Moroccan Nights
I had begun my journey in Marrakech in southern Morocco. It seemed as good a place as any to start, if only because it is perhaps one of the most famous towns in Morocco, drawing larger numbers of foreigners than any other. As a rule of thumb, you can measure the number of tourists by the price of the unremarkable assortment of scarves, tajines, rugs and general tat that every traveller in North Africa is familiar with: in Marrakech, you have to haggle hard to get anywhere near to an item’s true value.
Quite why this city, which at first sight it must be admitted looks not much different from any other large Moroccan town, has captured the imagination of so many is hard to fathom. It is only upon visiting the southern edge of the Medina—Arabic for city, but generally referring to any walled old town—that you can really understand the lure of Marrakech. Here you can see the large open space known as the Djema al Fna. The first thing you’ll see is the smoke from the food stalls, the lights of the stands; and you'll hear the strange lilting rhythms of musicians. Much of the square is given over to food of various sorts, piles of fresh oranges and heaps of dates, spices and other dried fruits. Moroccan markets, I must add, are fascinating, if a little disconcerting, with all kinds of meat, fish, vegetables and sickly honey sweetmeats left out in the hot streets during the day.
Most of the excitement of the Djema, however, can be had from the little huddles of snake charmers, street entertainers and story tellers that have an air about them, perhaps resonating in the red earth walls of the Medina, of the ancient bazaars of Timbuktu to the south and of the long hot miles of the caravan routes in between. Perhaps it reminds us of Marrakech’s position roughly in the centre of Morocco. To the North and East can be seen the beginnings of the Atlas Mountains which cut across Morocco. Here the land is dry and desolate up to the more verdant north, but on the coast, say at Agadir, the cool Atlantic breeze makes the climate very agreeable. To the South, beginning around Tan-Tan, are the dunes of the Sahara. It was across these dunes, one of the most inhospitable of the earth’s wastelands, that the Almohad armies came to establish their capital in Marrakech and after them the flow of gold caravans from Ghana and West Africa.
Here, not far from the Djema and gracing the low skyline is the slender minaret of the Katoubia Mosque, perhaps the most perfect example of North African Islamic architecture. The design is restrained, yet varied – a combination of three differing window recesses topped by a ring of coloured tiles and the replicas of three golden balls, the gift of the wife of Sultan Yacoub al Mansour.
It was Yacoub al Mansour (1184-1199) who built this minaret and and inspired the spread, in a relatively short space of time, of the very distinctive style of architecture found in the Hassan Minaret and the Giralda of Seville, the lasting reminders of an empire that once reached from its capital in Marrakech to Libya and central Spain. This defines what we today call the Maghreb. This dynasty began as one of the many religious movements that have marked the Muslim world. A cleric, Ibn Tumart, ignited a religious revolution among the Berber tribes of the Atlas Mountains that sought moral reform, a reaffirmation of the unity of God and a return to the teachings of the Qu’ran and the Hadith – the two most important texts of Islam. This religious fervour was allied with a military strength that saw the capture of Marrakech in 1149. The succeeding Almoravid dynasty went on to forge one of the more successful attempts to unite the Maghreb – literally “place of the setting sun” in Arabic, a term used to refer both to Morocco and greater North Africa. This was a task made more difficult by the region's geography. Today, the Maghreb has achieved some measure of unity by means of the Arab Maghreb Union, consisting of Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Libya and Mauritania. Egypt, despite making overtures to join, has not been included, though Egyptian music, television and even dialect dominate North African culture.
The Arab conquest and the spread of Islam in the eighth century has had the greatest impact and been the most unifying factor in North Africa where, unlike in the Middle East, the Romano-Christian past was entirely swept away. Today, while only a few miles away from Europe and colonised in the past by both France and Spain, Morocco still draws its culture fundamentally from the distant Arab East.
