Memoir of a Berber: Brian Jones Of The Rolling Stones In Jahjouka, the Beat generation in Morrocco

By Hassan Ouakrim

  During the Beat Generation, Morocco saw a flourishing of arts, political change, and visits by distinguished guests from the West. Encounters between the aspects of the mystical/sacred traditions of Morocco’s mixing cultures and emissaries from the West, many who indulged in the newly-opened freedoms and sacred traditions, led variously to works of genius, momentous cross- cultural encounters, and personal fame and ruin.

 

Events of these h

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9781633381469

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Memoir of a Berber: Brian Jones Of The Rolling Stones In Jahjouka, the Beat Generation in Morrocco

Hassan Ouakrim

Copyright © 2018 Hassan Ouakrim

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books, Inc.

Meadville, PA

First originally published by Fulton Books 2018

Cover design by Michael Cotten

ISBN 978-1-63338-145-2 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63338-146-9 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

A Native out of Place: Growing up in Morocco

Tiznit, the Source Bleue

Agadir, Seeing the Ocean

Tangier, Description of Uncle, Bad Relationship with Brother

Learning the Language, No Space in School

Arriving in Marrakesh, Uncleʼs House

Intro Puppet King

Attending School and Making Friends

Bullies, Revenge, Jemaa Elʼfna

Jemaa Elʼfna in 1953

Avoiding Job of Tribute to the Fake King

Explosion and Search

MARRAKECH THE RED CITY

From Tangier to Rabat and Back (1967-1969)

Work, Government Post, Vows to Leave

Jahjouka and Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones

The Night of Music in Jahjouka

The White Goat and Brian Jones

Behind Our Dreams

Hamdi, King for a Day

BOUJLOUD &THE GOD PAN

To Rona one of the last great ladies of Bronx

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

My deep appreciation to Andrew Varyu, a friend who made it possible for me to put together this first volume. Thanks to his creative writing skills, we were able to improve on the first draft, more specifically on the chapter dealing with the Jahjouka and Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones. I am grateful for his guidance in my first literary endeavor. This collaboration was an act of mutual friendship. During this labor of love, he spent the summer as my guest in New York City more than ten years ago. I was pleased that Andrew could enjoy a bit of our hospitality in Southern Morocco, during the Aday-Tafraout festival of Berber music.

Andrew, I dedicate the Jahjouka chapter to you!

Thank you

INTRODUCTION TO HASSAN OUAKRIMʼS AUTOBIOGRAPHY

MEMOIR OF A BERBER

By Ellen Stewart

I RAN INTO HASSAN OUAKRIM IN THE LATE SIXTIES IN TANGIER WHILE VISITING MY SPIRITUAL BROTHER AHMED YACOUBI. AT THAT TIME, I WAS INTRODUCED TO THE INOSISS BERBER BALLET THEATER GROUP. HASSAN AND MAATI ZAARI WERE EXPERIMENTING WITH THE ANCIENT TRADITIONAL MUSIC CREATING THE FIRST AVANT GARDE THEATRE GROUP INOSISS.

SEVERAL YEARS LATER, AT MY INVITATION, HASSAN OUAKRIM CAME TO LA MAMA ETC, TO PARTICIPATE IN THE PRODUCTION OF AHMED YACOUBI’S THE NIGHT BEFORE THINKING TRANSLATED BY PAUL BOWLES. IN 1976 LA MAMA ALSO PRODUCED ZAINAMOH, A PLAY WRITTEN AND DIRECTED BY HASSAN OUAKRIM, TO BE FOLLOWED BY MANY OTHER PROJECTS. THROUGH HIS INVOLVEMENT WITH LA MAMA, HASSAN BECAME KNOWN AS THE AMBASSADOR OF MOROCCAN CULTURE IN THE USA.

