Letting North Africa be African

The Maghreb (Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, and sometimes Mauritania and Libya) doesn't seem to belong anywhere. Instead of celebrating its invigorating mix of peoples and languages, and the heterogeneity of its cultures, it gets penalized for not being Arab enough, or Middle Eastern enough or in the case of the situation discussed in the article we excerpt below, it's not African enough, an accusation tinged with racial and religious biases. Here is a piece from the Guardian by Iman Amrani on the topic. Enjoy!
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Why don’t we think of north Africa as part of Africa?
by Iman Amrani
September 9, 2015

When a Guardian article stated that Chigozie Obioma was the “sole African writer” to be longlisted for the 2015 Booker prize, the journalist in question had clearly forgotten there was life north of the Sahara. Thankfully, the Moroccan-born writer Laila Lalami, who was also longlisted, was quick to remind him, tweeting: “I am African. It’s an identity I’m often denied but that I will always insist upon”.


I know Lalami’s frustration well. Every time I have to declare my ethnicity I am reminded that “black African” is seemingly the only category that exists. Being both Algerian and British, I am constantly explaining why I identify as European and African – as though I’m “choosing” to be African, rather than it simply being a fact.


In politics and academia, north African countries are commonly grouped with the Middle East under the umbrella of MENA. In conferences I have been to on “African” issues, Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Libya and Egypt have often had tokenistic representation, if any at all.

But the identity equation isn’t as simple as Arabic speakers equal Arab people. There are still communities across the Maghreb that speak Berber or Amazigh and a dialect called darija that heavily features French and Spanish phrases. Besides, being Arab isn’t an alternative to being African, or even black. Mauritanians and Sudanese can identify as all three at once.

FULL ARTICLE

The Moor's Account - a new book about a Moroccan explorer of the Americas

Lala Laila Lalami has penned a new piece of historical fiction. Her new book is entitled The Moor's Account and deals with the story of the life of a Moroccan Berber who visited America in the 1500s  (We've mentioned him earlier on this blog - see the tag "Esteban of Azemmour.")
Here is a link to her discussing the book on NPR.  And here is a New York Times article about the book.

Happy Reading!
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His Manifest Destiny
‘The Moor’s Account,’ by Laila Lalami

By JEFFERY RENARD ALLEN SEPT. 5, 2014

credit: cmems.stanford.edu

In 1527, the Castilian conquistador Pánfilo de Narváez and a crew of 600 men sailed from Spain to the Gulf Coast of the United States to claim “La Florida” for the Spanish crown. Laila Lalami recounts the voyage — and its brutal aftermath — in her new novel, “The Moor’s Account,” from the perspective of Estebanico, a ­Moroccan slave of one of the explorers. It’s a fictional memoir, told in a controlled voice that feels at once historical and contemporary, that seeks to offer a truer account of the expedition than the official (and hopelessly biased) version of events provided by Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca, one of the other three survivors.

It quickly becomes apparent that a strong moralistic impulse drives the story. Crossing “the Ocean of Fog and Darkness” and arriving in America, the conquistadors suffer biblical afflictions in the form of unbearable heat and hordes of mosquitoes. Disease does away with a good number of them, as do the Indians, who take the remaining men captive.

But Lalami is far more interested in what happens to the men after they escape and make their way from Florida to Mexico, bearing witness to wondrous terrain and tribal people. Here we see the previously untold history of the black man as explorer, and an explorer cut from a different cloth.

FULL ARTICLE 

Morocco's Day of Dignity Protests

Here is an article from the Nation written by Lalla Laila Lalami about the protests that took place all across Morocco today calling for a significant reduction to the King's powers and an end to rampant corruption by elites in the country.
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Rocking the Casbah: Morocco's Day of Dignity
Laila Lalami
February 20, 2011

In spite of the Moroccan government's campaign—through its official media, its ministers and its allies—to discredit the February 20 movement, peaceful protests took place today throughout the country. Thousands of protesters gathered simultaneously in Rabat, Casablanca, Tangier, Tetuan, Beni Mellal, Kenitra, Agadir, Marrakech, Essaouira and in other, smaller cities such as Bouarfa, Sefrou, Bejaad and Jerada.
About the Author

As I explained in an earlier post, the campaign against the movement included accusations that it was led by agents of the Polisario Front; by atheists and other assorted non-Muslims; by republican revolutionaries; by Moroccans living comfortably abroad; or by people who are disorganized, unclear about their demands and leaderless. But even before the democracy protests got underway today, it was clear that the tide was turning and that the virulent government campaign had only served to bring about support from a wide cross-section of Moroccan society.

