a day off

Exhausted by the intensity of Marrakech we allow ourselves a day off from the story-telling odyssey and while Lahcen is in London we drive north to the seaside town of El Jadida - breaking our journey on to Casablanca tomorrow. It's still a good 4 hour drive though so time to crack out the James Blunt. I don't know how we missed it before but the first line of the second track is 'One day your story will be told', the discovery of which we must share with Lahcen when he's back.

For an afternoon we are tourists sharing pizza on the beach before a walk round the Portugese Cistern, and the ramparts of the tiny Portugese medina. We dine in a lovely fish restaurant and miraculously Noah sleeps through the whole of dinner so it really does feel like a day off.

Finding a teapot

We know that mint tea will form a part of the eventual show HALQA, whatever the show itself becomes, and we know that it will even form a part of the 10 minute scratch performance of it that we're giving at the BAC Freshly Scratched Festival in a few weeks time. So today we set off to get lost in the souks of Marrakech and find ourselves a teapot. Hopefully without getting too ripped off, though now that we are without Lahcen who knows...

After some aimless wandering we find ourselves outside a little shop that seems to be filled entirely with teapots, and not simply the new obviously factory-made kind but some more unique (and perhaps antique) looking ones. Also Noah has started to kick up a fuss. There is only so long we can keep him strapped in a buggy when there are so many exciting things to play with (and break) in the souk. So we stop and after some mint tea (which Noah has also taken a liking to) and a bit of haggling we settle on a pot. Eventually we find our way out again (after 6 hours) and eat dinner in a terrace restaurant overlooking the Jemaa. Noah is a huge hit with every Moroccan he encounters, as he's very happy to be picked up an cuddled and kissed. So the waiters adopt him while we look out over the square savouring our last night in Marrakech. And savouring the delights of a pastilla (my new favourite food - chicken, filo pastry, cinnamon and icing sugar - what's not to love). Suddenly the musicians in the square fall silent as the adhan, the Muslim call to prayer, rings out. It's not something you would notice in the square itself as the hubbub of voices continues unbated but high up on the terrace, with a minaret immediately to our right, the silence is unmistakably in response to the sound of the muezzin.

Three aunties and Harun Al Rashid

After breakfast of a kind of porridge-y soup which Will loathes, and luckily Noah loves, we go to a larger village nearby to shop for lunch. We choose a live chicken and return ten minutes later to take it back to the village with us (no longer alive).

After lunch (chicken) we meet three of Lahcen's aunts who between them tell us about his grandfather; by all accounts an amazing man. He lived to 120 and when his teeth fell out new teeth started growing. So the story goes. Before the advent of TV, nights were long in the desert and those nights were spent telling stories.

Between them they recounted a story that Lahcen's grandfather used to tell - a tale of Harun Al Rashid. Until this point, and as with all our other interactions, Lahcen would translate from Moroccan Arabic/Darija into English, but the aunties dialect is so thick that even Lahcen is struggling so we have a three way translation where his uncle translates their older language into a mix of French and Darija and Lahcen then translates that into English! At the end of the story they say something together in unison. I ask for a translation - 'The story went with the current of the river, but I'm still staying with my people'.

After the stories we follow Lahcen out of the (new) village and wander through the desert to the old village which stood on a hill, and is now an uninhabited ruins. Perhaps a slightly perilous climb when you're carrying a baby on your back, as Will is, but it's worth it. The view stunning and the silence (after so many words) feels like a huge relief. The desert invites silence, but after a while that silence invites stories. Or so it feels to me, as much to Lahcen's surprise I love the desert. I'll be sad to leave tomorrow. And not only because I can't face another 8 hours with Noah in the car.

The desert

Today we spent 8 hours (8 hours!!!) driving into the desert to stay with Lahcen's extended family and talk to them about his late grandfather who had been a story-teller in their village. Lahcen says the drive will take 3 hours. Around the 5 hour mark he tells us a story about driving with his father a long distance and his father telling him 'If we don't arrive today, we'll arrive tomorrow'. I think this might become a motto.

The reason it takes so long is partly because we have to go over the mountains - the perilous Tchika - which used to terrify Lahcen as a young boy. Noah doesn't seem fazed but he is mostly clamped to my breast to try and keep him asleep (having promised to provide us with a car seat our friendly car hire man never re-appeared so Noah is on my lap for the duration). When even the breast won't pacify him we resort to James Blunt - which we discovered has a strangely soporific effect on him and brought with us (a CD not the real person) expressly for that purpose. Now whenever I hear James Blunt I will picture the winding passes and stunning views over the Atlas mountains.

