A Part of Me in Morocco: Gnaouan Music and It's Ethiopian Influence

One thing that has stood out for me on a few occasions are the Gnaouan people of Morocco. The Gnaouan are a group of individuals in Morocco that seem to hold an important part in the musical culture of the land. I am sure they are also looked to in other cultural media, but we, as American tourist, have been privy to the musical aspect of the culture of the Gnaouan. What is fascinating to me is the resemblance that the Gnaouans have to a popular part of the Ethiopian musical tradition.

Though I was born in the United States, my parents migrated to the US 3 years before I was born. So much of my social life was based on a fusion of American everyday life with Ethiopian cultural representations. While I played basketball, video games, and ate McDonald's much of the time like any typical American kid in the 80's, I also ate injera, knew how to dance iskista, and understood a language looked at confusedly by the non-Ethiopians around me.

Now, traveling through Morocco and absorbing all that it has to offer, one of the aspects that seems to tug at my soul is that of the Gnaouan and their music. We visited a group of Gnaouans in a small brick and clay room, a structure that we drove what I would guess was between 30 - 45 minutes from our hotel to reach, passing very few small, organized communities. (An example of the communities we passed was a home of a family that we stopped to drop small tokens of what we thought they might enjoy. The home had a maximum of 3 other small properties a good few hundred feet from each other...and that was it. There was not another structure in site for as long as the eye could see).

When we walked in to the small structure, the 4 men and one teenage boy that made up the Gnaouan performers had already started. We sat down and were treated to tea by another gentleman who was not part of the performing, dressed in traditional Gnaouan attire. It resembled the Nech Libs that is traditional for men to wear in many Ethiopian communities of old, and even now during holidays, celebrations, and I imagine in some parts of Ethiopia as well.

The next thing that struck me as very familiar was, sometime during the middle of their time-honored dance, they began to move their shoulders up and down. This is not a dance that I have found typical in most of Africa. In Ethiopia, however, a very popular dance that we have is called Iskista. It is one that requires the dancer to move only the shoulders (and you are free to move it just about however you want to the beat).

When this first song ended, the next obvious sign of resemblance to Ethiopian culture was one of the instruments played by one of the Gnaouan men. It is a big bassed drum called a Tbel. Though I have seen smaller versions played in parts of west Africa, its size, sound, and the tempo at which it was played reminded me of the same drum found in the Ethiopian churches.

Along with these two examples, our stay in Essaouira, a gorgeous city along the waters of the Atlantic, provided a third example. While waiting for our food at an out door restaurant in the medina of Essaouira, we were serenaded by 3 Gnaouans. One of the instruments played by one of the Gnaouans was strikingly similar to an instrument in Ethiopia called a Masinqo. Made up of seemingly the same parts (a bow, and what can be described as a one string violin), the melodic sound that flowed from the instrument was identical to that of the Masinqo. To top it off, one of the other performers, for a few seconds, broke out into the same shoulder dance that we witnessed with the Gnaouans in the small home.

In asking questions (something I do often), I learned (unofficially) that the Gnaouans originated in east Africa. At some point in their history they began migrating north and west, eventually settling in modern-day Morocco, as well as other regions of north and west Africa. It seems clear, though I will have to do actual research, that the Gnaouans have strong ties to Ethiopia, at least musically. While it seems they kept a few of the traditions in that light, we see many other aspects of the Gnaouan musical culture that do not resemble Ethiopia as I know it. The Krakebs (iron castinets, a potentially Spanish influence), the language of the song (entirely Arabic), and some of the dances all suggest the modern-day Gnaouans have been impacted by their environment over time. What I find captivating every time I watch them perform is that it also holds historic roots in what I find has had a strong impact in my life. Who would have known that I would find a specific part of me in Morocco.

Go Find Out

Sbah Ilkhir. We are literally one day past the half way point and I am writing for the first time...partially because Azeb said so :P, and partially because I am finally ready to do so. This blog is both an intro into what this trip means and, as the title might suggest, has a point to it as well. I have long hungered to travel to a new and original location, meet its people, see its land, taste its food, etc. Though the various PBS docs on Tuscany, the Galapagos Islands, etc helped me see how wonderful these places could be, I had never actually gone anywhere exciting like that. It was time for me to Go Find Out.

