Ksar of Aït Ben Haddou: the earthen village that became an icon

Overlooking the Ounila valley, Aït Ben Haddou is the most famous ksar in southern Morocco and a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Behind its iconic earthen silhouette lies a historic place of settlement and exchange on the routes that once linked the pre-Saharan regions with Marrakesh.

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What to know before your visit

Distance from Ouarzazate: 30 kilometres, or around 40 minutes by road. Recommended visit time: from one hour for a quick tour to three hours for a more complete exploration. Admission: free. Some private houses and cultural spaces charge an entrance fee. Access to the ksar: via the pedestrian bridge or the path through the gardens. Guide: optional, but useful for understanding the organisation and history of the village. Best time ti visit: early in the morning or late in the afternoon.

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• Why visit Aït Ben Haddou ?
• What to do in Aït Ben Haddou ?
• How do you get to Aït Ben Haddou ?
• Where to stay in Aït Ben Haddou ?
• What can you discover beyond Aït Ben Haddou ?

Our editorial take

Aït Ben Haddou sometimes suffers from its own fame. Many visitors see the ksar merely as a film set, walk quickly through its lanes and leave without ever truly encountering the village.

Instead, you need to give the site time in order to appreciate it fully. Entering through the gardens, stepping inside a family home, looking over the valley from the summit or simply waiting for the tour groups to leave is enough to change the way you see it.

The celebrated silhouette then becomes what it was before anything else: a living place organised around earth, water and exchange.

Why visit Aït Ben Haddou ?

Aït Ben Haddou is a ksar: a fortified village made up of family homes, lanes, towers, defensive walls and communal spaces. It is therefore not a single kasbah, although this confusion remains common.

Built on high ground overlooking the riverbed and cultivated land, the village occupied a favourable position along an old route connecting the pre-Saharan regions with Marrakesh. It served at once as a place of residence, protection, storage and passage.

Its architecture combines rammed earth, unfired mud brick, timber and traditional rendering. The houses rise gradually up the hillside and are connected by narrow, sometimes covered lanes. This dense organisation responded both to the demands of the climate and to the practical needs of community life.

The ksar’s inscription on the UNESCO World Heritage List in 1987, followed by its use as a filming location, contributed greatly to its international fame. Its true richness, however, lies in the insight it provides into an older way of inhabiting and organising the land.

Read more: Why is Aït Ben Haddou famous?

What to do in Aït Ben Haddou?

Enter by the pedestrian bridge or through the gardens

Two public routes lead into the ksar. The pedestrian bridge provides the most direct approach and the best-known view of the village. The path through the gardens reveals more gradually the relationship between the riverbed, cultivated land and earthen houses.

Taking one route on the way in and the other on the way back allows you to discover two complementary sides of the site.

Admission to the ksar is free.

Read more: Why is it called Aït Ben Haddou?

Explore the lanes of the ksar

The visit continues through a network of narrow lanes, covered passages and small squares. Take the time to observe the doors, earthen walls, timber ceilings and openings overlooking the valley.

Several families also welcome visitors into their homes. These houses provide a better understanding of the internal organisation of traditional dwellings, while the entrance fees contribute directly to the maintenance of the heritage site.

Climb to the summit

The climb leads to the site of the former communal granary. From this high point, the layout of the village becomes easier to understand: the tightly grouped houses, defensive walls, gardens, riverbed and modern village on the opposite bank.

The path is uneven and offers little shade. It is best to avoid the hottest hours of the day.

Visit the Maison de l’Oralité

Housed in a restored residence, the Maison de l’Oralité presents the region’s oral traditions, local skills and Amazigh carpet-making heritage.

Still relatively little known, it offers a particularly interesting cultural perspective and allows visitors to look beyond the monument’s appearance alone.

Read more: The Maison de l’Oralité in the ksar of Aït Ben Haddou: a first in Morocco

Walk along the riverbed

The path below the village offers another perspective on the ksar and its agricultural surroundings. This walk is especially pleasant in the morning or when the late-afternoon light brings out the shapes and volumes of the buildings.

Near the pedestrian bridge, the Tawesna garden, run by a women’s cooperative from the village, provides a shaded setting in which to stop for tea or a meal.

Read also : Planning your visit to Aït Ben Haddou

Take a break at Tawesna restaurant

Located in a garden at the entrance to the ksar, Tawesna serves home-style cooking inspired by the region’s Amazigh culinary traditions. Its name means “know-how” in the local language.

The restaurant is run by a cooperative of women from Aït Ben Haddou. Beyond serving meals, this community-based initiative allows them to make use of their knowledge, develop an economic activity and participate fully in village life.

