Translating the Subtleties, Secrecies and Sounds of Ritual

by Maryam Jahanbin (United States of America)

I didn't expect to find Morocco

The Importance of Moroccan Craft: Translating the Subtleties, Secrecies and Sounds of Ritual In the back room of a dusky shop in the Marrakech old medina, Samir is showing me the parts that make up a sound. Our dialogue is minimal and framed by an abundance of handmade Moroccan instruments, bursting out of a little shop, scooped into the wall. There are two men in the shop, hunched over in their wooden stools, fingers focused on the present task of the current moment. While Samir pulls strings onto the Guembri he is piecing together, his friend is playing one of them, and I am sitting between the two, sipping syrupy mint tea, taking a break from a Guembri lesson that we were intensely engaged in moments ago. There’s a blister starting to form on my index finger. An hour before, I was getting lost in the medina—unaware of this place and the way that instrumental craft would captivate me. Samir tells me about the parts of the Guembri (by way of making sounds and pointing to signify animals and their parts): Camel skin stretched over hollowed wood, and goat intestine strings; the parts of this instrument come entirely from the bodies of others, individually lifeless pieces coming together to form a that which carries life. Offered a seat in this intimate space of activity, where artists practice their own rituals of practice, where communication pierces into the essence of words, sometimes even without their use—I have discovered more about the ways in which the artists, musicians, and craftsman conceive of their own roles in carrying tradition. How is one to speak of that which is not spoken of? The very nature a tradition carries one of subtlety, which when passed onward, when communicated, is through such a specific modes of contact, that it can be quite violent to enter into these spaces without the intention to take part in this process. The environment of dialogue is minimal when observing and engaging with someone who is constantly embodying a practice in its fullness. Tracing the veins of such a space is what I have embarked to enter into with respect—to absorb and translate that which is often not understood if it requires an explicit explanation, to grasp closeness with both hands. Of the many Artists and Craftsmen that I had the pleasure of learning from, all of them are still just trying to make a living while continuing to pursue their path. Sadly, many practices of craft that rely upon economic society to make a living are forced in some way to perpetuate ethnographic themes that European tourists are interested in. Within the practice of Craft and Music making in Morocco, it was made clear to me that these practices—of making a Guembri for Samir, or making paint brushes with Tawfiq—are manifestations of such lived experiences of spirituality; “it’s about the soul!” Samir’s friend in the shop would exclaim me, clutching his chest, eyes piercing intensely into my own, finger pointing to the sky. When these are some of the few words I move from, the feeling of importance in these looks carries me to find the words that a gaze exclaims. While there is no projection I can make regarding the future of preserving practices of craft practice in Morocco, I urge fellow travelers to remain open to the depth of meaning within craft practice. It is the nature of exposure to change the very nature of that which is exposed; no matter which way I investigate the rituals of craft practice, there is an aspect of subtlety that is often lost in the process of an ancient practice being recorded, when removed from its lived experience. Yet, as a traveller passing through this rich and rooted culture, I feel a responsibility to listen—and while “I used to think I wrote because there was something I wanted to say…I know now I continue to write because I have not yet heard what I have been listening to.”