Moroccan Maiden
I had the fortune of beginning my college education as a student on an ocean liner that traveled the world. My parents had close friends whose daughter had studied and traveled this way for two years, and her stories, intellect and worldly knowledge were quite impressive. Carol was the type of young lady that would have made the best of a junior college experience, but she was an excellent ambassador for what was first known as the University of the Seven Seas.
The year I attended (Fall 1967-1968), was quite extraordinary in the world of political affairs, as well as in the history of the sailing university. That was the year that fierce fighting in the Arab-Israeli War resulted in a first time closing of the Suez Canal. Being a successful teen model, embodying the African American version of the “California Girl”, living in Los Angeles, these events would normally have been of little importance to me. But because I was about to expand my horizons, traveling the world by its oceans and seas, this turned out to be of great significance.
One experience I will always cherish was the visit to the North African port of Casablanca, Morocco . The city has such a rich and exotic culture. It would be my first experience being in a land where people of color were in the majority. With people of all shades of brown I was eager to explore the feeling of blending in and becoming one with the native people. I was also fortunate in that I spoke French, one of the countries’ major languages. Mrs. Marquez, my high school French teacher, had always complimented me on my accent.
Our first day out shopping, I headed straight to the Old Medina, the souk where Casablanca ’s residents did their shopping. No tourist markets for me, I was looking for a Djellaba, the long robe worn by the local women. I added the accompanying head wear and face coverings and Voila! My transformation was complete! And what a transformation it was. Now, speaking French and covered head to toe in the traditional garments, I became a Moroccan.
However, the deepest implications of my obviously very authentic image hit home that evening as I walked up the gangplank and attempted to board the ship with my friends. There was a normal routine that consisted of first passing the port officials, then greeting the designated ship officers. After doing it so many times, one was no longer required to show your passport and documents, as the officers by now were familiar with the faces of their 300 or more student body. This evening was different though, because I greeted them in French instead of English, and for all intents and purposes, I looked like a Djellaba covered Moroccan woman.
Before the officers could allow me to step onto the ship, the local port police thrust their arms in front of me and told me, “Arête!! Arête!!” They were ordering me to stop. Very adamantly they were not about to allow me to board the ship. In French, they kept asking me where I was from. In my playful mood, the first time they asked I said, “Je suis (I am) Moroccan”. My friends and I, being young college kids were all laughing at the confusion I was creating. Each time they asked me, I would switch, where I said I was from between being Moroccan and American. I kept responding, “Je suis Americaine”, but I would pronounce Americaine with my very good accent, and it would sound like I said, “Je suis Moroccan”.
Things took a serious turn when the ships’ officers finally told my friends to embark, but said that I would not be allowed onboard. When we all asked why, we were told that the port police had determined that I was a Moroccan prostitute attempting to get onboard to offer my services to the young men! Overcoming my shock, and now very sober, I began to speak English, and the ships’ Captain was called. He quickly verified my identity and ushered me onboard.
Needless to say, I realized after reflecting upon all of the experiences I had that first day wearing the Djellaba, that donning a costume worn by the local people one is visiting, entails a lot more than, “Hey look at me! I look just like the natives!” For, truly respecting the dignity of the people and the cultures that one meets is much more than a surface effort. The significance of customs and learning what’s behind the symbols of that culture is as much an important part of the travel experience, as being there. I learned that I could easily look like a native, but that behaving like one was a completely different matter.
And because you know, I love to create a banquet for you, here's.....a bit more.......
In the Heart of the Medina:
The Medina, the walled city, is the centre of traditional urban life in North Africa today. The maze of confusing streets is the home to the souk or market where traditional crafts are still practised and offered for sale. Modern and traditional urban women mingle with peasants in from the countryside who have come to ply their wares and make special purchases. Continue on a winding narrow ravine-like street between the high walls of the flanking buildings and you will come past solid, wooden doors, decorated and protected with an amulet, offering the possibility of entry with a huge bronze knocker often shaped like a hand. But what one cannot see is the world which opens if one can only pass these doors, past a blind entryway, to where they open on magnificent tiled courtyards with gardens and a fountain, surrounded by rooms which all open to the central communal space and the distant sky. This is the domain of women, their work place and traditionally a place for their celebrations: births, circumcisions, marriages, sacrifices, trance-healing rituals and eventually death.
Eric Tournaire
Serpent in Batik by Eric Tournaire
Moroccan artist
Water Color and ink on Paper
Eric Tournaire was born in 1958 in Africa, in Casablanca, Morocco. He lived there until 1974. In 1981, thanks to its education and scholarship, he spent one and a half months in Burkina Faso, Cote d'Ivoire, and Ghana. He returned to Morocco in 1999. He painted as an assistant of Claude Morin for 10 years, building its iconography of African inspiration. He lived and painted in Pennes - Mirabeau, still developing his particular universe.
Africa ... Africa, the cradle of humanity, is one of my sources of inspiration most intense and the paintings of Korhogo, in northern Côte d'Ivoire. The magic of nature at large, with his powers and cosmogonies primitive touch me a lot. In my paintings I try to refer to all these civilizations that succeeded and mixed in the crucible of the history of this continent. By overlay patterns, colors, and transparencies, I try to express a succession of images, legends, religions and myths together closely in the space of my paintings and drawings.To obtain a summary of these overlays I use different techniques with each other.
Check the Inside African Art link for more of the art being created today by Africa's artists.
http://www.insideafricanart.com/
And here's more!
A wonderful website detailing a festival of extraordinary music of the the Black Africans of Morocco. The festival is in it's 11th year and will be held June 26 - 29, 2008 in Morocco. Some of the website is in French, but much of it is in English, and the homepage offers a taste of the music. Go There! http://www.festival-gnaoua.net/
Gnawa are the descendents of slaves originating from Black Africa who established brotherhoods throughout Morocco. They are made up of master musicians (maâlem), metal castanet players, clairvoyants, mediums and their followers.
They are at the same time musicians, initiators and healers, blending African and Arabo-Berber customs. Despite being Muslims, the Gnawa base their ritual on djinn (spirits) straight from the the African cult of possession.
The most spectacular and important ceremony is the Lila, whose function is essentially therapeutic. During the celebration the maâlem and his group call on the saints and supernaturel entities to take possession of their followers who fall into trance.
Their instruments : 3 stringed percussive lute (guembri) Large metal castanets (qraqeb) Drums (ganga)
Their ritual can be compared to Haïtian voodoo and Brazilian macumba.
The music of the brotherhood - of which only the profane part is played on stage to the public during the festival - has sparked a wave of emulators on the international scene.
GLOSSARY
23rd of June. It is Festival time. The town's buzzing. The craze, that the Gnaoua music creates in peoples' heads, is toxic, contagious. You cannot escape it in these next 4 days. Concerts from 6 p.m. to sometimes 3 in the morning. I am loving it. "