Finally we arrive and the welcome is all the more sweet for the long journey preceding it. Couscous, tea, a beautiful room in which Will, Noah and I are staying and a much needed shower! We arrive empty-handed (a huge faux-pas in Arab culture) but it is so late we can barely stagger from the car to the house as it is. So tomorrow we will make good and buy food for lunch.

The storytellers

We meet the storytellers in the Jemaa, only a few hours later than we'd scheduled. Over mint tea (of course) they talk about having lost a way of life, and a way of living with the decline of story-telling. Lahcen notices a huge bird in the sky. It feels like an omen of some sort. For these story-tellers they form a halqa for three reasons - to make an audience laugh, to take care of them and to take some money. Last night we had a long conversation about why we tell stories - for an audience, for ourselves - it was wide-ranging and philosophical. We put the question to one of the storytellers. His answer is simple 'I tell stories to eat'. One of the storytellers has been telling stories since 1955, you can see it in his expressively wrinkled face, and according to him the 'people who have the words to do the halqa are dying'. He stops mid thought and runs across the square to retrieve a balloon for a boy who has lost it. Returning he talks about forming the halqa 'when you have the circle then the story comes' and the art of story-telling - 'You must tell a story until you own it, until it's your property, until you become the king of that story'. And then he tells us a short story about a dying man with three sons - I won't retell it here because it's going into the show and I don't want to spoil it, but like all the Moroccan stories that I've read so far there is a very clear moral. And as he says the storyteller has to give a message with his story.

We return to our hotel excited - we are definitely onto something. Then in the evening we watch a brilliant documentary called 'Al Halqa, In The Storyteller's Circle' by German film-maker Thomas Ladenburger. It follows a storyteller called Abderahim attempting to pass on his stories to his son Zoheir. It's a beautiful film, touching and funny, and an insight into these elusive creatures - the last story-tellers. I think Abderahim might also have been one of the story-tellers who contributed to Richard Hamilton's book 'The Last Storytellers' which we read before we flew out. It's a small world.

Waiting

Today we return to the Jamaa - it is a very different place in the day time. We meet a man who works with monkeys, a cousin of Lahcen's who says he can set us up with some story-tellers. We wait and wait. Glass after glass of mint tea, and our first tagine. Noah is less patient than us (though the tagine occupies him for a time) and would rather wander off or play with a snake but as our patience is running out they arrive. Only to tell us to return tomorrow when they will then tell us a story and talk about the traditions of the halqa. Our interest piqued we promise to return tomorrow and head back to the hotel (in a horse-drawn carriage, as you do). Waiting around are things I suspect we may have to get used to in Morocco.

Lahcen is more philosophical about it all and says the square recognised that we were tired and should come back tomorrow. 'You're not able to listen yet.' There is a strong vein of the fatalistic running through the fabric of Morocco which is something I'll need to come to terms with given my love of efficiency and punctuality. So when it happens will be the right time. And now to bed.

Jamaa El Fna

After a remarkably stress free journey - heeding the advice of other mums I breastfed Noah through take off and landing and he slept for pretty much the entire three hour flight - we arrive in Marrakech in the early evening. After some haggling over a car with an entirely unofficial car-hire 'guy' we drive into the new town of Marrakech to a hotel where the Moroccan actor (and major star) Said Bey is staying, who manages to negotiate a 50% discount. Said is an old friend of Lahcen's and can hopefully facilitate several connections and conversations with other artists in Morocco. Serendipitously he is also fascinated by the story-tellers and the oral storytelling traditions of Morocco and we start exploring with him what this show might eventually be, over a pot of mint tea in a local cafe. We had known before we flew that whatever HALQA becomes there will be mint tea involved, in the show itself, not simply its creation - and it feels apt that our first exchange takes place over a glass of the super sweet, super hot concoction.

After discussing the meaning of the word 'Halqa' used to described the circle of audience that forms around a storyteller (and also snake-charmer, musician, acrobat etc) we headed off to the Jemaa El Fna - one of Morocco's most well-known landmarks and now a world heritage site - to see the Halqa in action. It's an intense experience, a cacophany of drums, hawkers, orange juice sellers and street food vendors, a mass of humanity crammed together in this huge public square where for hundreds of years story-tellers have spun their tales alongside acrobats and snake charmers. Noah has a field day, of course. I think Morocco suits him.

We don't expect to meet a master storyteller on our first night in Morocco - the rise of TV and radio, coupled with the rising sound levels in the Jemaa - have led to a huge decline in oral storytelling - and if we are to find some genuine story-tellers while we are here we will have to hunt them out. But after our evening in the Jemaa we now at least have a little understanding of the circle, of the halqa, as well as a new-found friend in Morocco's answer to Brad Pitt - Said Bey.