Travels of a Gnawa Drum from Merzouga, Morocco

By Cheri Varnadoe

I was minding my own business, hanging on the wall of the Gnawa House in Merzouga, Morocco, when this group wandered in to see our show. For those of you not familiar with this music:

Gnawa is the music of formerly enslaved black Africans who integrated into the Moroccan cultural and social landscape, and founded a model to preserve the traditions and folkloric music of their ancestors. Rising to prominence from a marginalised practice to heal people possessed by genie spirits, it is one of the most popular styles of North African music. The roots of the music are recognisably African in the drumming, the unique metallic castanets, the three-stringed bass lute (guembri), as well as the mosaic gowns and caps worn by musicians mostly decorated with cowry shells. (Al Jazeera, 2015)

Their group looked tired and dusty, having just come from camping in the desert, riding camels there and back, followed by a desert jeep tour to visit nomad encampments. But they enjoyed the music of our Gnawa performers, clapping along to the rhythm. I noticed this lady eyeing me from the other side of the room and overheard her ask Mohammed if I was for sale. She told him that her friend in the U.S. plays African drums and would love to have one from Morocco. “Was it made here? What are the symbols on it? How much would it cost? Can I take it on the plane?”

Mohammed took me down and told the lady that I, unlike the djembe drums from West Africa, was a Moroccan drum. She really liked my decorations. Hakim played that up, showing her the Berber symbol and the Fatima hand to ward off the evil eye. Hakim said he’d take 500 dirham, she offered 250 and they settled on 300. She probably could have gotten a better deal but her group was leaving and she didn’t want to get left behind in the Sahara desert. Looks like I was headed to America!

We headed to her hotel and I was pretty much neglected until one of the hotel staff came into her room. Man, was he surprised to find me in her room! He snuck in a few beats, then told the lady that I’m usually played with a small cane which he offered to get for her. Smart kid! She tipped him well for his help.

I spent the next week in the back of the bus, while the students visited an apple growers cooperative, an electric station, an abandoned mine, a boarding house for students and the Moroccan family of an ASU student.

On the day of departure, we headed to the airport at 5am, dragging along three other bags filled with Moroccan rugs and souvenirs. The bellmen, taxi driver and pretty much everyone else we passed had to show off their ‘drumming skills’ on me.

When we arrived, the airline agent told the lady she could carry her roller bag or me onto the plane, not both. She tried to convince them otherwise, but finally stuffed the contents of her roller bag into her checked bags and ‘donated’ the suitcase to a security guard. I felt pretty special that she chose me over her emergency change of clothes and toiletries. I kept getting stuck in the x-ray machine so the security guy had to push me through. Of course, he had to give me a tap to show he could play drums too. We were the last ones to arrive at the gate, where the airline agent told the lady she couldn’t take me on board. I did not fit in the overhead compartment or under the seat. Fortunately, first class wasn’t full so they gave me my very own seat after sternly admonishing the lady that this was a ‘onetime exception’. We left Morocco, me riding in first class while she flew economy.

We had the same problem boarding our next flight from Paris to Philadelphia. The nice steward told the lady that they usually charge for a package to have a seat, but he would make an exception for the “little drummer girl” and let me ride in the empty seat beside her. When we finally landed, we had to retrieve the checked bags and go through US customs.

Our porter was a nice man from Jamaica who plays drums. He was quite impressed with me. The customs agent, not so much. He wanted to know where I was purchased and what kind of animal skin I was made of. He was worried that I hadn’t been ‘processed correctly’ and could carry Anthrax. He looked up some stuff on the internet, while the lady tried not to scream that she was going to miss her flight. He finally decided we weren’t a terrorist threat and let us go, but we missed our flight. When the gate agent told the lady there were no more flights that night, she almost broke down crying. I think she was upset that she’d chosen me over her change of clothes and toiletries.

The next morning we headed back to the airport. I got stuck in the x-ray machine again, holding up the line through security. But there was a mechanical issue with the plane so we spent the rest of the day sitting around the airport. The nice steward from the Paris flight walked by our gate and called out “You still lugging around that drum?” I felt like a celebrity. But not for long. The next flight was sold out so I had to go in the cargo area. When I get to Raleigh, I’m going to live with the lady’s friend who’s in an African drumming group. I hope she’s as welcoming as Moroccans since I just traveled 4,206 miles to meet her!