My days in the Maghreb drew to a close. Mixed feelings. Anxiety - what lies beyond? Nostalgia - will this country ever leave me? Hurry - when will I get to Kenya? At Hotel Smara, just off the ramparts, Julie and Geraldine - two frenchgirls I met in Marrakech - waited for me. Despite the grey sky, they had good news. They'd met a nice moroccan guy who invited us for tea at a friend's restaurant. His name was Hassan. Craftsmanship was in his blood. Son of an artisan, he personified all I'd read about Africa. Tradition, heritage, tradition. He introduced us to the Gnawa Music. Rituals, soul and physical healing, trances. Animism, voodoo, capoeira? Perhaps. Its more inteligible facet being the Essaouira's Gnawa Festival. Held every year around the 26th June, it takes over squares
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