New Year, Christmas, Ashura and then New Year again

Happy New Year everyone, we are now in 1431AH. Yes, the Islamic New year happened on 18^th December by the western or Gregorian calendar.

The farewell to the old year and welcoming of the New Year is an ancient pagan celebration that has been overlaid by various religious festivities.

This week saw Ashura, the tenth day of Muharram (first month of the year). This is said to be the date on which Moses and his followers successfully escaped from the Pharaoh, and was originally a day of fasting. It is also said to be the day on which Adam and Eve were created, the anniversary of the day that Noah landed, the day that Abraham was delivered from the fire and the reuniting of Jacob and Joseph..... so quite a lot to be commemorating. However it was on Ashura, that Huseyn ibn Ali, the grandson of Mohamed and his followers were martyred and so this is an important day for Shia Muslims the world over.

In Morocco, Ashura is mostly seen as a children’s festival, the souks filling up with small drums and just about every toy that was ever exported from Hong Kong. You will find groups of young people sitting round fires all night playing drums and on the day of the tenth (Ashura) children are given freedom to throw water over any adults they come across. Instead of fasting there is a lot (even for Morocco) of sweet things consumed and of course couscous made with the dried tail of the Eid el Kbir ram.

Although Muslims recognise Christ as one of the genuine prophets, they don’t hold with most of Christian ideology concerning his birth and death and certainly do not celebrate Christmas. Although some hotels and shops will sport a bit of tinsel (any excuse) and some fairy lights you will not see a lot in the way of Christmas decorations and so Christmas could pass unnoticed in Morocco.

This Christmas we decided to visit one of the Christian churches in Marrakesh and found a full church choir offering a range of seasonal music. They were great, had very good voices and were full of the joy of singing. They sang many "standard" church songs, old favourite Christmas Carols and works by JS Bach and Cesar Franck. There were also some violin and piano works followed by Congolese choral music that was extremely lively.

Now we are looking forward to our second set of New Year celebrations.

Eid el Kbir (continued)

In the days following the Eid, all over the city you will see skins hanging over the balcony. In most localities an enterprising local will gather them, have them treated and then sell them back to you for a reasonable fee.

In some areas on the second and third day of the Eid they have another use for the skins. These days are marked by the appearance of the Boujeloud – the goat men. This tradition has a lot of different stories behind it, but all involve men dressed up in goat skins. I expect that the tradition can be traced back to before the time when Islam came to Morocco, possibly to the ancient god Pan.

The traditions vary. The Boujeloud I met expect to be given money in return for hitting you with the goat’s feet. Being hit by the Boujeloud is great good luck, unless you don’t have any money on you. If you don’t pay up - you have bad luck for a year. As well as four Boujeloud, the entourage included other local lads dressed up as policemen and a “woman”. The whole gang tour round the village, the Boujeloud and the “woman” dancing together whenever they stop outside a house and the “policeman” deciding when it is time to move on. On the evening of the third day all the money collected is spent on a big party.

Some stories tell that if a man gets hit by the Boujeloud his fertility is assured, similarly any woman hit by the Boujeloud is guaranteed to get pregnant in the following year. I have also read that in some villages the Boujeloud has to mark other boys in the village – these days by throwing flour at them. If hit they have to take their turn at being the Boujeloud next year, but if the Boujeloud is not successful he has to appear again the next year.

Another story I have heard is that the Boujeloud was a man who while dressed in goat skin chased a young, pregnant woman into a mosque. She was so frightened that she miscarried her baby and the young man was doomed to wander Morocco stuck in the goat skins for the rest of eternity as a sort of hairy Flying Dutchman (… until redeemed by the love of a good woman I want to add). But then it doesn’t ring true as he must have had a reason to be dressed as the Boujeloud in the first place. I think that this is possibly an attempt to attach a proper Islamic moral to a pagan custom.

Probably the most celebrated Boujeloud is the Jejouka Boujeloud made famous by the likes of Brian Jones (Rolling Stones) and William Burroughs. In this version of the story the Boujeloud is “married” to one of the local women and in return gives the gift of music to the local villagers. In return for granting authentic psychedelic experiences to visitors, Jejouka has been made famous on the world music scene. Thirty years on the Jejouka musicians still carry on their traditions and produce their music and musical tourists are still beating a track to sit at the feet of the Jejouka master musicians (and yes if there are any Stones fans out there - Pipes of Pan was from Jejouka).

Eid el Kbir

This year I spent the Eid with a family in the province of Taroudant in the south of Morocco.

On the morning of the Eid everyone is up early and wherever possible attending the local mosque for prayers. This is another of the occasions when the mosque conducts the Morning Prayer in the open air as there are usually too many people to be accommodated inside.

Then it is back home for a quick breakfast of bread or cake and tea and then on with the business of the day. The goat or sheep is led out and killed, sometimes by the man of the house and sometimes by itinerant butchers who turn up by appointment or on request to cut the throat and then skin and butcher the animal. As I said in my last post, all the family are there to witness the killing as this is an important part of the religious significance of the day.

