Camel Skin and Espressos

(This is once again backdated. Google does not seem to function on the connection we've established at the house, so I wasn't able to update last night.)

Last night, the four of us who are staying in the house met up with a couple of other students/researchers and we all went to see a Gnawa band play at one of the local restaurants. Gnawa is a type of music brought to North Africa with black slaves from Mali, Guinea and Ghana in the17th and 18th centuries. It is both a fusion of African tradition and Islamic folklore, taking the form of music as well as healing ritual. We didn’t see the full ritual last night, the players having to contend with the sound of dinner chatter and the frantic waiters scurrying past them every few minutes. Despite that, and perhaps only due to the power of suggestion, the incense they were burning combined with the power of their singing felt like it had the ability to heal. One of my favorite images from last night was the juxtaposition of the three men, in their traditional robes, wearing the little red hats that take their name from the city of Fez, and the sleek silver espresso machine that would intermittently spit out coffee into mugs placed surreptitiously above their heads. Morocco.

Today, while exploring the kasbah – the oldest part of the medina – I came across a man playing the same instrument that one of the men was playing last night. He saw me looking and started to smile, telling me to take his picture. Taking photos of Moroccans is generally considered rude and intrusive, so his permission was both sweet and unexpected. I asked him about the instrument. It is called a gimbri, and is made of a single piece of hollowed out wood (apparently his was from the saf-saf tree) with camel skin stretched over the top. It has three strings and it looks for all the world to be an ornately decorated cardboard guitar that pre-schoolers fashion out of rubber bands and a shoe box. I still can’t believe the sound that comes out of its hollow center. It manages to be deep and mournful while having a cheerful quality that makes you want to dance. It reminds me of Morocco. An oxymoronic combination that somehow makes perfect sense.

Places I discovered today:
-Tour Hassan II, the enormous unfinished minaret intended for the Hassan mosque, built in 1196.
-A stall in the souk where I bought myself a fluffy pink bath towel.
-The Oudaïa Kasbah, a fortress at the edge of the medina, with buildings of blue and white stucco that evoke Andalusia.
-The surf hut on the beach, where I drank tea and listened to Jason Mraz in the rain.
-L’ensemble artisinal: a goldmine I stumbled upon. It houses a number of Moroccan artists who use it as a studio, a residence, and a marketplace. I met a young painter there who was eager to answer all my questions and welcomed me back anytime I want. I will be sure to take him up on that.

Until next time. Bisoux!