In dialogue with
excerpts of documentary film project Lila by Julien Colardelle

excerpt 1 : Ritual entrance, Julien Colardelle

On the streets of Marrakech, Morocco, the melodic wailing of a man adorned in a brightly coloured robe can be heard over the metallic clamoring of seven other men at his side who, also in bright robes, hold qraqrebs—heavy, hand-sized, cymbal-type instruments—close to their chests. The man’s thumb taps (not strums) the strings of a rectangular-shaped guitar called a hajhuj while the rest of his fingers curl and firmly knock against the camel-skin-covered wooden base, drawing the singing, qraqrebs, and strumming into its percussion orbit. It’s an all-day gig for these musicians and other groups like them found on the avenues of the sprawling city, captivating tourists and nationals alike.

Just west of Marrakech, the most influential of these musicians known as the Gnawa convene yearly for the World Gnaoua Festival, where millions of visitors flock from all over the world to watch them perform. While many original songs are played, most are improvisations on shared songs that originated centuries ago, now infused with contemporary genres including jazz, pop, reggae, and blues. The language used in the songs, unintelligible to the large majority of their audience, is a vessel of their history—a mix of Arabic and North African Amazigh languages, interwoven with indigenous West African expression. In the time since the Moroccan Saadian Dynasty first invaded West Africa in the 16^th century, much understanding of the language has been lost, even by the musicians themselves, due to the predominance of Arabic dialects. But with words like “Bambara,” “Hausa,” and “Fulani” peppered throughout the lyrics, referring to the historical past, and with the work of eminent Gnawa scholars including Chouki El Hamel and Deborah Kapchan, more of the enigmatic history of the Gnawa has been uncovered.

Though the Gnawa are now globally recognized for the music used in their sacred possession-trance ritual called lila (literally “night,” the time when these rituals originally took place), the Gnawa once swung precariously between slavery and manumission at the whims of Moroccan rulers since the invasion of the Songhai empire by the Saadians. But the history of the Gnawa is not simply a matter of conquest and subjugation. Aside from their more or less “objective” history, what has also been uncovered is the complex role played by forced migration in transforming communities at the intersection of culture and geography. The cultural, spiritual, and political practices of a people are not abruptly lost or dislocated as they negotiate new geographies. In the case of the Gnawa, their practices were instead augmented by the free expansion of Islam in West Africa prior to the Moroccan invasion, and later transformed—but not dislocated—in their forced migrations to Morocco.

The accepted historical account of the Gnawa is that they became a homogenous bloc in Morocco in the 17^th century, when Sultan Mawlay Isma’il enacted a sweeping edict to re-enslave all Black Africans within Morocco’s borders. While it is within the borders of Morocco that the syncretism between Islam and traditional African religions transformed into a unique religious structure, the origins of the Gnawa did not start in Morocco but in West Africa, where Islam was already taking root.

The introduction of Islam into West Africa initially had a less hostile beginning. Around the 7^th century, with the settling of Muslim Arabs in North Africa, contact made with the Amazigh as traders with Sub-Saharan Africa gave rise to the latter’s position as commercial and religious middlemen. In the 8^th century, Muslim Arab traders set up a commercial center in present-day Sudan, where the expansion of Islam became much more direct. While the political West African elite more readily accepted the Islamic religion brought by Trans-Saharan trade, the commonfolk often clung to their traditional religious practices unless Islam was strictly enforced by their rulers, leading to religious syncretism rather than assimilation.

As held in traditional African religions, the Gnawa believe that the ultimate power—i.e., Allah—cannot be reached directly.[i] Instead, spiritual matters must be pursued through ancestral spirits, or Mluk (sing. Mlek), taken from both traditional African deities and Abrahamic-Qur’anic figures and represented by one of seven colors in Gnawa theology. Because they believe that one or more Mluk will chose and permanently inhabit a Gnawi, the Mlek must be routinely placated through the lila ritual, or else it threatens ailment and misfortune. This is a theology that is rooted in West African spirituality. As Apeike Umolu discusses in her lecture An Introduction to African Religions,[ii] traditional Sub-Saharan African philosophy holds that ancestors can and do positively or negatively impact individual lives and the fate of the wider community. The ancestors must be routinely and perpetually honored through generations to prevent misfortune,  thus this practice is one of self- and cultural preservation. This pantheon of ancestral spirits is found in both Gnawa theology and traditional West African religions like Vodun, and display similar characteristics. Further elucidating the West African roots of Gnawa theology, the ruler of all the Mluk in the Gnawa pantheon is Sidi Mimoun, who is represented by the color Black.

