Marrakesh: Feeling the Beat of a Universal Drum

Even though Marrakesh is considered to be a tourist trap by many travelers, I loved every minute of my time in the city and thrived on the infinite energy of the place. My first encounter with the city was Djemaa el-Efna, the greatest open-air spectacle I have ever seen. If places were people, Times Square would be a gawky teenager reading Ayn Rand and dressed in Goth while el-Efna would be Gilgamesh on crack!

As I walked into the square I was drawn magnetically to a circle of drummers. Men clapped and howled and chanted as a group of drummers drummed in unison. My legs started to move and I danced to the ritualistic incantation of the mass chant. I danced for an hour before finding myself enthralled by another group of musicians playing Gnawa music. I closed my eyes and I could feel a paroxysm of voices and sweaty faces moving rhythmically to a beat. Monkeys, acrobats, storytellers, hustlers, snake charmers, jugglers and local drunks all jostled their way around the shambolic square while smoke rose chaotically from open-air food stalls. After a while the whole place took on a singular lunacy transforming itself into a caterwauling giant, writhing spasmodically to the beat of a universal drum. What energy!

My days in Marrakesh are spent admiring historical monuments like the Koutoubia -- its brooding minaret towering over the ochre cityscape. I walk around in my newly purchased djellaba and my two week beard and seem to have convinced the local hustlers that I am one of them! While every tourist around me gets haggled, I walk through the myriad souks (slipper souk, blacksmith souk, dyer’s souk, souk of carpenters) unscathed. I watch the hustlers closely as they walk up to many an unsuspecting foreigner and patterns of hustling begin to emerge. I decide that hustlers follow a four part act.

Act 1: Platitudinous pleasantries. The hustler singles out his prey and follows him around saying things like “ where you from…I am your friend…I no want to sell you anything…welcome to morocco…welcome to Africa.” The victim is disarmed into believing that this hustler is just a gregarious young native wanting to converse with a foreigner.

Act 2: Proffering of Service Unbeknownst to Foreigner. The hustler has invested 5-10 minutes chatting up the foreigner and has spent time “showing the foreigner around.”

Act 3: Cold-blooded kill. The hustler suddenly stops in his tracks and asks for money.

Act 4: Display of epic disappointment. On failing to collect money for the imaginary service, the hustler looks forlorn and says things like “you are not man…you no have integrity.” 30% of the time, the foreigner (out of pity, ego or loss of patience) gives the hustler some amount of money.

I celebrate my twenty seventh birthday in Marrakesh with the enlivening company of Steve, Bill and Laura. We drink wine from Meknes and enjoy a grand meal of chicken tagine. I fall into postprandial torpor as El-Efna rises below me like a large slumberous lion awakening uproariously from a deep sleep. The drum beats continue…..