Thus, Abdellah Hammoudi, the well-known and widely respected Professor of Anthropology at Princeton, wrote a letter expressing his support for the peaceful march, which, he said, is “the only way we have left to demand the kind of reforms that can solve the problems of our country.” A group of independent journalists—including such household names as Aboubakr Jamai, Ali Amar, Ali Anouzla, Nadia Lamlili, Ahmed Reda Benchemsi, Driss Ksikes and Kenza Sefrioui—signed a petition in favor of the movement and calling on the government to allow local reporters to cover the events. The majority of business leaders remained studiously quiet, but Karim Tazi, now the president of the Banque Alimentaire, was among the protesters in Rabat. “We are at a historical moment,” he said, “and we must not miss it.”

Support also came from people who are associated with the monarchy. Hicham Alaoui, the rebellious crown prince of Morocco, gave an interview to France24 in which he, too, expressed his admiration and support of the movement. The historian Hassan Aourid, a former spokesperson for the palace, also declared himself in favor of a constitutional monarchy, giving the example of Great Britain as a good model.

Today, the peaceful protests that took place throughout the kingdom put the lie to all the accusations that the pro-government forces had been spreading. No one held signs demanding the ouster of the king or offering support to the Polisario Front or any other foreign entity. Instead, protesters denounced corruption and oppression, and demanded democracy and freedom: “Yes to a parliamentary democracy.” “In favor of a democratic constitution.” “Accountability for thieves / of money and dignity.” “The king reigns, but doesn’t govern.” My personal favorite was the multicolored banner that quoted the famed lines of the Algerian poet Tahar Djaout: “If you speak, you die. If you stay silent, you die. So speak, and die.” (You can view some of the signs here.)

The influence of the Tunisian and Egyptian uprisings could be felt in some of the slogans. “The people want / a change in the constitution,” the crowd chanted. And while socio-economic concerns were definitely on people’s minds, the demands focused on the larger issue of power for the people: “Bread, liberty, dignity, humanity.” Lastly, some of the chants indicated that people feel that a threshold may have been crossed: “Either today or tomorrow, change is coming.”

The February 20 movement was started by a group of young activists, who have used social media to organize simultaneous protests throughout the country, thus proving to the old guard that they are serious about change. Their demands may be attacked, but their presence and their seriousness cannot be denied. This new generation of Moroccans wants dignity—and that is only possible in a true democracy.

The "Tough" Women of Morocco

This piece is a nice change of pace. Laila Lalami wrote it about something that she encountered during a trip to Morocco last year. I tire of the "poor oppressed Muslim woman" bit that even Muslim women writers and academics "milk" to further their careers. And I dont necessarily know that the point of the story is that the woman is a woman or that she was an honest person. When people are angry they pick something to insult you with, sometimes it will be your gender. Not trying to be apoligetic, sexism is real - but so is chilvary and the honoring of women.
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It can be 'tough' to be a female in Morocco

By Laila Lalami
July 19, 2009

Two years ago, I was invited to give a reading from my novel at a university in Ifrane, in the Atlas Mountains of Morocco. One of my cousins immediately suggested I hire a driver to get there, but I laughed off his suggestion. I can drive myself! I'm not some helpless princess!

In the end, however, I had to admit I lacked the robust constitution it takes to drive on Morocco's roads and highways, so I did hire someone. His name was Younes, and he was a slight, short man with an easy smile and friendly eyes. Ordinarily, he drove a shuttle to the airport, but occasionally he took longer trips, especially in the tourist months of spring and summer.