In the lila, the possessed Gnawi, dressed in the color of the Mlek, will be guided into a trance by the music. The M’allem or master (stemming from Malam, an Islamic scholar or teacher) leads on the hajhuj, and up to seven other male Gnawa play the qraqrebs. Each Mlek has a collection of songs dedicated specifically to them, and physical and emotional support for the entranced Gnawi is provided by mqaddema, typically a woman who has mastered placating her Mlek. The possessed Gnawi will then begin demonstrating the characteristics of their Mlek. For example, some Gnawa have been witnessed performing swimming motions when possessed by Sidi Musa, a Mlek established from Moses, the famous Biblical-Qur’anic figure who parted the Red Sea.[iii]

excerpt 2 : The White and the Green, Julien Colardelle

Given their perilous position in Moroccan society, spirituality became a powerful force of preservation and transformation for the Gnawa. Whereas in traditional African societies, political power often coalesced around the spiritual foundations of the people, once in Morocco the Gnawa found similar structures for their new, synthesized practice in the Islamic-Sufi brotherhoods found across North Africa. Islamic-Sufi brotherhoods exhibited a key element similar to traditional African religion—their structure revolved around the worship of ancestors and patron saints—enabling the Gnawa to preserve a critical part of their West African identity in a foreign, hostile society. But it wasn’t just that the Gnawa found Islamic-Sufi brotherhoods to be suitable frameworks for continuing their practices—they also deeply influenced and transformed the structures and practices of these originally non-West African descendant brotherhoods.

The use of instruments to call upon spirits for possession-trance rituals are found in both the ‘Isawiyya and Hamdushiyya brotherhoods, and is understood to be a direct influence from the Gnawa. A more specific example of influence from the Gnawa is expressed in the “Isawa belief in at least five Black spirits while the king of their jinns is [also] Black and called al-Gnawi.” Similarly, the Hamdushiyya brotherhood “is associated with a black she-spirit (jinniyya), Gnawiyya Lalla ‘Aisha,”’[iv] who is also found in the Gnawa pantheon as Aisha Qandisha.

As we can see, rather than succumbing to historical erasure and cultural extinction by forced migration, West Africans who were captured and integrated into Morocco were able to preserve the most fundamental of their frameworks, both synthesizing with and transforming elements found across geographical, cultural, and political boundaries. But, as alluded to earlier, the origins of the Gnawa did not start in Morocco. Though there is much research still to be done on the specific origins of the Gnawa, the belief in a pantheon and permanent spirit inhabitance, the use of music in possession-trance, the role of the woman, and the social status of the musicians are all elements found in many spiritual and social systems across West Africa, like the Hausa-Bori cult, for example, still practicing today in Northern Nigeria.

Instead of fully assimilating into Islam, the Bori cult instead synthesized the new spiritual elements into their existing beliefs. For example, on encountering Muslim-Arab scholars in the 11th century in Hausaland, the Bori cult expanded their pantheon to include the Zaurem Malamai or “House” of Qur’anic scholars. They similarly included the Zaurem Filani, or House of Fulani, when Fulani peoples began settling in Hausaland in the 14th century. They also expanded the pantheon upon encountering Amazigh and European peoples, classifying them as both light-skinned visitors belonging to the Zuaren Turawa or House of North Africans. Each of these “houses,” akin to the color designation of Mluk in Gnawa theology, contained spirits that further emulated stereotypes of the people they encountered when possessed in ritual—i.e., gestures of contemplation when possessed by a Malamai spirit, or emulations of warfare when possessed by a Turawa spirit.[v] Arguably, members of the Bori cult may have been part of the West African groups that carried these expanded spirit pantheons, as well as the practice of possession-trance, into Morocco, further transforming it as they integrated into that society.

Whatever the specific origins of the Gnawa, the accepted historical account is that the Gnawa became formalized under the Moroccan Sultan Mawlay Isma’il. However, the Gnawa often claim descent from Bilāl Ibn Ribāh, a former slave of Ethiopian descent, freed by the Prophet Muhammad in Mecca, and the first muezzin—the religious leader who calls the faithful to prayer. We must here think about the tension between accepted historical realities cultivated by a generation or two of academics and scholars, many of whom are outsiders of the Gnawa community, and the inherent knowledge within the Gnawa community, despite its limitations with respect to Western scholarly standards.