A fug of smoke that must be visible from space soon covers Morocco. If you didn’t know it was the Eid you would soon tell, by the smell of barbecued lamb and singed wool, that something was going on.

While the sheep was being disembowelled, the women have been busy getting the charcoal grills ready and almost as soon as the heart, liver and lungs and the protective layer of fat are removed from the still warm body, they are cut up, mixed with coriander, garlic, salt and paprika and grilled. Strangely it always reminds me of “Braveheart” - apart from the paprika and garlic!












Meanwhile granny is burning the wool off the sheep’s head, nibbling at the ears and generally getting it ready for sheep’s head stew later in the week.

All morning, people are nipping in and out of their neighbours wishing them Eid Mubarak and helping out with the preparations for the feasting.

In some families only the offal is eaten on the first day of the Eid, but the family I spent the Eid with had a huge lamb tagine for lunch. After lunch we set off to visit the rest of the family that lives locally, and at each home we were offered kebabs and tagine as well as the usual mint tea and sweet pastries.

For the next few days (the number of days will vary depending on the size of the family and the size or number of sheep) everyone has grilled lamb kebabs for breakfast, and tagine or grilled meat for lunch and dinner. Another delicacy (sorry but I found it disgusting) is made from the stomach and intestines spiced, rolled and dried and then eaten with couscous later in the year.

One sign of my increasing moroccanisation: the first rented flat I stayed in had a large hook in the patio and also drain in the floor – both of which I found a bit strange. Now I find myself thinking as I look around a new house – “now, where will we hang the sheep on the Eid?”

It's the Big One!

Yes the Eid el Kbir is almost here and every family is getting ready for the big day.

The Eid el Kbir is in celebration of the Old Testament story when God asked Abraham (Ibrahim) to prove his faith by sacrificing his son. At the last minute Ismail gets a reprieve and God allows a sheep (or goat) to take his place. Later it is Abraham and Ismail who erect the Kaaba at Mecca where people could gather and worship and then later still Mohamed made the first pilgrimage there in 628. The Eid is celebrated about 70 days after the end of Ramadan, when the Muslims making the annual pilgrimage come back into Mecca after climbing Mount Arafat.

The nearer we get to the Eid the more frantic the weekly souks become as everybody tries to make sure that they get the best, fattest sheep for the smallest price. If you have the space you buy your sheep ahead of time, take it home and feed it all your vegetable peelings and maybe some hay bought specially for the purpose. If not, you have to do battle in the days before the Eid, hoping that you will get a worthy beast.

In the weeks leading up to the Eid, as you walk down normally quiet suburban streets you could be forgiven for thinking you have been transported into the countryside as the patter of hooves and faint bleating is heard from every rooftop and patio. The unsuspecting sheep (always male) becomes part of the family for a week or two before he gets to play his part in the great nationwide re-enactment of the sacrifice of Ibrahim. He soon settles in to the family routine and (unless he is particularly bad tempered) is played with by the children.

On the morning of the Eid, when the sheep’s throat is cut, all the family are there to witness this act. I do find this a little difficult and I suspect I am not the only one, though most Moroccans are quite blasé about the killing. However Ido I eat meat - and enjoy eating it.

In the west we are too often without thought of the animals that we eat. It is very easy not to associate the meat with the animal - meat arrives in the house cut into slabs and wrapped in plastic - and this means that there is often no consideration given to the life and death of the animal. This is not the case in Morocco where meat is bought from butchers where the carcasses of sheep and cows are hung ready for inspection by the customers and chickens bought while they are still squawking. I cope with this (despite my western squeamishness) because I believe that it is important to treat animals with respect and care and then eat them with enjoyment.

Fortunately I am quite a good judge of sheep, knowing where to prod and poke to check that there is meat under all the wool – which is jolly useful at this time of year.

On the Beach

This week I have been visiting Agadir with some friends. Agadir has long been famous as a beach resort with almost guaranteed sunshine all year round, but it has been quietly undergoing a renaissance into a chic tourist resort for adults seeking luxury and indulgence.

Agadir has ancient roots, existing as a fishing port until occupied and fortified by the Portuguese at the beginning of the 16^th century (the name Agadir is Berber for Walled Town). It is still a major fishing port – the largest sardine port in the world – and the fish market and restaurants around it are an important part of the tourist experience.

Agadir was the site of a catastrophe when, on 29^th February 1960, a 15 second earthquake destroyed almost all of the existing town , killed around 15,000 people and left 50,000 homeless. Until recent years you could still see the evidence of this in the self built shacks that became almost permanent homes to many survivors. The other evidence is the almost total lack of old, traditional style building and the presence of modern (well 60’s) architecture. Streets are wide and built with the car (and the tourist) in mind, and there are hotels galore.

Despite the inauspicious start and the initial feeling that you are not in fact in Morocco but in the south of Spain, Agadir can grow on you. It is still Morocco and the Moroccan people are as welcoming here as they are anywhere. The Tourist Police – patrolling the beach on lovely Berber Arab stallions or the promenade on Segways – make sure that there is not too much in the way of hassle and there are even men employed to pick up litter!

