<-- close-up of my qarqaba.I probably won't document every one of my lessons here; I might have to make a "strictly music" blog for those who care to read about detailed musical ideas. In any case, I had another great lesson Wednesday with Youssef and Arafa. I was more or less giddy afterwards. Everything just flowed. I had tons of questions and was somehow able to ask them all by piecing together vocabulary from here and there; thus, I learned a lot.
Yesterday, we spoke mostly of the lilla, the sacred ceremonies of the Gnawa, and many of the details of the ceremony. I tried to ask if it would be possible for me to sit in on one before I leave Tetuan; I wasn't sure if they understood my question but it seemed like they said yes. “La mushkila” is what Youssef said, which means “no problem.” However, he kept asking “before or after Ramadan?” and I kept saying “after Ramadan but before I leave...” and he kept repeating “it's not possible during Ramadan” to which I said “yes, I know...” and round and round it went. So we'll see.
Despite that one thing, I was pleased that the language barrier was/is being cracked. It helps that both Arafa and Youssef have taken to using lots of gestures and charades with their explanations, too. When I ask a question in Spanish, Youssef will ask Arafa in Darija then translate the answer back to me in Spanish. Seems like Arafa speaks some Spanish but maybe isn't fluent? I can't tell for sure.
I started off the lesson by getting out my iPod (glad to have it!) and playing Arafa some Gnawa fusion music from a band called Bambaraka. I was super curious about a rhythm I've been hearing in some supposed “Gnawa” music that is practically identical to a rhythm common to samba. Arafa explained, after a few tries and some fishing for vocabulary, that this rhythm is "jilala" and it is not Gnawa but in many senses, is related to/similar to Gnawa rhythms. I got a kick of watching his reaction to the music as he listened. He seemed to like it a lot. The hour just flew by.
Today, I need to clarify the two rhythms of the Gnawa (Arafa says there are only two). They're called the habari and the kokucho. I believe the kokucho is the 4:3 but I need to clarify that. The habari is the most popular one that most people think of when they think of Gnawa music: it's like a cross between eighth note triplets and an eighth note followed by two sixteenths for each beat. It has a swing or a drag, however one wishes to think of it. I've been jotting down the rhythms as well as the information about them.
On the way home, I decided to try and find the part of the medina where we bought my qarqaba. I was successful! Not only did I find my shop, but I found 4 or 5 others, also selling various instruments. It's like Tamara's playground in one street! I didn't buy anything quite yet but now I know where I can go browse when I have the time.
On my walk to and from school, winding through the souks of the maze-like medina, I always pass the same shops and have begun to notice some of the shop owners, even waving to one or two of them each day, especially those whom I've bought things from. There's one little man whom I've always thought looks like the sweetest little guy (probably 70 or 80) but I've never really known how to strike up a conversation with him. He sells these wooden circular frames with netting stretched over them, for sewing/crochet or something of the sort. I've always thought they looked more like the potential for a circular frame drum.
So as I walked by yesterday, still feeling giddy and bubbly from my lesson, I walked up to his shop, pointed at one of these things and playfully asked, “bendir?” (which is a frame drum from Morocco). He shook his head “no” and started explaining their purpose in Darija, thinking I was serious. I reached out and touched his shoulder, smiled and said, “nukta, nukta”: “a joke, a joke.” He smiled in return, shaking his head at me a little and patted my back a couple of times, in the warmest gesture, as if to say, “you silly kid.” It was the sweetest thing. Here, the only two words I spoke in Darija were “bendir?” and “nukta” (which, coincidentally, has proven to be one of the most useful words I've learned since arriving here; it allows me to have some fun and not be so serious).
I just love that there is so much that is universal about humanity, so much that is just so... human... even when all you an say is two words! It's as if this little old guy and I shared a moment between old pals. Every morning from now on, I'll make sure to wave to him, too and probably tease him about his light-weight bendirs.