The restaurant is run by a cooperative of women

Getting to Aït Ben Haddou

From Ouarzazate

Aït Ben Haddou lies approximately 30 kilometres from Ouarzazate. Follow the N9 national road towards Marrakesh, then turn off at Tabourahte onto the P1506 provincial road. The final seven kilometres lead directly to the village.

The journey takes around 40 minutes. Shared taxis also travel to Aït Ben Haddou, generally with a change at Tabourahte.

From Marrakech

Aït Ben Haddou lies approximately 180 kilometres from Marrakesh, with a driving time of between three and a half and four hours.

The most direct route follows the N9 over the Tizi n’Tichka pass. A more rewarding alternative passes through Telouet and crosses the Ounila valley before reaching Aït Ben Haddou.

Getting around once you arrive

The ksar is explored entirely on foot. Its lanes and the climb towards the summit can be steep and uneven, so comfortable footwear is recommended.

Parking areas are available in the modern village, close to the main access points.

For more informations : contactez-nous

Read also : The oasis bears the seeds of tomorrow’s Morocco, and of the world

Where should you stay in Aït Ben Haddou?

Staying overnight allows you to discover the ksar before the day excursions arrive or after they have left. A small number of guesthouses are located inside the fortified village or directly opposite the site.

The surrounding villages offer a quieter atmosphere while remaining only a few minutes from Aït Ben Haddou. Travellers seeking a stay more closely connected with the landscapes, walking and local culture can also choose a guesthouse in the Ounila valley.

Ouarzazate is another practical option for travellers looking for a wider choice of hotels, restaurants and services.

For more informations : contactez-nous

Beyond Aït Ben Haddou

A visit to Aït Ben Haddou can be extended into the Ounila valley, one of the most remarkable routes in the region.

Travelling north towards Telouet, the road passes through mountain landscapes, gardens and several earthen villages. It eventually reaches the former Glaoui kasbah, whose decorated rooms bear witness to the past power of this family of influential caïds.

In the opposite direction, Ouarzazate offers the kasbah of Taourirt and the film studios. Fint oasis presents another side of the region, where a river, palm trees and villages meet beneath the surrounding hills.

Aït Ben Haddou should therefore not be regarded simply as a photographic stop, but as the starting point for a broader exploration of the Ounila valley and the southern High Atlas.

Planning a stay in Aït Ben Haddou ? A question, need information?

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Read also : Once upon a time in the ksar of Aït Ben Haddou, four Christian princesses …

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Ksar of Aït Ben Haddou: the earthen village that became an icon

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The post Ksar of Aït Ben Haddou: the earthen village that became an icon appeared first on Southeast-morocco.com.

Article written in 2019, revised and expanded in 2026.

The Green March of 1975: a few key facts

Following Morocco’s independence in 1956, the Kingdom continued the process of recovering territories that had remained under Spanish administration. Tarfaya was reintegrated into Morocco in 1958, followed by Sidi Ifni in 1969. The question of Western Sahara, which was still administered by Spain, nevertheless remained unresolved within the wider process of decolonisation.

Morocco brought its claims before international institutions and asked the International Court of Justice to rule on the ties that had existed between the territory and the Kingdom before Spanish colonisation.

In its advisory opinion delivered on 16 October 1975, the Court recognised the existence of legal ties of allegiance between the Sultan of Morocco and some of the tribes of Western Sahara.

It nevertheless concluded that the evidence examined did not establish a territorial sovereignty of such a nature as to prevent the application of the principle of self-determination.

In the hours that followed, King Hassan II announced the organisation of a peaceful march towards the Sahara. Its departure was set for 6 November 1975. According to Morocco’s official chronology, 350,000 volunteers, including 35,000 women, took part in the Green March.

The appeal prompted a remarkable mobilisation. In cities, villages and rural communities, men and women registered to join the delegations formed in every province.

In Ouarzazate, as elsewhere, many felt that history had suddenly summoned them.

In Ouarzazate, the call to join the Green March

The provinces of southeast Morocco were widely represented. Participants from Ouarzazate, Errachidia, Tinghir and Zagora joined the other provincial delegations travelling south.

Mouloud Jghou, Abderrahmane Moussa and Fatoma Ghouate, all three from Ouarzazate, were among them. Decades later, each retained deeply personal memories of the days during which the Green March was being prepared.

Abderrahmane Moussa was 25 years old in 1975. He was working as a tour guide at the time. He remembers a genuine collective fever taking hold of Ouarzazate: conversations, registrations and preparations all seemed to revolve around a single idea—taking part in the March. He registered as a volunteer and joined the provincial delegation.

