes are suddenly alert and happy. ‘Yeah. I love it. I never realised it would be this good.’
‘Is it very different to Islington?’ I ask with a smile.
His laugh reflects the irony in his tone. ‘A million times different.’
‘Is this better?’
‘It’s like a holiday.’ I’m watching his expression, wondering if my camera could capture the excited emotion in his eyes when he says, ‘Mikky, can I ask you a favour?’
‘Of course.’
‘Will you come into the Kasbah with me? I want to buy a leather jacket, but I don’t know how to bargain – and they all tell me I have to do that!’
‘Of course I will.’ I smile, pleased that he trusts me and wants me. ‘You could ask Matt; he’d take you.’
‘I know, but he’s not as savvy as you; you know stuff about this place and you’re comfortable here.’
I grin. ‘I spent months here once, travelling through the Atlas Mountains taking pictures.’
‘Yeah, so you’ll know what to do in the Kasbah. I don’t want to look stupid.’
‘You won’t, Ali. It will be fun.’
* * *
The next day, after we finish another twelve-hour day filming, it’s past eight o’clock in the evening when I follow Aziz, our guide, and Ali back into the Kasbah. Past the rich-smelling spices, and the camel slippers, the colourful Berber robes, the handmade jewellery, and finally to the leather stalls selling handbags, wallets, and coats and jackets.
Aziz leads us into a small shop and then leaves, waiting outside in the shade, unwilling to get involved in the financial negotiations. I know the stall owner will pay him a commission or small percentage for bringing us to his stall, but I don’t mind.
‘It’s how they survive and make money,’ I explain to Ali.
He nods, but he’s not listening; he’s walking through the rows of jackets, all colours and designs; goatskin, sheepskin, and calfskin.
The musty smell is overwhelming, and I stroll around on my own for a while, admiring leather shoes, male and female purses and wallets, handbags and travel bags, pouffes, and finally I’m back to Ali, where he’s looking confused and worried.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask. ‘Seen anything you like?’
‘There are so many, Mikky. It’s hard to choose.’
‘Many, many many.’ The shop owner flutters around us. He has a missing front tooth, bleary eyes, and he wears the long robe of the Berbers. He begins pulling one jacket out and then another, and then another, and Ali becomes more and more confused.
I grin at him and pull a blue bomber jacket off a hanger.
‘So much choice!’ he moans.
‘Try one on,’ I insist.
Ali slips his arms inside, marvelling at the soft lining.
‘Do you like it?’ I ask.
He shakes his arms inside the sleeves and looks at himself in the mirror.
‘Do you like it, Mikky?’
I laugh. ‘You have to like it, Ali. You’ll be wearing it.’
‘I know, but—’
‘Maybe you’d be better in a flying jacket?’ I suggest.
‘Ah, pilot’s jacket!’ The shop owner pulls out a tan soft, vintage leather jacket with a sheepskin collar.
Ali pulls off the blue bomber jacket and stares at the one the shop owner is holding out.
‘Mikky, look, that’s a proper pilot’s jacket,’ he says with awe.
‘Try it on; I bet you’ll look fab.’
It fits him perfectly. He stands in front of the mirror, facing the front, and then from side to side, posing, preening, and smiling. I can’t help myself. I pull out my camera, and while I snap a few shots of Ali preening, the shop owner disappears.
When he appears a few minutes later, he insists we go to the back of the shop where we sit, cross-legged on large cushions on the floor, drinking mint tea.
‘Moroccan hospitality,’ Ali says with a grin, raising his glass at me. ‘I might start making this at home.’
‘Cheers!’ I say, smiling back.
Ali poses with his mint tea, and I ask the shop owner’s permission to take a photograph of them together. They both beam happily at my camera.
‘Do you like this jacket?’ I ask Ali, already knowing the answer.
‘Mikky, I love it. I’ve never wo
rn anything like this in my life.’
‘Can you afford it?’
‘With what they’re paying me for a week filming, and then I’ll get more in London next week, I can easily afford it.’
‘Okay, so now you have to negotiate.’
Ali’s eyes turn dark and severe, and I laugh. ‘This is the fun bit, Ali. Start with offering him two-thirds of the marked price.’
‘Really?’ Ali looks shocked.
‘It’s a game. Go with it. And pretend you mean it.’
