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<\/p>\nStill guided by John Shoup and Eric Ross, we are driving through a dramatic sunset to the z\u00e2wiya Sidi Al-Gh\u00e2z\u00ee to enjoy an evening of Sufi recitation.
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The evening will be focused on the religious aspects of the z\u00e2wiya\u00a0or the Sufi brotherhood, but I’m also thinking about the political history of the\u00a0z\u00e2wiya\u00a0in this region.<\/p>\n
In the century after the fall of Sijilmassa (1393), the lack of a strong central government meant that local conflicts proliferated and escalated. \u00a0In that power vacuum, saints (also called marabouts) and the z\u00e2wiyas they founded became an important source of stability: the z\u00e2wiyas often provided a physical space in which warring parties could meet to negotiate, and the saints or holy men running the z\u00e2wiyas had a powerful influence over local politics. \u00a0Religiously-motivated donations to the z\u00e2wiyas also made them powerful land- and slave-owning\u00a0institutions.<\/p>\n
In a land of uncertain production, spiritual power (baraka) carries a lot of influence. \u00a0Water is everything–but water comes from God. “Rain or no rain is the realm of God” (Tafilalt villager quoted by Ilahiane).<\/p>\n
The Alawite, the royal dynasty that came to power in the seventeenth century and still rules today, rose out of the Tafilalt and derived their political and economic power from their spiritual force (baraka). \u00a0Back in the 1200s, the citizens of Sijilmassa invited some 1,200 descendents of Muhammed to settle in the city; tradition states that they brought with them the cloak of Muhammed. \u00a0The Alawite trace their descent from Muhammed through his daughter Fatima and son-in-law Ali: one of their mottos, visible in calligraphy throughout the country, is “Baraka Muhammed.” Tradition also tells us that the Tafilalt region was plagued with a crippling drought and the inhabitants asked for help. \u00a0According to one version of the story, the oasis-dwellers sent a message to the governor of Mecca himself, who replied by sending one of his sons to break the drought and rule the oasis, launching the Alawite dynasty. \u00a0A different version of the story (quoted in Ilahiane) claims that the inhabitants asked the help of an Alawite Sharif or holy man who was headed to Mecca on pilgrimage. \u00a0He promised to pray for the recovery of the palms and the oasis in exchange for the best stem of dates from each palm. \u00a0When he returned, the drought was broken and the palms recovered, but the inhabitants refused to give him the agreed-upon reward. \u00a0The Sharif proclaimed the entire oasis promise-breakers. \u00a0He told them “tafi bi l’ahd” (honor your promise!) and they replied “la, la, la” (no, no, no): Tafilala or Tafilalet. \u00a0This version of the story provides a semi-mythical explanation for the difficulties of the region: as promise-breakers, the inhabitants of the oasis and their descendants have been cursed to live in hardship and misery.<\/p>\n The z\u00e2wiyas too have fallen on hard times–or perhaps times were always hard. \u00a0As we drive through the gathering dusk, John tells us that the particular z\u00e2wiya we are visiting is grounded in the baraka of the saint\u00a0Sidi Al-Gh\u00e2z\u00ee. \u00a0But three separate villages, all at war with one another, all claimed the saint as their own. \u00a0The resolution was to divide the body of the saint: one third to each village.<\/p>\n Here, thanks again to Eric and John, are a photo (John) and satellite image (Eric) of the\u00a0z\u00e2wiya Sidi Al-Gh\u00e2z\u00ee: We almost didn’t make it to the z\u00e2wiya: the piste was suddenly blocked by a pile of gravel, but the off-road edges were firm enough to take the busses. “Can women be Sufis?” we wanted to know. \u00a0 (John had told us that for the purposes of this evening, we would all be considered “honorary men.” \u00a0No women would appear though they would have cooked the dinner for us; if the women of the community wanted a look at us, they would peek in through the opening in the roof–and it would be rude to stare at any woman who was looking in at the roof.) I don’t quite have the chutzpah to ask how one would cross the gap between the invisible cooking women and these female Sufis. \u00a0If a daughter of this community wanted to follow the Sufi way, how would that desire be accomodated? \u00a0Or would it?