I first listened to Darga as we drove to Chefchaouen. The song “El-Khattabi” played on the stereo while one of El-Khattabi’s grandsons’ drove the car. The song could have had an arrogant feeling in this context (Do you know who my grandfather was?!). However, the music was so good (reminding me the ska and reggae music I listened to as a teenager growing up in suburban Maryland), the scenery of the Rif mountains beautiful, the attitude of our guest so genuine, that the song inspired feelings that were exotic, removed, and oddly familiar. I could imagine El-Khattabi inspiring his tribe to stand strong as they navigated the Rif Mountains, the scene unfolding to the soundtrack of my adolescence.

When we got to Chefchaouen, I “bought” a copy of the Darga CD Stop Baraka from a music store near the Plaza al-Hamam. While I waited for my copy of the CD to burn, I watched the butcher in the next stall feed stray cats chicken heads, feet, and other miscellaneous pieces. He opened the small door to his stall so that the littlest of them could come inside and eat in safety. This gesture of generosity somehow became embedded in the music.

As a teenager going the tough task of growing up, I locked myself in my room and listened to the wisdom of Bob Marley. As a young adult, I reached out to Morocco, the country of my future husband. And as a woman and mother, I seek ways to consolidate the best of American and Moroccan culture for my daughter. I’ve found Moroccan music and art carry the shared messages of our cultures and the cultures beyond us.

In Rabat, I mingled with trendy youth, who listened to the classic Steel Pulse album True Democracy. I danced to Ziggy Marley at the Mawazine festival. I listened to things both strange and familiar and the audience listened with me; families, children, street kids, grandfathers, vendors, and police.

Back in the States, I loaded the Darga album onto my ipod and began to listen to the tracks in more detail. Track eight became my favorite. I had my husband translate the words for me. It is a song about the problem of racism. The last minute of so of the track includes inspiring words of Martin Luther King, Jr (Darga MP3 Clip). On this Martin Luther King, Jr. Day (January 19), one day before the inauguration of President Obama, I will reflect on how much we share across our cultures. I will dream and dance.

Tonight the Bou Regreg hosted Los Van Van as part of day three of Mawazine’s festivities. The redeveloped waterfront space is perfect for large outdoor events. The crowds near the stage included boys who built themselves into pyramids and fell roughly on top of each other. Their fractures and bruises would be wells of pride in the coming week. Someone waved the Cuban flag and the stage was decorated with a light display of Che Guvera’s face. Every time the musicians said “Morocco” the crowd would roar, understanding them selves to be an important part of the event. A bit farther back, a group of women played a Moroccan song on a small radio and watched a toddler dance. Further downstream from the stage, families wandered the renovated pedestrian walk ways. Street vendors sold fruit and kefta cooked on small grills. Families enjoyed a small dinner away from the crowds but well within reach of the music.

At the Ziggy Marley performance on Saturday May 17, night two of Morocco’s 2008 Mawazine festival, I wouldn’t risk having my camera’s flash disturb the scene. In my over ten-years of traveling to Morocco, I’d never seen a diverse cross section of Moroccan society enjoying the same social event.

The Ziggy Marley concert was one of the many free concerts held during the nine day festival that boasts 100 concerts held by bands from 40 different countries. Sound, light, and backline are handled by Touareg Productions, who also handle the Gnaoua festival in Essaouria and the World Sacred Music festival in Fes. The Marley concert was held at Qamara, just off the “juicer,” which is what the locals call the busy traffic circle where Hassan II mixes with the other streets of which I have yet to learn the names. As I drove by the scene earlier in the day, people had already begun reserving seats on the stairs several hours before the concert was scheduled to begin. The night of the concert brought women in jellabas and hijabs, boys on motorbikes wearing baseball hats, young couples holding hands, grandfathers and granddaughters, old married couples sitting in the grass, hippies in plaid pants, dusty boys in worn jeans, girls with straight hair in tiny tank tops, and students in Bob Marley hoodies.

People navigated through the crowd by holding hands, interlocking arms, or forming dance trains. One group of mixed-age females locked arms into a beetle-like formation that impressed me as a potent battle-field tactic. A young girl wearing a white hijab, peach blouse, and blue flowered skirt cowered up to me, evidently hiding from someone. I gently shielded her with my arm until her friend found her and playfully scolded for being a part of their game. Dusty groups of boys kicked their legs to the music and hoisted one another onto their shoulders.

Packs of boys would occasionally get lost in their exuberance, and fights would break out. “Only Moroccans would fight at a reggae concert” my Moroccan-companions would lament, but the fights seemed harmless to me. The crowd moved in waves towards and away from tussles in the crowd. No one ever appeared to want to contribute to a conflict. The crowd would part to form a boxing-ring square and representatives from each side of the dispute would try to calm their champion, with the result that neither fighter was left on their own and both quickly had their egos soothed. After one fight, a nose was bloodied. The void created by the fighting square was quickly filled by a ring of dancing hippies who seemed to purify the space with their hippie love and swaying, tattered dreadlocks. I thought this hippie-love-ring was going to engulf the entire concert, but instead, one male and one female representative from the hippie clan offered the dusty boys a dance lesson in reggae moves. Even after the hippie teachers departed, the boxing ring remained an unofficial dance square for the rest of the evening.

