A Moroccan Fish Fry

As I was finishing up my lesson around noon today, I looked outside and saw Kamal, one of the guys who volunteers at Reseau Maillage, starting up some charcoal in a low clay pot. I didn't really think much of it until after class, when one of the older gentlemen who worked there informed me that there would be no need to go out for lunch - he'd be making it. He took me into their makeshift kitchen and proudly held up a black bag and unwrapped its contents. The beady eyes of forty six-inch long "sardines" stared at me, fresh from the market.
First off, a little background. Anybody who has spent any time with me is aware of two contradictory facts about my eating habits. First off, I love food. I go out to eat a lot, love checking out new places, and I'm slowly starting to cook for myself. Secondly, I can be a ridiculously picky and squeamish eater. You won't catch me eating fish or many veggies, and sure as hell not peeling shrimp or cracking lobster. Any meat that looks like where it came from is off-limits in my book.
That being said, as I stared at fish, I managed to make make the biggest, toothiest smiles I possibly could, telling the man in French how much I was looking forward to this amazing-looking fish... there was really no other option, he was being incredibly hospitable. The second thing out of my mouth was "je vais acheter un boisson froid pour le dejeuner" - I'm going to go and buy a cold drink... ostensibly. My alterior motive was stuffing myself with bread at a local food shop so that I wouldn't go hungry after doing my best to get through some fish.
Fast-forward ten minutes later, as I'm standing in the middle of Akkari, attracting my fair share of stares, scarfing down a petit pain rond, when Simo, another reseau volunteer, happens upon me. We get to talking, and as often happens in Morocco, he has enough time to walk me back to the office, all the while I'm frantically finishing up my bread and making sure my t-shirt is crumbless.
They had been cooking the fish in these hand-held grills that you'd put the fish in the middle of. Cautiously hoping they'd removed the eyes, or something along those lines to make the fish... less alive, I waited. Unfortunately, the fish arrived, eyes and all on a big clay plate right in front of me. Soon after, one of the guys picked one of the fish and dropped it at my place, skin and all. I gingerly scraped off the metallic skin with my fingers, dipped a piece in some salt they'd sprinkled on my section of paper, and took a little bite. Surprisingly, not bad. The fish was really mild and very fresh, didn't have that nasty fishy taste. After innumerable fish bones in my teeth later, I stared at a rather messy pile of dessicated fish in front of me. Coupled with the spicy olives, it was quite a meal.
The only long-lasting downside was the fish smell, which after four hand-washings and copious amounts of Purell, is finally subsiding. Here's one to adventurous eating...