In traditional African societies, the oral tradition is a powerful tool which can serve as an archive of origin, victory, defeat, and theology. It is also linked to the aforementioned significance of ancestral lineage in traditional Sub-Saharan society. Oral traditions—stories of where one comes from and what happened along the way—were passed on through generations, collectively forging a society’s ephemeral conception of itself which persisted through forced and free migrations. The Gnawa similarly used oral tradition to preserve, shape, and transform the perception of their origins in a society hostile to their presence. In addition to songs that honor Allah and invoke Mluk, Gnawa music also consists of folk songs, passed down through generations, which recount the histories of their community.

Chouki El Hamel gives an example of this synthesis of storytelling and spirituality Gnawa lyricism in the song “Mbara”:

Oh! God our lord,

My uncle Mbara is a miserable man

What a fate does he have?

My uncle Mbara is a poor man

Our lady eats meat

Our master eats meat

My uncle Mbara gnaws at the bone

Our lady wears elegant shoes

Our master wears beautiful shoes

My uncle Mbara wears sandals

Oh! God is our Guide

This is the predicament of the deprived

Oh, poor uncle Mbara.[vi]

El Hamel was told by Gnawi M’allem Boubker Gania that this is actually the oldest Gnawa song, which exemplifies the practice of the shared repertoire of Gnawa music. Songs like this one are shared and expanded through generations, leading to new, contemporary lines like:

My master goes to the cinema

My uncle Mbara entertains in the market.[vii]

While this example revolves around a particular figure, other Gnawa songs also recount the history of their community as a bloc:

They brought [us] from the Sudan

The nobles of this country brought us

They brought us to serve them

They brought us to bow to them

They brought us

Oh there is no God but God

We believe in God’s justice.[viii]

excerpt 3 : The Red and the Black, Julien Colardelle

Gnawa music serves a greater purpose greater than aesthetic. It is a carrier of memory that opens wide channels of possibility, giving the community space to perpetually reinvent itself while preserving what is most fundamental. The claim to Bilāl is both a product of this liminal space of possibility and of their history, making it one that reflects their identity in multiple ways. These vignettes of individual and collective history, embedded in their musical oral tradition, followed the Gnawa from West Africa, demonstrated by griots, or storytellers, who used poetry and music to orate the history of their community. El Hamel cites Africanist Thomas Hale’s theory of the linguistic connection between Gnawa and Griot:

‘“The word agenaou, so deeply imbedded in the intertwined cultures of the North West African region, was most likely a step in the process of linguistic change that began with ghana and went on to gnawa, agenaou, guineo, and guiriot to produce griot.”’[ix]

A key place in which the oral traditions of the Gnawa and the Griots intersect is the claim to Bilāl. For example, in the epic of Sundiata Keita, the 13^th-century ruler of the Mali empire, griots traced his family lineage back to Bilāl, whose eldest son “left the Holy City and came to settle in Mali.”[x] El Hamel writes that claims to Bilāl in West African societies go back as early as the 11^th century while in the process of conversion, as a way to “[legitimize] their identity in Islamic terms,” because they were “conscious of their difference and their blackness.”[xi] In both the Gnawa and griot communities, it is a reimagining of their Blackness in a new set of circumstances. Bilāl’s Blackness also points to Islam’s deeper origins in Africa. When the Prophet, who as an infant was nursed by an Ethiopian woman, first began his teachings in 7^th-century polytheistic Arabia, his followers were persecuted and found refuge in Ethiopia, then known as Abyssinia, the place where Bilāl also originates. The Muslim refugees enjoyed great hospitality and protection from Emperor Najashi. Upon regrouping and leaving the empire, the Prophet Muhammad declared Abyssinia, a deeply Christian country, exempt from jihad.[xii] Thus, the relationship between Islam and Blackness transcended geographical boundaries and entered the much more fluid realm of historical process.