Mouloud Jghou was living in France at the time. The preparations were being reported in the press and on radio and television. Like many Moroccans living abroad, he initially followed the event from a distance. But the emotion stirred by the announcement of the March was so powerful that he decided to return to Morocco and register as a participant as soon as he arrived.

Fatoma Ghouate, who was born in the Kasbah of Taourirte, also answered the call. Her decision was not the result of long reflection. She remembers being carried by the momentum of the moment and by the conviction that she should take part, alongside the men, in an event that was mobilising the entire country.

Delegations from across Morocco

Participants were grouped according to their province of origin. Each delegation was identified by a letter: the Errachidia delegation carried the letter A, while Ouarzazate carried the letter B, according to the memories of the three witnesses.

This organisation gave the Green March its distinctive form. The movement did not begin in one single place. It emerged simultaneously in every region of the country.

Groups formed in cities, oases, valleys and rural communities. They then joined the main roads before gradually merging into a much larger whole. Like streams flowing down from territories far removed from one another, the delegations converged on the south until they formed a single human river.

The volunteers from Ouarzazate therefore set off in their own convoy, with their own leaders, organisation and identifying symbol

From Ouarzazate to Tarfaya: the convoys’ journey

The convoys from Ouarzazate and Errachidia travelled through Agadir, Tiznit and Guelmim before continuing towards Tarfaya. To prevent congestion, several hours separated the passage of the different groups.

The trucks stopped regularly outside towns and villages. Throughout the journey, local inhabitants gathered along the roads to greet the participants. Fatoma particularly remembers the crowds cheering the convoys and sometimes sharing part of their provisions with the marchers.

As the trucks moved forward, the landscapes changed and the distances grew longer. But the journey itself had already become part of the event. The songs, flags and gatherings encountered in every locality gave participants the feeling that they were being carried forward by a mobilisation extending far beyond their own delegation.

Tarfaya was the final major stage before the border. A vast network of camps had been established around the town to receive the volunteers arriving from every part of Morocco.

According to the witnesses, the camp allocated to the province of Ouarzazate stood beside the ocean, approximately seven kilometres from the centre of Tarfaya. The Royal Armed Forces and the civilian administration had established an organisation there to receive, supply and supervise the participants.

Life in the Tarfaya camp

The volunteers were divided into sections, each placed under the responsibility of one participant. Mouloud Jghou was put in charge of a group of 114 people from the province of Ouarzazate.

He had to keep the list of members up to date, organise the distribution of supplies and respond to the everyday needs of his section. In his memory, provisions were shared without difficulty and everyone contributed, in their own way, to the life of the group.

Abderrahmane also recalls the importance of the supplies: water, bread, vegetables, fish and dates were transported to the camps. He remembers military aircraft sometimes dropping sacks of bread over the camp.

Fatoma describes a collective life that quickly took shape beneath the tents. The women built traditional earthen ovens in which to bake bread. She would go out to gather firewood and sometimes returned with meat and dates given to her by Moroccan soldiers.

She remembers with amusement that she ate a great deal during her stay and gained a noticeable amount of weight. Behind the immense scale of the national mobilisation, her account reveals a very concrete reality: gathering wood, preparing meals, baking bread and sharing provisions.

As the days passed, the camp became a temporary city. Groups arriving from different regions brought their own songs, dances and traditions with them. Amazighs, Arabs and Sahrawis came together in shared celebrations in which every delegation revealed something of its home territory.

For the three witnesses, the Green March was therefore not only a movement towards a border. It was also the experience of an immense community, made up of people who did not know one another but were learning to live, wait and act together.

On 6 November 1975, marching towards the border

On the evening of 5 November, King Hassan II addressed the participants gathered in the south, as well as the Moroccan population as a whole:

The following day, the delegations left their camps and advanced towards Tah and the border. The participants marched without weapons, carrying Moroccan flags and copies of the Quran.

From this point onwards, the three testimonies become particularly valuable. They do not offer a detached overview of the event, but reveal what each person saw, heard or felt from within the crowd.

In Abderrahmane’s memory, Ouarzazate moves to the front

Abderrahmane brings back to life some of the moments he experienced in the camp:

Abderrahmane remembers that the Errachidia convoy was initially positioned ahead of the Ouarzazate convoy. Detonations heard in the distance reportedly caused the marchers at the front to hesitate, as they feared that the Spanish forces were firing at them.

According to his account, the Ouarzazate delegation then moved past them and took the lead, followed by the delegation from Kenitra. Its members advanced towards the barbed wire marking the border and were among the first to cross it.