<\/p>\n The best question of the night: “What’s the hardest thing about following the Sufi way?” After several refills of tea and a dinner consisting of medfouna (a savory stuffed bread), bread and heaping platters of chicken for non-vegetarians, we move from discussion to recitation of the Qu’ran and of Sufi poetry. \u00a0After the recitation (which to uneducated ears sounds very musical) comes songs, accompanied by drumming.<\/p>\n We loved the joy on the face of the muqaddam’s son, holding the hand drum in the photo above. \u00a0The young man below, a teacher in the local schools, did a soulful solo and eventually stood up to “dance”–this was a bouncing straight up and down, arms swinging out to the sides in a relaxed way, with some turning in a circular motion. As John had stressed before our arrival, the entire evening was carefully controlled by the muqaddam, whose drumming, voice, and non-verbal cues set the pace for every step of the evening.<\/p>\n Sufism in Morocco is sometimes associated with extreme ritual action, such as the self-mutilation of the Hamadsha, as detailed by Edith Wharton with a mix of gory fascination and cynicism:<\/p>\n At first these stripes and stains suggested only a gaudy ritual ornament like the pattern on the drums; then one saw that the paint, or whatever it was, kept dripping down from the whirling caftans and forming fresh pools among the stones; that as one of the pools dried up another formed, redder and more glistening, and that these pools were fed from great gashes which the dancers hacked in their own skulls and breasts with hatchets and sharpened stones. \u00a0[…] \u00a0Gradually, however, it became evident that many of the dancers simply rocked and howled, without hacking themselves, and that most of the bleeding skulls and breasts belonged to negroes. […]\u00a0Hamadch, it appears, had a faithful slave, who, when his master died, killed himself in despair, and the self-inflicted wounds of the brotherhood are supposed to symbolize the slave’s suicide. [… This account] enables the devotees to divide their ritual duties into two classes, the devotions of the free men being addressed to the saint who died in his bed, which the slaves belong to the slave, and must therefore simulate his horrid end.<\/p>\n Vincent Crapanzano offered a more nuanced psychological (or psychiatric) analysis of these rites of self-mutilation in the 1980s (The Hamadsha: a Study in Moroccan Ethnopsychiatry), but in any case, it’s hard to imagine anything further from the delightful devotions so graciously shared with us this evening. \u00a0We felt tremendously honored to be included in the evening, allowed a glimpse of faith in action.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Still guided by John Shoup and Eric Ross, we are driving through a dramatic sunset to the z\u00e2wiya Sidi Al-Gh\u00e2z\u00ee to enjoy an evening of Sufi recitation. \u00a0 The evening will be focused on the religious aspects of the z\u00e2wiya\u00a0or the Sufi brotherhood, but I’m also thinking about the political history of the\u00a0z\u00e2wiya\u00a0in this region. … Continue reading Z\u00e2wiyas: saints, economics, and politics<\/span>
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\n\u00a0The photo is out of date: the minaret has since collapsed. \u00a0Of the satellite image, Eric notes “The actual shrine (mosque, mausolea, cemetery) in the north part of complex was destroyed by a flood in the late 1960s and is now completely ruined. Members of the Sufi order meet in the Guest House, next to the Shaykh\u2019s house, in the complex\u2019s eastern village. Half of this village too is ruined. The village at the west of the complex contains the shrine of Sidi al-\u2019Arbi al-Gh\u00e2z\u00ee.”<\/p>\n
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\n<\/a>Once there, we were welcomed with cushioned seats, ritual hand-washing, cups of tea and peanuts. \u00a0Zo\u00eb sat in the place once occupied by Hassan II.<\/p>\n
\nAs we spoke with\u00a0Sidi Mustafa al-Gh\u00e2z\u00ee,\u00a0the muqqadam or leader of the z\u00e2wiya, about Sufi practices, he (and later his son) came around sprinkling us with orange-blossom water from this container. \u00a0That felt an unmistakeable blessing: such a lovely scent!<\/p>\n
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\n“Oh, yes! \u00a0A very important early Sufi was a woman,” Sidi Mustafa replied. \u00a0(Rabi\u2019a al-Adawiyya, 717-801 A.D.) \u00a0Eric confirms the existence of women Sufis: “In fact, I was once honored to be included as an honorary woman at a gathering of women Sufis in Senegal.”<\/p>\n
\nReply: “Doing what the master tells you to do. \u00a0Accepting that guidance.”<\/p>\n<\/p>\n<\/a>
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