Many of the concert goers knew nothing about reggae, Ziggy Marley or his famous father. They learn about international music from the Mawazine concerts. The dusty boys receiving the dance lesson were not from the crowd that checks out songs on You Tube before deciding which of the 100 concerts to attend. For them, this was just part of the annual party thrown by King Mohammad VI. Members of each neighborhood flock to the spectacle set-up in their local. The festival is brilliantly planned with many well-prepared venues set-up around the city so that everyone has a chance to attend. And for those how won’t attend a specific show, Mariachis roam the city and play in major arteries.

During the Ziggy concert, a police officer walked a young boy through the crowd, roughly holding the youth’s shirt collar and smacking his behind with a baton. “The kid probably deserves it” was the general feeling from my companions. On-lookers patrolled the scene to ensure the youth wasn’t treated too roughly. Despite the ruckus, we were able to lose ourselves in the music. Certainly not everyone in the crowd knew the lyrics or that the pattern of white light on red squares spelled the word “love.” But everyone, literate and illiterate, appeared to enjoy the spectacle of sound and light and song that was brought from around the world to the stage set-up in the neighborhoods shared space.

The vibrant colors and abstract ornament that characterize Moroccan design find voice in the many music festivals celebrated in Morocco each year. If you visit Morocco this summer, expect to hear the sounds of music in the streets as music festivals around the country celebrate diversity and promote peace. From Whitney Houston and Ziggy Marley to trance-inducing Gnaoua musicians there will be something for all musical tastes in 2008. Each festival includes an intellectual component with seminars and conferences exploring musical history and cultural diversity.

Rabat, Morocco’s capital, will host the Mawazine Festival from May 16-24. Through showcasing world music, the event promotes the values of unity, tolerance, love, security and peace. Mawazine 2008 Art Director Aziz Daki said this year’s event “will buzz to the rhythm of development and more openness towards others. An international symposium will be held in tandem with the festival, focusing on ‘Music of the World and Cultural Diversity’.” For more information about the event, including artists, see Magharebia.com. You can download a copy of the event program in French.

Fes, considered the cultural capital of Morocco and the Muslim West, celebrates its 1200 anniversary this year. It also hosts the fourteenth annual Fes World Sacred Music Festival. The interfaith music festival was founded after the first Gulf war in 1994 to promote peace and cultural understanding. This year’s festival occurs from June 6-14 and features musicians and spirtual music from around the world.

The annual Essaouria Gnaoua and World Music Festival celebrates its 10th year. Gnawa are descendents of African slaves. They include master musicians (maâlem), metal castanet players, clairvoyants, mediums, and their followers. You can hear the heavy-beat of Gnaoua music on the festival website. Gnawa are Muslims, but their beliefs incorporate African traditions and include ritual possession by spirits.

I imagine Hamlet could hang-out in a city like Essaouira. The air in the coastal town felt particularly damp after the desert drive from Marrakesh. The sky was overcast, the fishermen wore knit caps, and the Portuguese fort overlooking the water had an air of melancholy. As I walked the fortress looking out at the ocean, thoughts of Shakespeare vaguely formed in my mind, interrupted by sounds of chanting and music. I looked down to see Thuya wood artisans crafting inlaid tables. Young apprentices were busily working on their project and stopped to bring the older men mint for their tea. The men played drums while one man made music with his work by chiseling wood to the heavy beat.

The image of these men working has stayed with me for over eight years. Within it is a harmonious mix of age, work, religion, social activity, and leisure. Within it is a glimpse of the diversity, traditions, and social customs found throughout Morocco and the way music unites them all.

Essaouira, which is gaining in popularity, is one of my favorite cities in Morocco. It is home amazing sea food, Thuya wood-working artisans, Moorish/Portuguese architecture, and several music festivals, specifically the annual Gnaoua Festival. Too often Marrakesh and Fes are used as synonyms for the country at-large. One trip to Essaouria and you will understand why this is unfair.

If traveling to Morocco, plan to venture out of the traditional cities. Each city has its own unique style, color, artistic traditions, dialect accent, and attitude. If you don’t like Marrakesh (yes, this is possible), you may love Chefchaouen.

The International Herald Tribune article Morocco: Dramatic variety and a taste of the Arabic world suggests travelers try Essaouria or Chefchaouen, two of my favorites. The article contains a lot of general information about the culture, which will be of use to travelers.

If you get a chance to visit Morocco, plan to travel outside the major cities. It will give you a much better idea of the diversity of Morocco.