Ali steels himself, takes a deep breath, points to the label with the price, and shakes his head, offering a new price.
The shop owner pretends to look offended and comes back with another higher number.
Ali looks at me, so I say, ‘Increase your price but don’t meet his price.’
Ali grins and then he gets the hang of it, and the price between them gets shorter, and then suddenly Ali puts out his hand, and the shop owner shakes it.
I wait, snapping photographs and talking to Aziz, who magically reappears, while Ali concludes the financial transactions.
Back out in the Kasbah, we’re heading back to the hotel, and Ali is smiling. His usually sad eyes are now the colour of flecks of golden chestnuts; rays of light and happiness.
‘I did it, Mikky! I’ve never bargained before.’
‘You did really well, Ali!’
‘Thanks for coming with me.’ He grins, and I laugh back at him, delighted that his new jacket could make him so happy. ‘It’s the best thing I’ve ever bought.’
‘Stand there, and I’ll take a picture of you with the shop in the background – so you’ll always remember this moment. You’ll be able to tell your children about it one day.’
‘I’ll never forget this, Mikky. I’ve never owned anything like this – ever.’
He poses with his hands in his pockets, while I snap his smiling face.
‘But you will have to take it off when you shower,’ I say, knowing it’s a scene I shall never forget.
Chapter 3
“Marijuana is self-punishing. It makes you acutely sensitive, and in this world, what worse punishment could there be?”
P. J. O’Rourke
At our last dinner in Ouarzazate, I sit beside Sandra Worthington, and I have the opportunity to study her up close. She’s a handsome woman, in her sixties, with long, silver-grey hair that contrasts with her dark skin. She has an enigmatic smile and a southern counties British accent.
‘I believe your sister is a soprano,’ I say.
Sandra looks at me in surprise, so I add, ‘A very good friend of mine, Glorietta Bareldo, knows her.’
‘You know Glorietta?’
I smile. ‘Yes. Very well.’
‘Now, that’s a surprise.’
I laugh. ‘I know I don’t look the opera type – and I’m not, really – but Glorietta and Bruno are like family to me.’
I can see Sandra assessing me in a different light, and in the yellow hue of the illuminated hotel courtyard, I notice how the crow’s feet at the corner of her green eyes crinkle in delight.
‘How wonderful!’
‘Bruno and my husband get on very well.’
She tilts her head to one side when I ask, ‘Has this been the perfect location for your film?’
‘Perfect. It’s been amazing, and we’ve been lucky. We didn’t go over schedule!’
‘They’re long days filming,’ I say. ‘Over twelve hours sometimes.’
‘Yes, it’s been gruelling. We’re lucky that it’s not the height of the summer – that could be a disaster in the heat, but we won’t have that problem next week when we return to the lovely British winter.’
‘Do you live in London?’
‘I travel a lot, often filming.’
‘There must be a lot of pressure on you as a director now?’ Peter sips his wine. He’s sitting opposite me.
‘Yes, you’re right. Once you’ve won an Oscar, there’s even more pressure on you, but to be honest, I don’t take any notice. I’m lucky I can make the films I want to make. There are not enough women directors, and even fewer women who make action movies. They don’t like us doing that – they see it as a man’s job.’
‘I can imagine,’ Peter replies. ‘What made you choose to film here?’
As Keith leans forward and explains, I notice a small diamond stud in his ear.
‘Well, you see, we could have used Aït Benhaddou – it’s an UNESCO world heritage site – but Sandra didn’t want that. Ouarzazate is perfect. So many films have been made here – Atlas Studios is one of the biggest in the world. Films like …’ He ticks them off on his fingers. ‘Game of Thrones, Gladiator, The Living Daylights, even Lawrence of Arabia. But Sandra wanted something different—’ He looks at Sandra.
‘This had to be original, exciting, and daring.’ Sandra smiles. ‘I wanted somewhere thrilling and original, and like the Parks, it’s all about risk-taking.’
Keith sits back and sips his wine, then says, ‘Exactly. The film is about a London property dealer who goes to Egypt to visit his archeologist brother, but by mistake, he becomes embroiled with the murky underworld and an illegal drugs ring.’ He takes a deep breath, then says meaningfully to Matt, ‘You’ve all been so wonderfully enthusiastic about this project, it brings a different dimension to the film. The Parks have done a fantastic job.’
