(no subject)
I had always wondered what the souks were like after dark. Yesterday, I got to find out. Kamal had found someone he thought I would like to talk to - a seller of traditional musical instruments who has a little shop deep in the heart of the labyrinth. I arranged to meet up with K that evening, and head in to speak to our guy after he closed up.
Kamal was a mere thirty minutes late, which in effect was actually early. He arrived with a couple of friends to help out, both of them called Youssef. He has started doing this a lot, bringing his friends with him on jobs. It's not ideal, but on the other hand they are all very good guys and we socialise together, so really I suppose I am quite lucky to have a nice group of Moroccan friends, only one of whom is charging me a daily rate for the privilege. Anyway Kamal, the two Youssefs and I all headed off together into the souks. It was very busy with people doing last-minute shopping or socialising after work, but the shopkeepers were all starting to take down all their wares and pull down the shutters. The alleyways had a very different character by night; the dusty beams of sunlight slanting through the slatted roofs were gone, replaced by vague pools of orange light around the occasional stall or glimpsed at the end of a distant doorway. As the people thinned out, some stray cats and dogs started to emerge and pick around in the detritus. There was a lovely mood everywhere which made me think of words like crepuscular and tenebral.
The stall we were heading towards was located in a little sub-section off to left of the main pathway, some ten minutes' walk from the square. Our guy was there waiting for us with a few colleagues. He was a great subject, really friendly and talkative and about my age. Amazingly, his name turned out to be Youssef as well. I was starting to feel that those of us not called Youssef should maybe have a tie struck or something so we could spot each other in the street.
The interview went very well, mainly because he spoke good enough French that I could do it myself and not rely on K's translation. He had plenty to say about how important music was in Marrakshi society and how young people are increasingly turning away from it in favour of Robbie Williams and the like. By the time we had finished talking it was late and the souks were deserted. A crowd of nearby shopkeepers had gathered behind me to watch their friend be interviewed.
It was quite late, but I needed some pictures of Youssef doing something. I wondered if he could play any of the instruments? He could. As it happens, he was an accomplished Gnawa musician. Bingo. So Youssef pulls out this incredible three-stringed guembri made from goat hide, sits on a stool outside his shop, and in the deserted dark little alleyway he starts to play a song. The music is wonderful, very bluesy, the acoustics in the empty street are perfect. He starts to sing, a clear high voice. The song seems very mournful and beautiful. One of his friends picks up a pair of iron Berber castanets and begins to clack out an accompanying rhythm. The song lasts for nearly ten minutes, there are so many opportunities for good shots that I am hardly thinking at all, in a little work-zone (this is very rare for me..). I half-wish that I could just stop and listen though.
Eventually it finishes, and two of the Youssefs come back with me through the empty lanes. I am very happy with my life, it is so much fun to work when this is your job...I just hope I can make it financially remunerative. Best of all, the song he was singing was called La Illaha Illa'Allah, that beautiful phrase from the call to prayer which links everything in nicely for me. Gnawa is not Islamic music per se, it is a very different tradition which uses a similar religious language; Muslims will say that it is a different religion worshipping the same God.
Funnily enough, my i-pod picked this Steve Earl song out as I was dropping off to sleep last night:
I'm just an American boy
raised on MTV
and I've seen all the kids
in their soda-pop bands
but none of em looked like me.
So I started looking around
for a light out of the dim
and the first thing I heard
that made sense was the word
of Mohammed, peace be upon him
Ash'hadu, la illaha illa'Allah
There is no god but God...
Kamal was a mere thirty minutes late, which in effect was actually early. He arrived with a couple of friends to help out, both of them called Youssef. He has started doing this a lot, bringing his friends with him on jobs. It's not ideal, but on the other hand they are all very good guys and we socialise together, so really I suppose I am quite lucky to have a nice group of Moroccan friends, only one of whom is charging me a daily rate for the privilege. Anyway Kamal, the two Youssefs and I all headed off together into the souks. It was very busy with people doing last-minute shopping or socialising after work, but the shopkeepers were all starting to take down all their wares and pull down the shutters. The alleyways had a very different character by night; the dusty beams of sunlight slanting through the slatted roofs were gone, replaced by vague pools of orange light around the occasional stall or glimpsed at the end of a distant doorway. As the people thinned out, some stray cats and dogs started to emerge and pick around in the detritus. There was a lovely mood everywhere which made me think of words like crepuscular and tenebral.
The stall we were heading towards was located in a little sub-section off to left of the main pathway, some ten minutes' walk from the square. Our guy was there waiting for us with a few colleagues. He was a great subject, really friendly and talkative and about my age. Amazingly, his name turned out to be Youssef as well. I was starting to feel that those of us not called Youssef should maybe have a tie struck or something so we could spot each other in the street.
The interview went very well, mainly because he spoke good enough French that I could do it myself and not rely on K's translation. He had plenty to say about how important music was in Marrakshi society and how young people are increasingly turning away from it in favour of Robbie Williams and the like. By the time we had finished talking it was late and the souks were deserted. A crowd of nearby shopkeepers had gathered behind me to watch their friend be interviewed.
It was quite late, but I needed some pictures of Youssef doing something. I wondered if he could play any of the instruments? He could. As it happens, he was an accomplished Gnawa musician. Bingo. So Youssef pulls out this incredible three-stringed guembri made from goat hide, sits on a stool outside his shop, and in the deserted dark little alleyway he starts to play a song. The music is wonderful, very bluesy, the acoustics in the empty street are perfect. He starts to sing, a clear high voice. The song seems very mournful and beautiful. One of his friends picks up a pair of iron Berber castanets and begins to clack out an accompanying rhythm. The song lasts for nearly ten minutes, there are so many opportunities for good shots that I am hardly thinking at all, in a little work-zone (this is very rare for me..). I half-wish that I could just stop and listen though.
Eventually it finishes, and two of the Youssefs come back with me through the empty lanes. I am very happy with my life, it is so much fun to work when this is your job...I just hope I can make it financially remunerative. Best of all, the song he was singing was called La Illaha Illa'Allah, that beautiful phrase from the call to prayer which links everything in nicely for me. Gnawa is not Islamic music per se, it is a very different tradition which uses a similar religious language; Muslims will say that it is a different religion worshipping the same God.
Funnily enough, my i-pod picked this Steve Earl song out as I was dropping off to sleep last night:
I'm just an American boy
raised on MTV
and I've seen all the kids
in their soda-pop bands
but none of em looked like me.
So I started looking around
for a light out of the dim
and the first thing I heard
that made sense was the word
of Mohammed, peace be upon him
Ash'hadu, la illaha illa'Allah
There is no god but God...