NYK—mag 0425
03. Essaouira & Gnawa Music
The shift between us and them feels huge after all we’ve lived, we have so much to tell. What now feels ordinary to us, donkeys in the street, chickens running freely, Berbers in their djellabas with pointy hoods, still feels exotic to them. Julien keeps laughing, “Are we in Assassin’s Creed or what?” They quickly discover that everything is a quest. The first morning quest is always the same: wander through the village or town asking around for the Berber bread oven. It’s the cheapest place to get fresh bread, still warm, ready to be delivered to shops and restaurants.
With them, we put the bikes aside for five days and give our legs a break. We’ll explore a stretch of the west coast by car. Everything is already planned by them, so we simply let ourselves be guided with no constant search for a bed, no uncertainty about where we’ll end up each night.
We start with the surf towns of Taghazout and Imsouane. For us, it’s a small shock. The villages have changed under the weight of mass tourism. In recent years, many local fishermen have been relocated to make space for new resorts and hotels. Some locals are glad for the income from tourists, others are saddened to see their hometowns becoming interchangeable with so many others in the world. You can now get cappuccinos and matchas here. Not being from these towns, it’s hard to judge as they’re simply trying to grow their economy like everyone else. But I leave wondering whether this change will slowly erase Moroccan culture, or if they will manage to keep their identity alive.
Essaouira greets us as a blend of tourism and tradition.
Fancy restaurants stand next to small cafés where locals gather. In one of these cafés, we’re not welcome, it’s reserved for locals only. I understand it in a way, but after twenty days of warmth and openness, it feels strange to meet this kind of distance.
The city itself is a living melting pot where musicians meet painters, a hub of creativity. In a café, I talk with Idriss, a local musician who tells me Essaouira is the only city in Morocco where Moroccans can truly live as they wish without judgment, whether it’s partying or drinking with friends. He explains the music scene here, where the most popular style is Gnawa fusion.
Gnawa music, born from the heritage of Sub-Saharan Africans brought to Morocco, blends ritual poetry with traditional music and dance. It moves in smooth accelerations, the rhythm changes almost imperceptible, drawing you in. Short phrases repeat for long stretches, sometimes hours to form what feels like a single piece but is in fact a series of chants honoring different spirits (mlouk). This repetition is meant to guide participants into a trance. The melodies, played on a string instrument, the guenbri meets iron percussions called qraqab. They mirror the rhythms of speech and song.
In the desert, Gnawa is still performed for ceremonies. Here in Essaouira, it thrives, especially during the world-famous Gnawa and World Music Festival. The influence seeps into the work of many local artists. Later, while browsing for tapes, a shopkeeper plays me recordings of local groups layering traditional instruments with modern sounds. “Essaouira” by Ganga Fusion is a reggae-infused love letter to the city. “Iwighd Adar” by Amarg Fusion blends dub rhythms with Gnawa’s hypnotic groove, lifting it to another level. The two styles merge more easily than one might expect, reggae also taking repetitive grooves to make it go deep in the sounds. The dubby touch brings more bass elements to the high percussive tones. At home, it’s easier to listen to Gnawa fusion than pure Gnawa, which can feel challenging without the full setting of dance, ceremony, and cultural meaning. In its original form, it is something you live, not just hear.