He caught my eye on my way out of the city fort, because he was squatting on this wall smoking almost meditatively as he gazed out to sea.
He had a pretty majestic view, so I quickly clambered up the wall to talk to him and get a front row view myself. When I got up, I realised had he stepped only one step further either side, he would have fallen straight into the water below.
So as I approached him, I walked cautiously as if I was “walking the plank” as the Pirates of old used to say, especially since I was wearing patent Michael Jackson style brogues with no grip. I pretended I wasn’t phased at all by the fact he was perched precariously on this brick wall, by asking him a series of question in rapid fire succession. The safety standards of Europe have clearly tamed the thrill-seeking, adrenaline junkie within me.
With his sunglasses, blazer and checked shirt, he looked quite the picture sat beside the sea. So when I asked him if I could take his photograph, he was all too happy to oblige, but only if I posted it on social media.
So here is El Mourabite in all his glory.