As I had said at least 50 times (no exaggeration) during the first week plus of this trip, this has been an AMAZING trip. The bar has been raised exponentially in regards to all the aspects a journey entails. To begin with, I am traveling with 12 other educators and an administrator, as well as two Moroccans that have worked as our guides, and a driver who will be with us the length of the trip, all of which have very unique and original personalities, histories, and everyday lives. To be able to travel with, talk to, bump heads with, have intellectual discourse with, and to be allowed into the lives of these individuals has been, in and of itself, a powerful part of this trip. I have heard repeatedly (especially from the veterans of travel) that an individual who goes through this type of adventure and doesn’t leave a changed individual has serious issues. Though I tend to resemble an individual with serious issues, the 17 or so individuals who have made up this caravan have, in and of themselves, created the opportunity for me to look at life anew in the healthiest of ways. I thank you all...so far. We do have another 2 plus weeks left of course...watch your backs.

As far as the trek and what it has entailed, as Aileen says in one of her blogs, I do not know if I am capable of relaying through words what this trip has meant to me. From the airport in Amsterdam (waiting for our connection flight, beginnings of conversations, getting pushed to the front of the security line either because we are American or our flight was close to leaving-not sure really, to having to wait at the security point because of issues with 2 passengers ahead of us, to Quiana getting grilled by an over-zealous security guard for her picture flashing, to a great convo with Luis and Quiana on the plane); to the truck stop that we had dinner in on the way to Fes from the airport in Casablanca (Eddie and I thought we were lost the first night we were there); to the small as can be shower in our hotel in Fes, to our Arabic classes (Abderrahim and Said our language instructors, Joel and his teh-wah-teh, to the hot as hell classroom, to visiting the medina, to the elaborate welcoming at the middle school JUST FOR US, to the beautiful children and loving teachers that we connected with there, to the half a millennia old books, to being Tagined out within the FIRST WEEK!); to the non-stop moving that came after that. City after city, hotel after hotel, stop after stop, we were moving yall.

It is Moroccos ‘selling point’ that Morocco represents a culmination of such variety in regards to culture, which can be linked primarily to its history and its location. It has been made clear to us that it is not only its people that represent diversity. Its landscape demonstrates this same personality. It is a character that the United States vast ‘property’ boasts...the Grand Canyons, the lush North Western Pacific Coast, the Rockies in Colorado, etc. Well, Morocco, with much less land, bellows just as loud, if not louder. We have been privy to the likes of enormous mountains, sweeping deserts abruptly interrupted by an oasis, locations with layers (a limitless area of deep green trees, backed by an endless amount of orangish-red brick and clay buildings, all of which falls on a background of tan and brown hills and mountains of all shapes and sizes), beautiful bodies of water, gorges, and much more. All the while during these explorations we have encountered some wonderfully gracious and welcoming folks, characters of all kinds, hustlers, on-lookers, and anything else you would imagine (and probably couldn’t imagine) along the way. One example is this one guy, while sitting with his two buddies in a medina we were walking through. As we navigated the pathway, passing the gentleman and his comrades, our obvious American-ness sparked his chanting of “That’s what she said! That’s what she said! That’s what she said!”, a good 5 or 6 times, all the while swiveling in our direction as we passed to make sure we heard him the entire time. What?! Word?!

What’s crazy is, I have written quite a considerable amount in this blog about our trip in general, and this does nothing more than scratch the surface for those of you who were not here to experience it. For those of us who were, or for those who have experienced something similar, it triggers a different kind of travel...one that is interpersonal. One that allows you to recite this adventure, or whatever adventure you have been on, the way YOU experienced it. I am sure if I blogged daily our excursions you would say to yourself, wow, that was a great trip...it was like I was there. Trust me when I say, it would have done nothing more than give you a glimpse...the reality is unless you experience these things for yourself, the sites, the smells, the tastes, the sounds, the sensations, you will never truly know. It is why I, as a teacher, remind my little ones...if you are interested, Go Find Out.

