At other times, a man or woman would sing a phrase which would beĮntranced, and in my fantasy I was back in Arab Cordova when it was the capital
Beautiful women alternated with men in singing verses of poetry. Were a replica of those once played in the palaces of Moorish Spain. Their drums, lutes, kamanjahs and other bowed-stringed instruments The camera zoomed in on an orchestra of, perhaps, fifty men and womenĪttired in colourfully rich Moroccan dress. The program for that night was to be provided live by the AndalusianĮnsemble in the northern Moroccan city of Oujda. Of the Berbers and television usually featured French and, at times, poorĢ0th century had overwhelmed the captivating past.ĭuring my last Saturday evening in Agadir, when I turned on the television, I had given up the notion of ever seeing the muwashshahĮxcited. Instead, for diversion, the hotels and clubs offered the music and songs Television, but the merrymaking of the Spanish Arabs was nowhere to be found. Night after night I explored the entertainment spots and sampled Moroccan "What has happened to the muwashshah and zajal poetryĭeveloped in Al-Andalus (the Spain of the Arabs) and set to song?" I often wondered as I pursued my goal in vain.
Peninsula paradise, had been unsuccessful. Were carried to North Africa by the Muslims expelled from their Iberian
My search for the enchanting musical evenings of Moorish Spain, which For a month I had explored Agadir, Morocco's 'Queen of Resorts', and its many
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