<-- Photo from the lila on Thursday night. Arafa playing guimbri (looking the other direction) and the guys in costume from left to right in: Souhaid, Laraby, Abdellah (Arafa), Murat and Aihmed. Usually with my guimbri studies at Arafa's, I ask him to close the door and the window shutters. Otherwise, little kids from the neighborhood start crowding around any opening to watch, and often older boys and men stop by to see what all the kids are watching. It's too much pressure to have an audience staring at me while I try new things and fumble around the instrument. It's a little frustrating to be learning something completely new and to hear the song perfectly in my head while my fingers are still struggling to pull off the technique so I'd rather struggle without it being a public spectacle.
But every now and then, there are certain circumstances, like recently when Arafa had a visiting ma'alem, Aziz, from the city of Salé near Rabat staying with him. I couldn't very well ask him to leave during my lesson. I had to suck up my pride and stumble through the section of Mario that Arafa is teaching me. This section has various colorful ornamentation which is quite enjoyable to play and practice. Of course, when I'm practicing at home, it always sounds much better than in my lessons.
I hung out at Arafa's for as long as was possible before it felt awkward, about 4 hours. Often, sitting there listening to the other guys talk about music is educational, too, and even when the lesson is over, if Arafa sees me trying something out, he'll give me tips and teach me licks. Ma'alem Aziz brought two beautiful guimbris with him and one, with a deep bass sound, knocked my socks off.
The following day was the third lila for me in three weeks; I feel so grateful! I met Arafa and the guys at his house along with Ma'alem Aziz who was going to be joining us. Everyone was there except Reis, one of my favorite characters but he eventually showed up at the lila later. When I arrived, Arafa, Abdellah, and Aziz were eating bissara (garbanzo soup with spices-- and one of my favorite Moroccan dishes!) and they invited me to join. Abdellah had bought what we call a honey-dew melon and I saw him cut it up and try a bite but he didn't bring it to the table. Later, when Arafa passed the dish around tentatively with a smile, I understood why Abdellah wasn't sharing: the melon was horrible. All of us had a chuckle, and like the other boys, I took one bite and threw the rest away. Aziz playfully ribbed Abdellah about how he'd been cheated.
After an hour and a half, we made our way through the medina to the lila. I must say, I get a kick out of walking through the medina with the Gnawa in their outfits and with their instruments. That's the only kind of staring I don 't mind.
This lila was at the same home and with the same moqedma and moqedm (male priest, a different Aziz) as the last one and many of the same people were there so it was a nice feeling to be welcomed as a familiar face. Because of that, I was more relaxed and at home in my skin, too. I felt less shy and greeted each of the women with the standard kisses.
I participated in the opening part of the ceremony again, carrying a candle so that I could be as close to the goings-on as possible. Because it was all a little more familiar, I was able to sink in more deeply and observe everything with more clarity. Ma'alem Aziz (the one visiting Arafa who had watched my guimbri lesson) opened up the ceremony asking for offerings and I felt moved to offer something. Aziz then approached me and blessed my hands that were learning the guimbri. He made a motion towards the sky indicating Allah, then came over and pulled, massaged, and jerked on each finger of both hands while speaking. I understood all of this to be“May God bless these hands that are learning the guimbri.”
When Moulay Abdelqadr was called, one of the saints whose sets of songs I respond deeply to, I took a deep breath remembering the last lila and wondering what would unfold this time. I was already recording by this point. The question was resolved when the moqedma approached me and motioned for me to put away my recording equipment and go dance. I left the recorder running on my seat. This 'trance' was not as intense as the last time but I felt my body getting tired quickly, my leg muscles already getting trembly, and I wondered if perhaps the way I was moving was tiring me out. Being new to all this, it occurred to me that I am still learning how to go through the trance in a way that works for my body.
I recovered quickly this time after that set of songs and felt lighter. The more interesting trance part of the evening for me was during the Blue Set of songs, for Baba Koumie whom I know nothing about but whose songs also move me. This time was similar as the last lila where I suddenly had an impulse to put away my recorder as quickly as possible and go dance. It's an interesting feeling; I can almost start to tell when something strong is about to come on and I only have a few minutes to safely put away my $400 recorder before I get on the floor. This isn't the nicest comparison, but the closest thing I can compare it to right now is like that feeling when you know you're about to throw up and you're rushing to a toilet; you feel the urge coming on and it's a race of time with the body. The trance feeling for me is like that and the urge is just as powerful and near impossible to control.
My mind was still with me enough to comment on my dancing as it was going on. It's kind of funny in hindsight. There I am dancing with my eyes closed, doing whatever my body is directing and my mind is yacking at me: “Well, that's an interesting move, Tamara. You haven't done this move before. I wonder why you're doing that....” I try and ignore the commentary and at one point, some other part of me answered back, “Shut up and go away!” But I was definitely intrigued by this trance because of the new vocabulary of moves that moved through my body. While I was dancing, someone kept gently nudging me closer to the musicians.
Again, when the set ended and I was recovering back in my seat, someone held a cup to my mouth to drink and then water was splashed on my face. I felt back to normal very quickly.
The Green Set of songs filled me with joy and I could have danced that whole set too but I was feeling already like I'd spent myself. It's hard to sit still to Gnawa music in general. One of the guys in the group has a particular kinship to a Green spirit and I'm not sure who it is but it was an eventual “possession.” He danced with a long, sword-like knife, taking the floor by himself and everyone cleared the floor, as if this was understood to be his dance alone.
