Tafilet

by Walter Harris

The principal and best known Berber Shereefian families are without doubt the descendants of Sid Ben Nasr of Tamgrut, on the Wad Draa, and those of Mulai Brahim, and Mulai Abdullah Ben Hoseyn of Tamslot, to the north of the Atlas, and some ten to fifteen miles south of Marakesh. In each, too, are visible the traces of the effect their surroundings has had upon them; for both in appearance and dialect the Shereefs of Tamgrut resemble the Haratin population of the Draa, amongst whom they reside, while those of Tamslot bear a greater resemblance to the northern Atlas Berbers. The zauias, or sanctuaries, of both attract a large number of pilgrims, that of Tamslot being of course far more accessible, and therefore much richer. Mulai Brahim, who lies buried on the northern slopes of the Atlas, above Agorgoreh, shares with Sid bel Abbas, the local saint of Marakesh, the title of patron saint of southern Morocco; and the present representative and head of the family, Mulai el Haj ben Said, is one of the best known and richest men in that part of the country. His palace at Tamslot is a large place, and though sadly wanting in repair, is still a building of considerable magnificence, while his stable of horses is certainly the finest in the south.

Probably of far purer origin than the Berbers of the trans-Atlas portion of Morocco are those of Aït Yussi, Ghiata, and Beni Mgild, on the northern extremity of the same range, to the south and east of Fez. They seem to have lost none of their pristine fierceness, and to have adopted none of the manners and customs of their conquerors beyond their religion; for the brown tent in which they moved from place to place long before the Arab invasion is still found amongst them, and their traditions, pre-Arab, are still handed down from mouth to mouth. Inhabiting the immense forests of that district, they live a wild gipsy life, at war with all men, and paying no more than the most nominal obedience to the commands and laws of the Sultan. In the south, however, it is different; and when, after having reached Tafilet, I found myself in the Sultan’s camp, surrounded by Berber and Arab tribesmen, not only I, but natives of the country, often found it impossible to distinguish between them, so greatly did they resemble one another in feature and dress. In the other case, that of the northern Berbers, the type is quite distinct, the high cheek-bones and narrow eyes and reddish colouring distinguishing the Shleh from the Arab at once, and showing clearly his Hamitic origin.

Imasin is a poor little place enough. The few scattered ksor are all more or less in a state of ruin, and the gardens seemed uncared for and empty. Fording the river, we did not stop, but pushed on for another ten or twelve miles of desert, until a steep descent led us to the bed of the Wad Dads, at the point where the tribe of Aït Yahia is settled, and where the Imguna empties its stream into the larger river.

The tribe of Aït Yahia are a division of the Berbers of Seddrat, who, like all the other tribes, are much split up. The junction of the Wad Imguna and Wad Dads forms a triangular plain about two and a-half miles across, shut in on all sides, except on the actual course of the rivers, by high cliffs, on the summit of which stand numerous äudin or watch-towers. While the Wad Dads forms the base of the triangle, the Imguna bisects the plain, on which are to be found some four-and-twenty ksor, forming the district of Aït Yahia. The spot where the waters of the Imguna flow into the Dads is known as Tagnit bu Hammu. A few words must be said about the Wad Imguna. Rising on the southern slopes of the Atlas, near the snow-capped peak of Jibel Trekeddit, its upper valleys are inhabited by a small tribe called Aït Sakri. A few miles lower down the stream leaves the mountains, its banks at this spot being peopled by the Aït Ahmed, who in turn give place, as the river descends, to the tribe of Imguna, through whose territory for some twenty miles it flows, and from which it takes its name, or vice versa.

