Djemaa el Fna

Stepping outside of Portland, outside of Maine, outside of New England, outside of America, outside of the first world, even.

Stepping into Morocco.

Stepping into Morocco and seeing that music is still just as important and integral and popular as it is here.

All that in a minute, but first:

In Marrakesh, there is a square called Djemaa el Fna. In a city that is fairly well adapted for the tourism influx, the Djemaa el Fna remains largely Moroccan. As such, it has some pretty incredible sights to see.

Largely Moroccan does not mean entirely Moroccan. It is a central square and during the daytime the booths set up. There are monkey handlers, snake charmers, story tellers and tooth pullers. There are booths selling orange juice, dates, figs. There are restaurants open to the fray, overlooking horse-drawn carriages, speeding taxis, zipping scooters, swerving bicyclists and the constant thrum of foot traffic. Barkers call out their wares, beggars ask for your mercy.

It's hectic, it's wild, it's exciting. The fact of the Djemaa el Fna is right there, inescapable, pressing down on you. But this seems a likely spot to run into westerners - or "gauree," if you will. And you will, it's a common sight in guidebooks and gawkers come and witness the spectacle and buy figs and watch the monkey handlers and snake charmers.

But there are so many elements that remain Moroccan. The teeth puller doesn't draw any Western clients. And the story tellers draw huge circles as they spin around, gesticulating and grinning as they tell their stories. But they tell them in darija, the Moroccan dialect of Arabic. The huge circle is composed of Marrakshi. The fig and date and orange juice sellers deal largely with a native population.

Here in the center of a touristic city is a pocket of Morocco.

And at night the divide grows even further and the volume increases. The stands switch from dates and figs to traditional soups and snacks. And the square fills with African drums and single-stringed violins. Dozens of Moroccans get together and form a musical community after nine o'clock. You can still get a seat in a restaurant and look over the square, but you'll be separate. Apart from it, not a part of it.

Walking through the square, past metalsmiths working late into the night, past steaming bowls of harira, there is always music. Half a dozen drum circles across the square, solitary men on stringed instruments plucking and bowing foreign squares through dusty, solid state amplifiers. Some of the lone performers have their hats out, but the way they play with their eyes closed, it doesn't seem to be the goal.

There are men who walk around specifically looking for your dollar. You can tell who they are because they follow you, they come up to your table and play until you pay them to leave.

These people, those who gather in the Djemaa el Fna, are forming a community.

And when they do, and when we do, there's music in the air.

Music in the air, all around.

Posted by Krister