From what I have observed, right as a spirit is first coming down into a person and the possession is beginning, the person can become really agitated and will make a break for the door, trying to leave, or will be particularly upset. The person is physically restrained by other members of the lila and they are forced to go back and dance. There was an exciting moment when this green spirit was emerging, the guy ran at the wall through the crowd, sending women running and screaming in all directions, including me (because he still had his sword). When he settled down, he sat peacefully on the floor speaking to the audience and answering questions of those who had them. I understood this to be the clairvoyance part of the possession.
The lila got more and more crowded as the night went on and soon, there were four of us girls sitting in two small chairs and another older woman crouching on the floor near me and using my legs as an arm rest. There were sweet smiles exchanged between all of us and I didn't mind the cramped space although my back was starting to bug me from sitting awkwardly. Towards the end of the night, I just decided to dance gently at the back of the group for it simply being more comfortable than sitting. This particular lila felt lighter than others, or maybe it was just me. For the Yellow Set of songs, which celebrate lightness and playfulness, there was a great deal of dancing and celebrating, as well as at the very end when I was tickled to see the entire crowd dancing, smiling, and jumping up and down. I was flooded with appreciation to both be there and see such joy moving through the audience. I can't think of anything to compare it to from my own culture. It was beautiful.
In the end, I only really got about half the lila recorded. There were times when the sound through the amp wasn't great so I didn't bother recording. I think I caught some good portions though. The Green Spirit Set was the best for energy but when the guy came running at the wall with his sword, I darted out of the room and turned off the recorder.
Before I left, I made a point to say thank you to the moqedma and moqedm. As it turns out, the moqedma lives near to where I'm staying so we decided to leave together and share a taxi. I tried chatting with her a little as we walked arm in arm through the medina but my Darija was failing me and she doesn't speak French. I had one of those moments of stepping outside myself, “Wow, I'm walking arm in arm through the medina with the moqedma!” Part way through the medina, we encountered a wedding processional with drums and horns and we joined in their marching, with the women around me pumping their fists in the air like teenagers.
I finally crawled into bed at 3 AM. I had a lesson with Arafa the following afternoon and because I hadn't had much time to practice guimbri since our last lesson, I decided to spend most of the hour asking him questions about the lila the night before. Besides finding out about the sword man crashing into the wall, I mostly wanted to know what he thought trance is like in general for Moroccans. I explained to him that my head is with me, talking to me and saying, “Tamara, what are you doing?” while the rest of me says, “Shut up and let me dance” and both Arafa and Ma'alem Aziz who sat in on my lesson again, thought that was funny.
I told him that I didn't know how my trance compared with Moroccans' experiences. Arafa explained that, in a nutshell, there are many kinds of trance. There can be just a release of feeling, of working out tensions and stress where someone's head is with them and they can remember everything the next day. There is also the other side of the spectrum where someone can go unconscious when they fall into trance and not remember anything the next day. He has said he has even seen people who knew nothing about the lila fall into trance this way. There are people who just like Gnawa music like any other kind of music and go to lilas just for that and then there are people who go seeking healing when doctors cannot cure them. Indeed, I have seen a little bit of both spectrums at the lilat I have been to.
There are people that I've seen just pass out and fall over as soon as a set of songs begins who then go into trance and then there are others who consciously take the floor to trance. I guess that puts me towards the latter end of the spectrum, although the impulses are not entirely in my control. For instance, the urge to dance is again, like that vomit urge: it comes from deep within my belly and I feel a kind of internal heat and compression until I get up and move.
We talked about how trance exists in almost every culture; some form of alternate state of consciousness that often involves music, particularly rhythm. He mentioned having seen other kinds of trance from various African nations but also from Asia. I described for him and Aziz some of my experiences with Native American spirituality and tried to illustrate the similarities between the sweat lodge, particularly the seven colors, and the use of fire, water, earth and air. Coincidentally, Arafa has a huge poster of a generic Native American chief and tipi village on his back wall.
I asked him, “Arafa, do you ever see spirits when you're playing?” He smiled and explained that sometimes he finds himself “voyaging” and going somewhere else, in another state while he's playing and he made the motion of a bird flapping his wings. At other times, he said, it's just like normal playing. He talked about many Moroccans being visited in dreams and feeling spirits although they can't see them. It was a truly fascinating conversation. Ma'alem Aziz seemed to enjoy the topic as well. He didn't say much but chuckled when I said that I'm sure a lot of my friends back home think I'm crazy and don't understand the trance thing. I explained how life in the US is extremely different and although it's hard to translate what I said in Arabic, I compared it to “thinking in boxes.” I explained a little bit of my personal journey to them, how I'm between worlds of the West and Africa, and how my whole life, I've been searching for a deeper and more complete experience of life through music, spirituality, and community.
Leaving my lesson that day, it struck me how much I understood, being that my lessons are entirely in the dialect. Arafa speaks no French but understands mine when I can't figure out how to say something in Darija. This lesson was basically 2.5 hours of talking. Arafa is also really good about giving me lots of charades and acting things out when the concepts get more complicated. When he has introduced me to people recently and they try and gage which language to speak to me, I've heard him say several times, “You can speak Darija to her, it's no problem,” although I chuckle to myself because it's really only a handful of people I can understand so well because their body language is so expressive. In any case, I was pleasantly surprised how much I got out of my lesson.
