Djemaa El Fna part one
جامع الفنا
الجزء الأول
Drums, djembes, tambourines, ouds, and the pungi flutes of snake charmer men rise loudly above the stirring crowds, and high into the pink-orange evening sky. The setting sun bestows the buildings lining the massive square with a sensational saffron hue.
Bubbles are blown and scatter into the wind as a steady stream of mopeds, tuk-tuks and cars speed noisily in between the steady streams of tourists, who scour the breadth of the square—wearing their backpacks front.
In the crowds, tall Senegalese men showcasing imitation designer sunglasses navigate in between the fully veiled henna artists, who sit in the dark shade of large umbrellas. Little plastic stools are lined up for large tourists—their bare hands like blank canvasses.
Men pulling carts and men pushing carts—all shabby and rickety. «Cling! Clang!» Merchants hit the side of their metal carts. “Move out the way!” One rusty-red cart has packets and bags of instant coffee at the ready, next to a steaming plastic thermos.
A woman pauses and marvels at it all. Perhaps she has finally returned to her parents’ homeland, about which she has heard so much and about which she feels such strong emotions—which she desperately wants to share with the four bored-looking children by her side (all dressed in their European Sunday best). She wants to share with them the stories of their grandparents, as well as the experience of reliving them. But the fact of the matter is that they are all of them strangers here, at the edge of Jemaa El Fna. She asks a passer-by to take a family photo—the children’s eyes reveal complete bewilderment. The mother becomes more and more emotional.
As the surrounding mosques start their call to evening prayer, the ceaseless cacophony of drumming and music and noise and shouting suddenly ceases. A vacuum of silence emerges that is soon filled with the lyrically rolling voice of a muezzin.
«Allah Akbar!»
The shuffling of shoes and the clicking of heels on the stone tiles of the square become the new baseline…
«Allah Akbar!»
Muffled voices: tourists, Barber, Arab…
«La Ilaha Illallah!»