HASSAN IS A MASTER TEACHER OF ALL THE VARIOUS BERBER DANCES; HIS ASSOCIATION WITH MANY OTHER NOTABLE ARTISTS, SUCH AS IBRAHIM FARAH, LAUNCHED HIM ON A CHALLENGING CAREER ACROSS THE COUNTRY, PERFORMING, TEACHING AND LECTURING. HE IS A SERIOUS AND CREATIVE ARTIST WHO BECAME AN AMERICAN CITIZEN AND WORKED WITH US FOR THE PAST THREE DECADES AS THE ARTISTIC DIRECTOR OF LA MAMA, MOROCCO IN NEW YORK CITY. HIS FASCINATING STORY REACHES FROM THE BERBER LAND OF THE ATLAS TO THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

INDEED, AHMED YACOUBI WAS MY BROTHER AND HASSAN WAS MY SON.

A Native out of Place: Growing up in Morocco

Looking for Home in Morocco

Exile, Mischief, and Expulsion: A lost Berber soul in Jemaa Al F’na- Marrakesh Medina Express

Historical Setting, Leaving Home

From an ancient Amazigh tribe deep in the austere southern region of the Anti-Atlas Mountains bordering on the Sahara, my journey began. Indigenous to North Africa, the Amazigh people have been referred to as Berbers by Western and Arab historians. Our people are proud of a long history of struggling for survival in an area that remained out of reach of the colonial land-grab frenzy that devastated most urban centers of traditional Moroccan society.

Life in the south of Morocco was becoming more difficult, and many able young men were attracted to commercial centers far and near. Only chance knew where a pioneering individual would end up. My father, who had already set out to start a new life in the north, struggled to sell wood charcoal from a small store outside the towering Kasbah walls of Tangier. It was a few years later in 1947, at the age of seven, that I heard my father had decided to send for me to join him in the north.

According to his beliefs, the time had come for me to make the voyage and attend school like a normal kid. My older brother Housseine was entrusted with the mission of escorting me the 1,000 miles from the deep south to the northern city of Tangier. As my dear mother received the word to ready me to leave, I never noticed how saddened she became. She was devastated by the possibility of losing me and never seeing me again. Since that day, tears never left the beautiful black eyes she would cover with kohl.

She stuffed the few clothes I had in a small wooden suitcase tied with a handmade rope to make sure I didn’t lose them. That day, I was told to get ready; a bus would pass by the road. My mother, dressed in black, standing next to me, prayed and cried silently. She handed me a small bundle of a loaf of bread, a few boiled eggs, and a small jar of argan oil. I kissed her hand and ran to the bus. The last thing I heard was the horn, and we proceeded, leaving behind us a cloud of black smoke.

Tiznit, the Source Bleue

Though departing my birthplace of Aday left me numb and my heart broken, my Berber spirit did not leave me. In dreams at night, a flying horseman would sweep down from above on a glowing white horse, raising a sword. In my burnous and turban, I would join him. We would fly over the Atlas Mountains, free, exploring the contours of the land.

As the bus passed through narrow and rocky roads, we reached Afud Orm, the camel’s knee which the French occupiers referred to more aptly as les virages de la mort (the curves of death)

The Berber driver guided us through these hills to the first urban settlement, hidden inside huge walls made from mud. With a casbah towering over the vast court, the heart of the city of Tiznit buzzed with horses, mules, and donkeys. Bikes, wild dogs, and people wove traffic patterns as enchanting as the tapestries displayed in the square. Tiznit had the reputation of being the center of the Berber Jewish Jewelry trade. In the huge souk market, silver crafts glimmered as they changed hands.

On our first break, we all departed the bus and entered a long dark room with only a few candles floating light to the low ceiling. Electric power had not yet arrived. On the agenda of the French, as they developed the infrastructure of the country, the south was at the bottom of the list. Our cave was crowded, and most of the men wearing wool burnous and turbans were crowding in line to use the few holes in the ground. When I neared the pits, the smell was so bad I almost suffocated and fell over from the weakness of my stomach and knees. I ran outdoors to relieve myself.

Outside, some old tribesmen lined up, facing east to pray, while others gathered to low round tables to enjoy the famous Tagine of Tiznit, a Berber-spiced stew of goat and vegetable that waved enticing aromas to