The beach is tremendous, over 10 km of golden sand, but add to this an elegant promenade planted with palm trees and edged in marble, daily sunshine and a good range of restaurants and you will start to understand the attraction. Once the newly upgraded road from Marrakech is complete I can see myself making trips south to the beach on a regular basis.

It is hard to imagine two cities in the same country as different from each other as Agadir and Marrakech are - but as the French say “Vive la difference!”

A Woman’s Work……..

Most Moroccans find it almost impossible to understand the UK situation of elderly parents living alone (even though it is usually their choice). In Morocco, caring for your older relatives is as natural as caring for your young children and conversely living alone is seen as very unnatural. It is assumed by parents that their children (especially sons) will stay in the family home and support them as they get older and bring a wife in to the household to help with housework etc. Empty nest syndrome is not something that the average Moroccan mum has to worry about.

Although the role of women in society is slowly changing there are still very strong chauvinistic tendencies among Moroccans. There is an obvious stereotypical split of the male and female roles. In a large household there are usually plenty of women to share the housework - and without the trappings of western life there is surprisingly little housework to do! But many times I have muttered “and what did your last slave die of” under my breath as the men sit around expecting their mothers, wives or daughters to fetch and carry for them - even when they have done nothing themselves all day. How all this works in a modern Moroccan household where more and more women are going out to work I don’t know.... but I can imagine. There must be a whole generation of Moroccan women out there, struggling to become Superwomen.

To be fair I have seen fathers and husbands helping with the cooking and with the clearing away after meals – but usually only when there are no other women in the household to help. Equally it has to be said that the role of women in creating and maintaining the home environment is valued very highly in this society and the mother is a hugely important figure in the household. You can always correct a man’s behaviour (young or old) by asking him if his mother knows what he is up to!

Traditionally families live together in the family home around a patio, adding rooms as the family grows. There is always an aunt with a comfy lap and time for the baby, always a sister with a spare djellaba* to swap, mother or grandmother is always there for company if you are sitting shelling peas and there is always a niece or nephew to send out to the local shop for more milk or sugar. Domestic duties are shared, with everyone (all the females that is!) taking their turn preparing and serving meals, cleaning up afterwards or sitting and entertaining guests.

Time will bring about change in Morocco. Parliament is changing the law to give greater rights to women and society will catch up with that. More young girls will benefit from the improved education system and slowly there will be increased acceptance of women’s equal role in life –political, economic and domestic. I just hope that the good things about Moroccan family life, the incredible support network, the unconditional acceptance of family ties and the overwhelming welcome into the heart of a family is not lost along the way.

*a sort of all purpose outer garment with hood

Shoppers Anonymous

Napoleon allegedly called the British a “Nation of Shopkeepers”. I can’t help thinking that he hadn’t been to Morocco when he said that.

While tourists in Morocco are struck by the exotic spice stalls and the Aladdin’s Caves of shops selling jewel coloured tea glasses and silver teapots, richly decorated bowls and metal and glass lanterns, for most Moroccans shopping is a more mundane but none the less serious business.

It also seems to be the dream of many Moroccans to own just a little shop where they can while away the day chatting with customers and selling the occasional sachet of shampoo or sugar loaf. Walk along any street and you are sure to find at least two of these grocer shops, with a small counter at the front propping up the shopkeeper who sits surrounded by shelves lined with tins of sardines, apricot jam, tea and small packets of Tide washing powder - and a sprinkling of little toffees and chewing gum given as reward to the children who are sent out to the shop for those last minute essentials such as bread or milk.

Every neighbourhood has its quota of little grocers, chicken shops, greengrocers and butchers and every town has its souk and vegetable market. Large supermarkets are few and far between as most Moroccans live off small incomes and only buy what they need for one meal or one day – apart of course from the mountain of fresh vegetables that they buy at the weekly vegetable market. Since many Moroccan women do not work they can spend the time preparing fresh ingredients, using whatever their husbands arrive home with to conjure up a delicious and hearty tagine. The idea of serving up a Marks and Spencer’s ready meal is as alien to a Moroccan as buying your chicken while it is still squawking is to most British people.

The average souk will sell a range of fruit and vegetables, herbs and spices, terracotta tagines, pots and pans, teapots and tea glasses, pyjamas and djelabas. In larger towns you can also find souks selling second hand goods – everything from doors and windows, old televisions and kettles, prams and bicycles to bric-a-brac and odd shoes. Larger defunct objects are broken down to their component parts and sold off – finally just for the scrap metal. In the larger of the second hand souks you will come across little cafes serving tea and lentil stews, explaining the unique aroma of rust and cumin that permeates the air. You walk through these souks and feel as if you have entered an alternate dimension and finally found the last resting place of the world’s lost biros and teaspoons.

So if you have need of a replacement knob for your ancient but beloved hi-fi system, then come to Morocco. One day you will walk through a souk and find just what you need.