This remains the memory of a participant who stood at the heart of the movement. It should be received as such: not as a military or administrative report, but as the direct memory of a man carried forward, alongside the others, by the intensity of the moment.

Tamimounte, a woman remembered by the marchers

Abderrahmane also associates this moment with the name of a woman from the Ouarzazate delegation: Fadma Mohamed Taberhout, known as Tamimounte, whom he remembers as coming from the village of Iguernane.

In his memory, the woman, then in her forties, climbed a structure near the border and replaced a Spanish flag with the Moroccan flag.

As he tells it, her action expressed the exhilaration driving the marchers and the desire of each participant to stand at the forefront. The memory of Tamimounte is one of the most singular fragments of his testimony. Her identity, her life and her role would now deserve a dedicated investigation, comparing this memory with the accounts of her family and any surviving archives.

Mouloud remembers the soldiers on the hills

Mouloud remembers walking for approximately fourteen kilometres through the border area. He recalls seeing Spanish soldiers and military vehicles on the higher ground, although no direct confrontation took place.

Mouloud estimates that he remained in the area for seven or eight days. As is often the case with accounts recorded several decades after an event, the exact duration and sequence of the different stages would need to be compared with archival records.

This chronological uncertainty does not diminish the value of his memory: that of a long wait beyond the barbed wire, in an area under the surveillance of the Spanish forces.

Fatoma remembers women marching alongside the men

Fatoma emphasises the presence of women at the forefront of the March. They advanced and crossed the border alongside the men, sharing the same conditions and uncertainties.

She particularly remembers the nights, when lights and explosions would suddenly illuminate a vast part of the sky. She describes them as fireworks launched by the Spanish soldiers. Their appearance sometimes caused fear among the participants.

One such incident is said to have caused a pregnant marcher to go into labour. According to Fatoma, the woman named her son Massir, derived from massira, the Arabic word for “march”.

Like the story of Tamimounte, this birth belongs to the parallel memory of major historical events: a memory made up of names, gestures and individual destinies that official accounts do not always preserve.

After crossing the barbed wire and reaching the place assigned to them, the participants reportedly gathered to pray and give thanks to God.

Three voices from the Green March preserved on video

Mouloud Jghou, Abderrahmane Moussa and Fatoma Ghouate do not describe exactly the same Green March. Each has preserved their own images of the event.

Mouloud remembers his hurried return from France, his responsibility for a section of marchers and the advance beyond the barbed wire. Abderrahmane recalls the feverish preparations in Ouarzazate, the movement of the convoys and the act attributed to Tamimounte. Fatoma remembers the inhabitants lining the roads, the ovens built in the camp, the provisions that were shared and the women marching alongside the men.

Their memories nevertheless come together in their evocation of a collective movement of exceptional scale. Behind the figure of 350,000 participants lie just as many personal experiences, many of which have only ever been passed down within families.

The video produced by Sudestmaroc.com allows us to rediscover the voices, faces and intonations of the three witnesses. It is not merely an illustration accompanying the article: it is its central archive.

These three residents of Ouarzazate took part in an event that became a major chapter in Morocco’s contemporary history. By recording their words, the purpose is not only to commemorate the Green March, but also to preserve what sweeping historical narratives sometimes allow to disappear: the tangible memories of the women and men who lived through them.

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The post Ouarzazate at the heart of the Green March: three participants tell their story appeared first on Southeast-morocco.com.

The name of the Glaoua once echoed across the mountains and valleys of south-eastern Morocco. Although that echo has now largely faded, it remains deeply embedded in the collective memory of these territories and permanently inscribed in the history of the country.

The Glaoua are an Amazigh tribe established around Telouet, on the southern slopes of the High Atlas. Their ruling lineage, the El Mezouari El Glaoui, lived in a modest kasbah sometimes known as the “little sparrow’s nest”. According to local tradition, the small bird was associated with providence and regarded as a sign of good fortune.

Yet this modest bird’s nest would eventually be transformed into an eagle’s eyrie.

From the second half of the 19th century onwards, the El Glaoui family embarked upon a long and arduous ascent towards power and wealth. From one generation to the next, its representatives established themselves as powerful servants of the Makhzen, Morocco’s system of government in which the central authority delegated extensive powers to provincial governors known as caïds.

In the case of the El Glaoui clan, this delegation of authority would eventually reach extraordinary proportions. Over the years, its leading members became known as the Lords of the Atlas. In times of peace as in times of war, the caïds of the Glaoua, like the heads of several other great caïdal families, became powerful masters who exercised authority over vast territories and the people who inhabited them.