Morocco

I cannot believe that we our halfway through this adventure and I have not yet blogged! You may ask, Why? Of course, I had plans to blog everyday, but one very important lesson I have learned from this trip is that things don’t always go as planned. By allowing myself to innocently enjoy the surprises that await me behind every corner of this magical country, I have grown as a person. I find it extremely difficult to put what I have seen and learned into words that will accurately and fairly depict this incredibly rich culture and place. It is truly amazing and has changed my life in ways I never imagined possible. I’ve decided to put some of my thoughts into a poem, which is a work in progress…

M-magnificent esthetically, mesmerizing is the beat of the drums, mystical culture, magical vibes everywhere, majestic Atlas mountains, meaningful traditions, mosque full of prayers, mining for fossils, myths, medina so vibrant, markets filled with freshness, mint tea promotes so much sharing, Mellah in every medina full of Jewish traditon, Merzouga one of my favorites, minarets of gold, mosaics cover the buildings, mzyan, Muslim, metsharfeen(nice to meet you), merhba(hello), manik tguit?(How are you? Berber), menshkk?(How much? Berber), manigh illa ssuqq?(where is the market? Berber), Moulay Idriss the powerful ruler, Miknasa Berbers-founders of Teza and formation of the Idrisid dynasty, Mohammed the prophet, Midelt, Meknes and the royal golf course, music imbedded in the culture, Marrakech a city that never sleeps, Mogador(the old name for the city of Essaouria), Moulay Yacoub(builder of the Koutoubia mosque), Moorish, madrasa(school) so important to the children, mausoleum, Mediterranean, mentors who we can’t thank enough for sharing so much, MEARN, mixtures, Mecca, Maroc, Maghreb(refers to western area of Africa relative to eastern-orient), movement, medicinal medicine used for treatment,

O-olives of green and black color, Oleander which smells so fragrant, overwhelming of the 5 senses, ocean-one familiar and one new, ocean breeze cooling the body temperature, Ouarzazete and the gorge of Dades, overnight with host family, Organization of African Unity(50 countries that make up the continent of Africa),

R-race, religion the 5 principles, racism(perception of), racial discrimination(perception of), racial intolerance(perception of), Romans built Volibulous, radiant, Rose Valley and Berber lipstick, riads so surprising when you enter, robe, rugs carrying meaning that will roll into your own home, rulers, remember, Rabat the capital, Rabbi, regions, red flag with green star, riding horseback along the Atlantic at sunset, Rasta,

O-oils so smooth, official, Ouezane, oral literature(Sundiata) never gets lost, open grassland with sheep roaming, open arms for all who come,

C-calming scents of the flowers, couscous(ksksu) with apricots and raisins, community, carriage ride through Marrakech taking in the sights, cats everywhere, cumin a spice used often, construction happening everywhere, class, clapping of the Ganaun musicians, chanting, cherish the sense of family, charming, call to prayer echoes, civilizations, cultural intercommunication, cultural diversity, colors like a Kalidescope, creative craftsmen still honored, crossroads of cultures, crammed medinas, coming to terms with stereotypes,

C-class, cabbage in the soup, chicken tagine, chariot that used to run prevalent, camels in the desert watching the sunset, Casablanca, culture so rich, cooperatives of women making Argon oil and beautiful rugs, ceremony of a wedding, communication of all types, continent of Africa is amazing, citizen, contributions, circles as symbols, cry for equality, complex, colonization, cactus in the desert, censorship, compass pointed toward Mecca, circle of drums, changes, challenging, Castles in the Sand (J. Hendrix), crescent moon overhead, crescent shaped almond cookies with a covering of honey,

O-obedient women, Oasis of Tineghir so green and beautiful, offering, old, original, obsolete, oranges in the trees of the riads, organized, offerings, open skies almost like in a backdrop of a movie, origins,

The Day I Cried in Africa

Today we took a 7-hour ride to the Sahara Desert.  The city near the desert is called Merzouga  We are staying in a hotel called Timbuktu.  If you know the history of Timbuktu you will know that this area in Morocco was once a part of Mali and eventually was taken over by Islam and boundaries were cut.  The hotel is absolutely magnificent.  It is so magnificent that I felt guilty, (American guilt).  After taking in the beauty we were ready for our camel ride to the sand dunes of the Sahara.  You are on flat ground with rocks one minute and the desert just starts.  It is a blending of unbelievable colors; black that turns into an orangeish yellow.  The camel ride was amazing and everyone was in awe of the beauty of Northern Africa and the Sahara desert.  Once into the dunes, we got off the camels and walked to the top of the dunes where you could see the sun set.  Imagine leaving earth and flying so high that you felt breathless; can you?  I felt overwhelmed by the experience and almost began to cry.  We took pictures and watched the sun set.