Choosing the village of Idu Tizi for our halting-spot, for the old Shereef had friends there, we pitched our little tent in a walled enclosure adjoining the ksar in which our hosts lived, for they had come out to meet us, and soon made us welcome. Poor though they were, they brought us an excellent supper of kuskusu and boiled turnips, the first hot food we had tasted for some days—and very welcome it was. In return we were able to entertain our host and his companions with sugar and tea, both luxuries far beyond the reach of ordinary man in this far-away part of Morocco—the carriage alone, with its physical difficulties of road, not to mention the constant plundering of caravans, rendering the price demanded for such luxuries exorbitant, even to our extravagant European ideas. The people knew but little Arabic, so I ran no fear of detection, and poured out the sweet green tea in true native fashion with great success. Askura passed—the only Arab settlement between the Atlas and Tafilet—I began to feel far more certain of the success of my journey, and thought nothing or little of my disguise. So accustomed was I becoming to my rôle that I found it no exertion to keep the part up, and became most orthodox and regular in saying my prayers, &c., with the rest of our little band. It is only fair to state that I had lived for considerable periods of time in the interior of Morocco previously, and the various customs and habits of the people had gradually become part and parcel of my life, so that I performed the necessary duties without any anxiety or mental exertion.

The gardens of Aït Yahia have a poor appearance, and the irrigating canals in many places were dry, a sure sign, as was the case, that the people were constantly at war with outside enemies and amongst themselves. The soil, too, is not suited for cultivation, for it consists entirely of patches of a poor yellow clay interspersed with rocks. Fig-trees seemed to thrive best, and even these were small and wretched, while the date-palm was absent altogether.

Although up to now the direction of our road had been almost due east, we had gradually been leaving behind the main chain of the Atlas and approaching Jibel Saghru,—the Anti-Atlas,—both of which ranges, parallel to one another, take a slightly northerly direction as they proceed east; and here at Aït Yahia we found ourselves with only the river and a few miles of sloping plain between ourselves and the southern range. It is at Aït Yahia, in fact, that the Wad Dads, having flowed south from the Atlas across the plain, meeting the lower northern slopes of Jibel Saghru, alters its course to a westerly one.

Anything more unlike the Atlas than this parallel range could scarcely be imagined, for in place of the long line of limestone cliffs there presents itself a chain of peaks of no very great altitude and of every colour and shape, the whole torn and twisted by volcanic action, and of an alternately deep red, purple, and black hue. Probably none of the peaks of the range that I saw are above 2000 to 3000 feet above the level of the plain, which would give an altitude of from 6000 to 7000 feet above the sea-level, for I found that we at Aït Yahia were at an elevation of 4700 feet. In one respect only was any resemblance noticeable between the two ranges—namely, the utter absence of vegetation on each; and anything more dismal than the intervening strip of desert, shut in by grey limestone and snow-capped mountains on the north, and dreary black hills on the south, it would be difficult to imagine.

We crossed the Wad Imguna before daylight on the morning of November 9, and ascending the cliff to the level of the plain which we had left the evening before, turned slightly to the north, and for two or three hours travelled over the dreary barren plain. It was most curious to note the suddenness with which one comes into sight of, and loses again, the settlements in the wide valleys of this part of the country; for no sooner had we reached the summit of the cliff than Aït Yahia was entirely lost to view, the plain seeming to be one with the gradual slope of Jibel Saghru, on the farther side of the river. Ten minutes later not a habitation was to be seen, the äudin, or watch-towers, along the line of the valley being the only signs of any inhabitants in the dreary surroundings. Except for these we might have been in the centre of the Sahara, and even the half-ruined towers seemed the work of a long-departed people.

The news of the coming of the old Shereef and members of his family had travelled before us, and one forgot all the weariness of the landscape in the pleasant reception that awaited us. An hour or two before we arrived at Dads we caught sight of little bands of people, black specks in the bright sunlight, and as they recognised their relations they ran toward us. The old man dismounted from his mule and proceeded on foot, the better to embrace the ever-increasing flow of welcomers. It formed one of those charming pictures which one now and again comes across in travelling in Morocco,—the old man, the centre of a little crowd of men, women, and children, all laughing and singing, being escorted after years of absence back to the home of his ancestors. I came in for my share of the welcome—for was not I one of his party?—and I shook hands with, and was kissed by, a score of men and women and children, before, just as suddenly as we had lost sight of Aït Yahia, the wide valley of Dads burst into view. Here at the summit of the cliffs more friends awaited us, and as we descended, all happy that a stage at least of our journey was over, our band formed quite a caravan, the children laughing and tumbling over one another in their glee, the men alternately singing and crying out words of welcome, and the women, with their hands to their mouths, uttering the shrill cry of the zakerit.