While it may be too speculative to say that Bilāl, the Prophet, Ethiopia, and the rest of Sub-Saharan Africa are directly connected, in historical processes there is seldom a coincidence. Free and forced migrations by individuals and groups of people are critical catalysts of events that occur further down the line, complicating our conceptions of time and geography. The claim to lineage from Bilāl in the oral traditions of the Gnawa have just as much legitimacy as the historical accounts by scholars and academics. Whether genealogically true or not, the claim to Bilāl points to the historical augmentation of traditional West African practices once in contact with the Muslim Arabs arriving from the North, and the transformation of this evolved practice into a unique tradition once the Gnawa settled in Morocco. Though slavery remains a part of Bilāl’s heritage, its importance is de-emphasized, and the prestige of being a faithful companion to the Prophet takes center without negating the ability of the Gnawa to identify with their Sub-Saharan heritage. In other words, because their Blackness was a source of their marginalization in both Islamic West Africa and Morocco, their identification with Bilāl both legitimized their Islamic-ness and reinforced their Blackness with a sense of pride.

The complex sojourn of the Gnawa from West Africa, to Morocco, to the global stage, points to the critical role political geographies, liminal spaces, and cultural delineations play in societies still evolving today. Umolu states that in traditional African societies, the method of operation is “adaptation as opposed to change.” We see this in the Gnawa, where historical and cultural knowledge is a generational process—one that expands and perseveres through adversity and prosperity. When thinking of the process of free or forced migration, the Gnawa prompt us to think about dislocation in a different way. Though there were profound impacts on traditional African culture at the advent of Islam and the sojourn to Morocco, much of their heritage, practices, and philosophies have been kept intact, if expressed differently. While part of this may be seen as resistance, it also points to the elasticity embedded in culture that aids it in shaping-shifting across space and time. Dislocation is perhaps too literal a term—it makes us designate beginnings and ends that do not always translate into real life.

Through the Gnawa, millennia of traditional African culture came into contact with the fledging Islam, right at the height of interpretation, to produce a culture that would expand and retract across the Niger river, the Sahel, the Sahara, and the Maghreb, inviting a hosts of diverse peoples into its process of evolution. Thus, we continue to push ourselves to reimagine the processes of migration, cultural tension, and confluence in shifting geographies, real and imagined.

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Footnotes

[i]Chouki El Hamel, Black Morocco: A History of Slavery, Race and Islam (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 288.

[ii]Apeike Umolu, “An Introduction to African Religions” (African History Project), June 8, 2021. https://africanhistoryproject.org/past-events/religion-past-events/past-lecture-an-introduction-to-african-religions/.

[iii] For a detailed account see Deborah Kapchan, Deborah A. Kapchan, Traveling Spirit Masters: Moroccan Gnawa Trance and Music (Middletown, Wesleyan University Press, 2007)

[iv]Chouki El Hamel, Black Morocco, 283-284.

[v] For a detailed account see Fremont E. Besmer, Horses, Musicians and Gods: The Hausa Cult of Possession Trance (South Hadley: Bergin & Garvey Publishers, 1983).

[vi]Chouki El Hamel, Black Morocco, 257.

[vii]Chouki El Hamel, “Constructing a Diasporic Identity: Tracing the Origins of the Gnawa Spiritual Group in Morocco,” The Journal of African History, Vol. 49, No. 2 (2008), pp. 257

[viii]Chouki El Hamel, “Constructing a Diasporic Identity,” pp. 256.

[ix]Chouki El Hamel, Black Morocco, 280.

[x] Chouki El Hamel, Black Morocco, 280.

[xi]Chouki El Hamel, Black Morocco 279

[xii]Richard Pankhurst, The Ethiopians: A History (Malden: Blackwell Publishing, 2001), 39-40.

Bibliography

Apeike Umolu, “An Introduction to African Religions” (African History Project), June 8, 2021. https://africanhistoryproject.org/past-events/religion-past-events/past-lecture-an-introduction-to-african-religions/.

Chouki El Hamel, Black Morocco: A History of Slavery, Race and Islam. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013.

Chouki El Hamel, “Constructing a Diasporic Identity: Tracing the Origins of the Gnawa Spiritual Group in Morocco,” The Journal of African History, Vol. 49, No. 2 (2008), pp. 241-260. https://www.jstor.org/stable/40206641

Deborah Kapchan, Deborah A. Kapchan, Traveling Spirit Masters: Moroccan Gnawa Trance and Music. Middletown: Wesleyan University Press, 2007.

Fremont E. Besmer, Horses, Musicians and Gods: The Hausa Cult of Possession Trance. South Hadley: Bergin & Garvey Publishers, 1983.

Richard Pankhurst, The Ethiopians: A History. Malden: Blackwell Publishing, 2001.