Dinner was a wonderful experience.   It was a buffet with Moroccan salad and other traditional food.  We ate and drank and felt merry.  We were enjoying each other’s company and talking about the experiences we are going to take home.  Later that night, the moment I have been waiting for—drumming.  The drumming was great, but I must admit I did get a little upset.  See, drumming is my thing.  I take it seriously and the rhythms and history of the music I am trying to learn.  I got up and started playing with the drummers.  I then danced.  Then our guide, trying to get everyone involved asked them to come up and play.  I understood, but to me they are not drums to just beat and make noise.  You must respect them and learn their Afro-Islamic rhythms and music and dance.  I let my needs move to the side to appease the guide, the touristy aspect of the drumming bothers me.

Since I have been studying Afro-Cuban drumming and folkloric music, I came to Northern Africa to study the Ganawa music.  They are decedents of Mali and Sudan that were brought over as slaves at one time.  They settled in Northern Africa and mixed their West African music with Islamic music.  They are darker skinned that most Moroccans.  The one thing that is apparent in Morocco, they are united through language.  Don't get me wrong, racism does exist, but it feels different. They don’t understand our concept of race.  Consistently, when the Americans on the trip, bring up race, the Moroccans reply, “we are all Moroccans, our language unites us not color”.  As always, the realization that America is so race driven is an everyday thought  for me back at home.

I loved dancing and singing with the Ganawa people.  I really wanted to stop and talk with them about their music and what the religious chants meant, but we were pushed to move on.  I almost began to cry due to my love for the music and the connection I felt with the people.  I have a CD if anyone is interested.

Next, we went further into the desert where we came across men mining.  We stopped to talk and look into the mines.  One colleague, Joel, stated that there are just ropes dropping down into the mines.  We all realized that this was suicide and crazy to work in the mines.  One of the workers then came to us and showed us the rocks they were mining.  He said they are used for European makeup companies to make your mascara.  All of our hearts dropped.  It was at this moment that Q (one of the other African-American women) and I started to cry.  We know exploitation of the African continent is abundant and we even teach about it to our students.  However, it was too real at this moment.  I could not contain my anger, guilt, and helplessness.   It took a moment to recompose and as I write my composure is leaving.  Just a minute……………………

Tomorrow we are leaving for another city.  I am not sure where we are going, but I am sure it will be adventurous and a history lesson. 

Day Fourteen: Ouarzazate?! I Got Two Turntables and a Microphone!

After a lovely stay in Boumalne du Dadès, we made our way over to (relatively) uninspiring Ouarzazate. Once an important commercial intersection, the city (and its surrounding area) now serves as a film location. Our first night there was rather chill, a welcome break from the urgent pace we’ve been on. Our first full day in Ouarzazate had us visiting the Taourirt Kasbah close to the city center. Next, we had lunch and then went to the ksar (walled/fortified city) at Aït Benhaddou. A nice hike after a huge lunch, we climbed to the very top of the place and reached the agadir (a fortified lookout) and took in the sweeping views of green agricultural life to the left of us and the clay-colored desert mountains to the right. Boy, was it stunning and windy up there! We returned, hopped in the pool for a minute, and had dinner before we went off to explore the discotheque right next door.

Discotheque Byblos had to be the only place open in the entire city for any kind of nightlife. The club was in the hotel next door to ours marked only by a small sign surrounded by red Christmas lights. Entering Discotheque Byblos was entering 1977 during Disco’s heyday. Everything about the place seemed so antiquated that it bordered on kitschy (though not the intended aim I am sure). Twinkling lights covered the walls while a dusty disco ball hovered above reflecting its luminous rays. The old wooden bar was well lit in sharp contrast to the dark of the dance area with a just a handful of bottles dotted behind the bartender spaced far apart and companionless – this was no Broadway Bar.

When we entered the club it was empty save for the employees. The DJ must have assumed that we were American (at the very least, definitely not Moroccan) because as soon as we walked by the dance floor, the DJ busted some De La Soul. Within a few minutes some local Ouarzazites began to trickle in, including a few other Americans, coincidentally enough, also participating in a Fulbright-Morocco program (what are the odds, right?!). One of the first songs played after De La was a disco track that I’d never heard, but which quickly became my new favorite song. Ever. All I know about the song (other than its infections melody), is that the chorus went something like this: “D-I-S-C-O, D-I-S-C-Ohhhhhh-ooohhhhhh – the last set of “O’s” crescendo-ing into the singer describing a woman by “acronymically” using the letters in “disco.” It was wild! The music at the club consisted of your standard euro-inspired house but sprinkled with some familiar gems (a little MJ, Bob Marley, and even Dr. Dre). We danced the night away (Toni, Quiana, and Joel even rocked the electric slide like it was nobody’s business) and had some cool conversation with our fellow U of A Fulbrighters over some Heinekens. Overall, a delightful night. A free drink on me when I get back if you can name the “D-I-S-C-O” song.