Moroccan Arabic, known as Darija, is the first language of most Moroccans, the main exception being the Berbers—historically the indigenous inhabitants of North Africa, predating the Arab conquest—who speak a separate language. Today they are centred largely in the Atlas and Rif Mountains. Their tall stature and blonde hair once made them the prized slaves of the Arab Sultans and it is a stature still noticeable today – one blonde Berber girl was recently mistaken for Madeleine McCann. The most enduring legacy of the short-lived French protectorate is that French is widely spoken throughout the whole country. For much the same reason Spanish is the preferred European language in the North, particularly in the Rif and around Ceuta.
For all its variations in languages and ethnic groups—hardly helped by the very different and largely separate environments of coast, mountains and desert—Morocco is a remarkably homogenous society and many Moroccans are proud to belong to a country predominantly free of racial tensions. Speaking to a number of students at the Tacadoom Language Association in the capital Rabat, I am told that racism is largely an alien concept in Morocco. For instance, although most of its Jewish population left Morocco for Israel following its creation in 1948, a tiny minority still remains, and Morocco is the only Arab country with a Jewish Museum. Generally they were more concerned about the treatment of Moroccan emigrants to Spain and other European countries. Around 30,000 individuals emigrate to Spain each year in search of a better life, a figure which represents a substantial brain drain from Morocco.
It is no surprise that so many should want to leave: with unemployment at 20 per cent the difficulties of finding a job, even for those with qualifications, are a major source of worry and frustration for young people. Other than Spain, countries such as the USA are favourite destinations. Since the 9/11 attacks, however, it has become more difficult for Moroccans—and members of Arab countries generally—to gain entry to America. One of these was Johara, my hostess while I was in Rabat. Her husband currently works in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and she has been applying for a visa to go and join him for three years. Another side to the story, however, is the thousands of illegal immigrants from sub-Saharan countries such as Nigeria who attempt to reach Europe by passing through Morocco and in doing so face substantial risks both from the criminal gangs involved in the trafficking and Moroccan and Spanish security forces. It is estimated that around 6,000 people have been killed over the last decade, including eleven immigrants shot trying to enter Spanish territory at Ceuta which prompted an EU investigation in 2005.
After leaving Marrakech I took the train north to Rabat where I would spend most of my time teaching English at a local Language Association. My home for the next few weeks would be a small house in the historic medina. It is typical of traditional Moroccan houses, consisting of a central—in this case covered—court with rooms radiating off it, decorated with traditional stucco and “zellige” tiling. My work was just across the river in the sprawling suburb of Sale. Amal Sale, the Association at which I worked, is part of a number of such volunteer organisations that offer, among other things, the chance for young people to learn English, and are developing steadily as a growing force in local communities. Yassine, the director of a similar organisation, told me that their aim is to provide a learning and social environment, developing their members’ skills and helping them to find jobs. According to Yassine, while it is clearly very important for the Moroccan economy that more people learn English, there are few resources for doing so other than paying to go to British or American Language Schools, which many cannot afford.
It was during my stay in Rabat that I was able to enjoy two distinctive features of Moroccan culture. The first, common throughout North Africa, was the Hamam - which Johara’s brother Sidi Ahmed offered to take me to on his weekly visit. The closest thing to the baths of Ancient Rome, a hamam is a series of heated rooms of different temperatures in which you can sit, sweat the dirt off and wash with the water provided. There are separate hamams for men and women and both wear swimming costumes or an equivalent and bring their own soap and towels. You can also—and this is most useful for the clueless foreigner—pay an attendant to give you an exceedingly vigorous massage. Finally the hamam is, if anything, an opportunity to socialise, particularly for women who may have few other places where they can do so other than at home; cafés and bars are largely the preserve of men, tourists and prostitutes.