My husband accompanied me, as did two American friends on a short detour from their European holiday. We stuffed our bags in the trunk of a dark green Peugeot 305 and headed out. I sat in the back, and was nervous until we left the suburbs of Casablanca behind us and began to see the expansive countryside, with the ubiquitous orange and tangerine trees and, as we approached Meknès, grapevines and olive trees.

On the highway, it was impossible not to notice the gendarmes in their uniforms -- gray polyester suits, red epaulets, black boots and white gloves. They looked like little Lego men, ready to take action. Arms akimbo, they stood in the middle divider and watched for infractions, real or imagined: speeding, failing to wear a seatbelt, an unsafe lane change, an expired registration or a large load that could be contraband. This last breach was the most likely to result in a large contribution to their private retirement funds.

I worried we would get stopped.


"I doubt if we will," Younes said, giving me an amused smile through the rearview mirror. "They usually don't stop cars with tourists. You remember how these things work, don't you?"

"Good thing Ken is in the front seat, then," I said. Given his red beard, blue eyes and six-foot-one, 200-pound frame, it would have been hard to mistake my friend Ken, a software engineer from Seattle, for a local. "Do you get stopped a lot when you don't drive tourists?" I asked.

"I was stopped last month. I had run a red light, and so the bulisia whistled and stopped me. You know they have women cops now, don't you? This one was tough."

Tough was an adjective I had heard often in the past few months, applied not just to policewomen but also to female customs officers, female judges or female chief residents. The common wisdom was that women were not as likely to take pay-offs, a discordant note in a country where people routinely use bribes for everything, from getting a home phone line installed to obtaining a spot on the quota-limited list of pilgrims to Mecca.

"What happened?" I asked.

"She wanted to write me up, and the ticket was 400 dirhams. I tried to reason with her. I'm a shuttle driver and people like me, we spend so much time in cars, there are certain courtesies we should be able to have. We're like cab drivers, you understand."

Having lived in Casablanca for much of that year, I understood that there was indeed an unspoken agreement between police officers and cab drivers who routinely made illegal U-turns, gamely ignored red lights and cut across lanes of traffic to pick up a fare. What remained fuzzy in my mind was why this agreement seemed to extend to drivers of buses, trucks, mopeds, vegetable carts or government cars. No wonder I never wanted to drive.

"I asked her to let me go," Younes continued, "and I added, 'May God have mercy on your parents.' I was just being polite, you understand. But then she said, 'Leave my parents out of this.' I couldn't believe it. I said, 'What are you, an orphan? You don't have parents? You don't want mercy for them?' So she got mad, and she said that my prayers wouldn't stop her from writing me a ticket."

Now he pointed his thumb at his chest. "So then I got mad. I told her that she had no business being a cop and that her place was in the kitchen."

"Uh-oh," I said. Then I realized I had sounded terribly American, which meant Younes' questions about what I understood or remembered were not likely to stop any time soon. I thought of my mother, who had tried for years to teach me how to cook, until, faced with my complete lack of interest and culinary talent, she had eventually given up. Now she passed her recipes directly to my husband, without whom I would probably subsist on a diet of frozen pizza. She, too, had often called me tough.

"What did the policewoman do?"

"She picked up her walkie-talkie and called the police station and they sent a car to pick me up." Younes laughed heartily now.

"And did you get the ticket?" I asked.

"Well, sort of. At the station, I talked to the men officers and explained that I was a professional driver and she was a strange woman, being insulted by having someone pray for her parents. So in the end we settled on 200 dirhams."

"For the ticket?"

"No, no. Not for the ticket," he said, giving me a bewildered look. "For them, of course. They took the money. You remember how these things work, don't you?"

Perhaps I had forgotten exactly how to negotiate a bribe, but I still remembered how women who didn't fit typical gender roles were undermined by men -- and by other women.

LA Times Book Review of Laila Lalami's "Secret Son"

For those of us who have yet to read Laila Lalami's latest novel, Secret Son, The Los Angeles Times just published this review.