Currently listening to: The Mighty Diamonds - Stand Up To Your Judgement

"No Hyphens Necessary"

It was a bittersweet day in Merzouga. I got a strong dose of "privileged guilt." We took four wheel drives to surrounding Amazigh villages. First we frolicked in the dunes. Our driver obliged slight encouragement from backstreet drivers. I must admit after the initial "do I have my medical insurance card?" fear subsided, I let go and had a ball.

Shortly after, we arrived in a small cooperative where the Gnaoua men performed. Here is where things began to trouble me. As I sat there and observed, a feeling of "loss" washed over me. I began reflecting about the harshness of life. I was reminded about my family's patriarch we call Papa Grimes and his slave narrative that candidly paints the brutal reality of his servitude that fueled a system that honors business more than life itself. I thought about the abundance of wealth that has been drained from this awe-inspiring continent. Even driving to this "performance," I took in the earth's stark contrasts. Literally, black rock, somehow eroding into beautiful, soft, orange dunes, almost completely blowing away remnants of evidence that huge bodies of water used to nourish this area. Only fossils are left...Very symbolic.

Anyway, as the hynoptic drone of devotional Islamic chants pulled me in (I think Sufi praises) tears began forming pools inside my lower lids; perhaps a tribute to the surrounding environment that had been robbed. Robbed of water by the sun, robbed of millions of its people, robbed of natural resources, culture....do I need to keep going? I sat in complete humility as my adoring comrades imitated and innocently indulged in their ancient practices. I felt my own isolation; a Black American tourist just passing through to laugh, dance, take pictures, and leave. This dissonance disturbed me.

I recalled an interesting story from another fulbrighter, Toni. As she entered Morocco, the official asked her why she put "African-American." It never occurred to her that outside the United States, "American-ness" had no distinctions as she had been accustomed. Moroccans, no matter what color they are, are no more or less Moroccan. The distinction, however, is language. Language, more than color, is the uniter of people. However, our obsession with race has determined the fate of so many generations in America. She [Toni] glanced over at Ben's passport information and she noticed that he filled out "American"; no hyphen necessary. The concept of "African-American" is an illusion outside of America. For Toni and me, it's always been a bridge to connect identities. When the Gnaoua men played those timeless rhythms, the drums beckoned her, and she happily danced across that hyphen.

For me, I cried thinking about attaching my identity to a place that doesn't seem to know us. Who was I at that moment? Had I crossed the line between an authentic experience, or simply being "entertained?" Did they see me as the customs official saw Toni; an American with a hyphen to an entire continent? Or was I a European or American coming to offer scraps for a taste of culture? Was I participating in exploitation? When the group left, I felt very emotional. Later that evening, I shared my thoughts with my roommate, Paulette. She listened and then asked a very basic question, "What makes you think that they want what we've been taught to want?" A very fair question indeed. Here I am projecting my worldview of freedom and justice on others. The word "amazigh" means "free man" if I'm not mistaken. Perhaps it's my western worldview in how to see land ownership as power. Perhaps I will reflect more about what it means to be "free."

Evening Reflections

We’ve experienced so much already on this trip, and we’ve really only just begun. I don’t think I can ever fully describe what I’ve seen or how I’m feeling.

The other night, I needed a little time by myself to try to process it all, so I walked out onto the terrace of our hotel. It was evening, and I watched the sun set slowly over the town. The green of the palm trees lining the river stood in stark contrast to the barren hills beyond. A neon sign blinked on and off in a pharmacist’s window, and the cars in the distance began to turn on their headlights.

Soon, the call to prayer began. At the same time, cheering rang out over the city. We’d seen groups of men gathered together to watch the world cup semi-finals, and some of my colleagues were huddled around the hotel’s television in communion with leagues of soccer fans worldwide. As a particularly exciting play occurred, my friends were part of the excitement that swept through the town of Dades.

I stood there, listening to the overlapping sounds of the prayers and the cheers. The sky darkened to an inky black. Slowly, slowly, I said goodbye to the night sky, turned, and went back inside.