‘I agree,’ adds Sandra. ‘They are a credit to you, they’ve been amazing.’
Matt leans forward and places his thick arms on the table, which emphasises his giant biceps.
‘It’s not about me. It’s about these poor kids. You don’t know what it’s done for these guys to come over here and get this experience. They have a purpose now. They have hope. They see they’re worthwhile and they can do something useful. They have talent.’
I find Matt fascinating.
Chief Inspector Mulhoon said he was an ex-con and I’ve watched him for four nights with the five teenagers. They clearly respect him, and they appear to have a special bond with him. They trust him, and I wonder why the chief inspector hasn’t asked Matt for more help. He would be in a perfect position to find out about the talisman, the sword, or whatever it is that the cult uses to initiate people into their sect.
Peter nods; he’s enthralled by this company and conversation. ‘They have talent in abundance, but what will happen to them now?’ His enthusiasm for the Parks is evident. ‘Is there more work for them?’
‘That’s the problem,’ Matt says, lowering his voice. ‘I don’t want them to go back to what they did before. I want to keep them safe. I want to keep them happy – they’ve had a terrible time. They have no experience of what a normal family life is like. They are from broken homes – maybe one of the parents is an addict, or where their parents don’t even bother to turn up to the police station to help them out. There are no male role models for them to follow or to look up to, and they have little or no support at home. Some of them were junkies – they were running drugs for the gangs in London. I can’t let them down now.’ He scratches his chin thoughtfully; his eyes are deep-set and dark.
I’d like to photograph his face and capture the distress in his eyes.
‘Well, we’re filming in the next week or so with them in London,’ says Sandra, and she says to Peter, ‘And as you and Mikky are making a documentary about the Parks, that will involve them even more in something worthwhile.’
Matt makes eye contact with me.
‘They’re thrilled about the documentary, Mikky, but they are quite shy, as you’ve noticed. They’re not used to people taking an interest in them for anything good or positive. They don’t open up easily.’
I smile. ‘They’ve been fine. We’ve got some good footage from them. I know it will take time for them to open up more, and they love talking about the parkour.’
‘You’ve been a hit with Ali,’ Matt says. ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s a leather jacket.’ I grin. ‘He was amazing when he boug
ht it. He did very well. We even had mint tea in the back of the shop. It’s a different culture here, and they’ve adapted to it quite well. I hope that when we get back to London, we can follow up on the interviews and filming?’
‘That would be great.’ Matt returns my smile, holding my gaze for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
I turn away and survey the scene around me.
We’re sitting on the hotel’s terrace, at one end of a long table, under the moonlit sky studded with stars. But it’s colder now in the evening, and I tuck a red silk scarf into my worn black leather jacket and sip my red wine.
Matt says, ‘They’re very health-conscious, and now they are in a film – it’s the beginning of becoming rich and famous.’
Keith complains, ‘It’s not just the Parks – they’re too young, but hardly any of this crew drink.’
He nods at the crew and assistants further down the table, all with names and titles I’ve long since forgotten.
‘They’re all vegan, vegetarian, or pescatarian,’ he moans.
‘But they are passionate and enthusiastic,’ Sandra chips in. ‘It’s their youth that I most admire, and their vitality. They’re an interesting group; some are talkative, and others are quiet. It’s a good mix.’
At the end of the table, the parkour and freerunning experts – three boys and two girls – are drinking soft drinks. Their faces are alive, shining, smiling, and happy. They know we’re making a documentary and they appear to be enjoying the attention, and when Ali raises his fingers in a victory sign, we all laugh.
‘He’s the comedian,’ Matt says.
‘He’s also a good leader,’ Peter adds. ‘This is an experience I’ll never forget.’
‘Do they work out regularly?’ Keith asks Matt. ‘Isn’t it risky what they do?’
‘We think of it as a challenge,’ Matt replies. ‘We self-challenge; it’s about being entrepreneurial and self-sufficient. That’s how we train. It’s a life lesson for them.’
‘What’s the difference between freerunning and parkour?’ he asks.
‘Freerunning is an expression of one’s self in the environment without restrictions, and parkour is how they get from A to B in the most fluid – fastest and efficient – manner. These kids do both. It’s about managing risks and developing skills to test one’s limits.’