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BOOK REVIEW

'Secret Son: A Novel' by Laila Lalami

A poor young man in Morocco makes the shocking discovery that his father isn't dead as he has always thought.

By Bernadette Murphy
April 28, 2009

Laila Lalami's new novel, "Secret Son," brings readers into the down-and-out sections of Casablanca, Morocco, to follow the travails of Youssef El Mekki, a young man trying to rise above the abject poverty into which he was born. Youssef knows certain things about himself: He knows his father, whom he doesn't remember, was a respected fourth-grade teacher who died while hanging lights for a religious feast, falling three floors and breaking his neck. He knows his mother is an orphan and thus the two of them must make their hardscrabble way together with no extended family to help.

He knows he is poor with few opportunities, but he's working hard to make the best of whatever chances he has by studying hard. Though not religious, he knows that the government is never going to help him and his fellow slum-dwellers in Hay An Najat, the poverty-steeped neighborhood where he resides in a shack of a home, but that Al Hizb ("The Party" that rallies for Muslim fundamentalism) is there with food and tents after devastating floods, promising "Power to the people through God, with God, and by God."

All the truths of Youssef's life will be challenged as the narrative winds its way, delivering both blows and windfalls from mektub (fate), that element that can't help but "split someone's life in a Before and After." The biggest revelation is that Youssef's father is not dead, but is actually Nabil Amrani, a respected, powerful and wealthy man. Youssef wonders what his life would be like if his father were to claim him, the secret product of an encounter with a household servant. "His existence until that moment had been nothing more than a role. . . . If he could be Youssef Amrani, he would not have to play any part at all. He could be, at long last, himself."

Feeling his pain

To the author's credit, Youssef's longing for his father and desire to circumvent somehow the dead-end constraints that class has placed on his life are palpable and draw readers into his experience. We follow along as Youssef pursues his father, and delight with him when his father takes him under his wing -- that is, until mektub intervenes yet again.

Lalami's previous book, "Hope and Other Dangerous Pursuits," was a mélange of poignant vignettes that gave readers visceral access to life in Morocco, especially among those who would risk their lives to immigrate illegally to Spain. By narrating the disparate linked stories from each character's point of view, she provided insight into the woes and aspirations that motivated them. The collection benefited greatly from the ensemble approach, with each person's tale adding depth and resonance to the others.

In this novel, her shifting point-of-view technique is less effective. With "Secret Son," the main story focuses on Youssef and his father, and the lion's share of the narration comes from Youssef's perspective. But the author also includes occasional side stories, including tales from Nabil (the wealthy father), Rachida (Youssef's mother) and Amal (Youssef's half sister and the sole legitimate heir, who's studying at UCLA). Two of the book's most crucial scenes are told twice. For example, when Youssef confronts his father about his paternity, we encounter Youssef's point of view and Nabil's. This shifting perspective pulls readers away from the tension and intrigue surrounding Youssef.

Puzzling choices

At key moments, Youssef makes choices that seem to come out of the blue. When faced with a burgeoning protest and whether to join in, the author tells us, "His allegiance came to him in a flash." Though real-life decisions may come in flashes, there's usually some logic underpinning them. Without fully understanding how or why Youssef experiences dramatic changes of heart, readers are left wondering just how well we know him. This motivational vagueness becomes especially awkward toward the end of the book when Youssef makes a choice that will forever mark his life, and readers may feel as if there's no solid reason behind it. Likewise, the novel's trajectory poses a stumbling block. What starts out as a story of a son's longing for his father shifts by the end into another arc without ever fully resolving the father issue.

All of which speak to the differences between linked stories and novels. Lalami's book of stories was written with such heart and verve, and felt credible throughout. The constraints of a novel like this, in which one central story is dominant, and the expectations readers bring to it are different. That said, Lalami's depiction of Moroccan life in "Secret Son," illuminating the social, political, religious and poverty issues facing its citizens -- especially its still-hopeful young -- is both sensitive and startling.

Murphy has written three books of narrative nonfiction and is completing a novel, "Grace Notes."