The second major event I was to witness during my stay was a Moroccan wedding, which is an occasion of great excitement for everyone and anyone who might have even the smallest connection to the bride and groom. Weddings are a national obsession, much enjoyed by all who are lucky enough to attend one and televised nightly for those who are not. The evening in question began at seven in the evening in one of the new and faceless tower blocks which are part of the growing development of Sale. It must be noted, however, guests are only expected to arrive at least an hour after that time and the couple several hours later. Their eagerly anticipated coming was announced by the peels of horns and the din of drums of a traditional band outside, along with the slightly more prosaic but no less celebratory sound of car horns. The bridal party was escorted up the packed stairs of the apartment block, the bride gorgeously dressed in traditional costume and on reaching the top she was hoisted on to a chair designed for the purpose—perhaps characterised more by glitter than taste—and processed around the room. In former times a fantasia was usual at great weddings. Still seen at cultural events, this was a display of horsemanship common among many Arab nations, involving a line of brilliantly mounted riders halting suddenly in mid gallop and discharging their rifles. Today this is symbolised instead by the bride’s escort who carry imitation firearms for the procession. Once over, the bride and groom will retire to change and it is not uncommon, I am told, for them to change up to five or ten times through the course of the night. Meanwhile a supper of lamb tajines was served at around one o’clock which we ate with our fingers. The dancing continued on until dawn.
Weddings are in some ways better than the nightlife of the capital. Rabat is hardly an exciting city and would have remained largely a picturesque backwater from the Middle Ages onwards had it not been chosen by the French as the capital of the protectorate. Even today it is a surprisingly unassuming town when compared to its bustling neighbour Casablanca. Its flowering to eminence under the Almohads was very short lived. A sign of the unfulfilled grandeur during this brief period of prosperity are the medieval walls which enclosed mostly empty space until the twentieth century. Another is the massive Tour Hassan, a stubby twin of the Katoubia minaret originally designed as part of a vast mosque of a capacity which the city’s relatively small population could not have hoped to have filled at any other age. After independence in 1956, King Mohammed V kept Rabat as the capital of the new Monarchy and he is buried in the ruins of the mosque together with his successor Hassan II. The monarchy plays a very important part in government and Moroccan life and the king’s picture can be seen everywhere, in cafés, shops and businesses. The present King, Mohammed VI, has been surprisingly radical in checking a number of the Human Rights abuses of his predecessors reign and his generally favourable stance towards America and Europe.
Islam has affected that relationship over the centuries. There is no better monument to Islam in the country than the fabulous Hassan II Mosque, a short train ride away in Casablanca. Built by the previous monarch with (sometimes unwilling) public subscriptions, it is a massive and awe-inspiring construction, at least the size of St Peter’s in Rome and perhaps larger. The interior is a magnificent synthesis of traditional craftsmanship and modern innovation, so that the beautiful patterned roof of the central hall can open to the sky and loud speakers are hidden in the woodwork. This is, if anything, a symbol that Islam is a defining characteristic of the country. Many Moroccans are very serious in their devotions: one student of mine, when asked to describe his daily routine in English, began by telling me the times of his daily prayer.
The War on Terror has affected Morocco as with many other Muslim states. The government was quick to denounce the September 11th attacks but unemployment and the slow growth of the economy have contributed to a gradual rise in extremism. This culminated in the suicide bombings in Casablanca in May 2003 which raised widespread outcry from Moroccans at large and increased public opposition to terrorism. Many women wear the veil but usually of their own choice and many others have adopted Western fashions and dress. American films and foreign music are popular and alcohol, though it is frowned upon, can be legally bought. Morocco, like Tunisia, is a country largely at peace with itself—despite the remaining controversy over the ownership of the Western Sahara—and with the West, and is a perfect example of a moderate Islamic state.
I end here, pausing with one final view, one of the most beautiful in Morocco. It is on a low hill set against the backdrop of distant mountains and in the long shade of the ruins of ancient tombs. Sheep are grazing nearby and far off I can see the whole of the old walled city of Fes el Bali, the old city of Fes. Night falls, the lights go on, and from the Kairouyine Mosque the muezzins begin their call.
Edmund Stewart is a fourth year Classics student
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