The caïd: between Makhzen representative and tribal chief

The term Makhzen has carried different meanings according to the period. It may refer to the Sultan’s government, but also, more broadly, to the system through which authority was exercised over a country long composed of tribes and territories fiercely attached to their autonomy.

The word Makhzen derives from the Arabic مخزن, makhzan, meaning a place of storage or a storehouse, from the verb خزن, khazana, “to store”. The English word magazine ultimately shares the same Arabic origin.

The term originally referred to the place where a village community stored its food supplies. From the 17th century onwards, it came to designate the Treasury—the place where taxes were collected—and, by extension, those responsible for administering it. Over time, the name was applied to the entire governmental apparatus serving the Sultan.

The Sultan was regarded as Amir al-Mu’minin, the Commander of the Faithful. Around him, the Makhzen was organised through a central government composed of viziers, or ministers, and numerous officials recruited from sharifian families claiming descent from the Prophet, as well as from families of scholars, merchants and warriors.

These officials were responsible for maintaining order, collecting taxes and acting as arbiters, particularly in disputes involving land and property.

In rural areas, authority was generally entrusted to a caïd appointed by the Sultan and assisted by a khalifa and several sheikhs.

The caïds received extensive powers from the central government. In practice, however, the Makhzen’s direct political, military and fiscal authority varied considerably from one region to another.

Moroccan history is often described through the opposition between the Bled el-Makhzen, the territories where the Sultan’s government exercised effective authority, and the Bled es-Siba, where tribes retained a greater degree of political and military autonomy.

This distinction should not be understood as a rigid division between an organised state and a “land of anarchy”. In many mountain and rural regions, the Sultan’s power was negotiated, intermittent or exercised through alliances, while his religious legitimacy and his role as an arbiter could still be recognised.

The expression Bled es-Siba, widely employed and simplified by French colonial historiography, therefore describes a far more complex political reality than the frequently used translation “land of anarchy” would suggest.

This situation often led the Sultans to appoint as caïd a man who already possessed recognised authority among the population concerned—generally the head of the dominant tribe.

Some caïds acquired immense power in the history of the country. Many fought against one another, while an even greater number made the accumulation of wealth their principal concern.

The Caïd the word derives from the Arabic قائد, qāʾid, meaning “commander”. In Morocco, it referred to a local governor appointed by the Sultan who could combine administrative, fiscal, judicial and military powers, while sometimes also serving as the leader of his own tribe.

Telouet, a meeting place and strategic centre of trade

A large part of the High Atlas once belonged to the regions where the Makhzen’s direct authority remained limited or depended upon alliances with local powers.

The immense Atlas mountain chain created a formidable natural barrier between Morocco’s imperial cities in the north and the pre-Saharan regions to the south—a world of mountains, valleys, rocky plateaux, oases and desert dunes. These vast territories had been inhabited for centuries by Amazigh communities.

On the southern side of the High Atlas, at an altitude of approximately 1,870 metres, lies the small village of Telouet.

Its position made it strategically important. For centuries, commercial caravans crossed the mountains through the Telouet Pass, known as Tizi n’Telouet or Tizi n’Glaoua, at an altitude of around 2,400 metres.

The route through the Telouet Pass may already have formed an important crossroads during the Phoenician and Punic periods. It was known to merchants, geographers and travellers as the Gate of Deren, or the Gate of the Atlas.

The pass provided one of the principal routes between northern Morocco and the territories of the Drâa, Tafilalet, Dadès and Todgha, continuing towards the distant Bilad al-Sudan, the historic Arabic name given to the lands south of the Sahara.

Telouet was therefore not merely an isolated mountain village. It was a place of passage, exchange and commerce, where populations and political ambitions met.

Punic: the adjective describes what relates to the ancient Carthaginians. It derives from the Latin punicus or poenicus, itself derived from Poenus, meaning “Carthaginian”, and ultimately from the Greek Phoînix, which could refer to both the Phoenicians and the Carthaginians.

Read also : Telouet: Cradle and Stronghold of the Lords of the Atlas

The first steps of an Atlas tribe

The Glaoua—Igliwa in Amazigh—are a sedentary Amazigh tribe belonging to the Tachelhit-speaking area. Their historic territory extends across both sides of the main High Atlas ridge, particularly around Telouet, the Rdat Valley and the Asif Mellah.

The populations of this part of the High Atlas have been associated, according to different historical classifications, with the great Masmouda and Sanhaja Amazigh groupings. These affiliations should nevertheless be understood within a long history shaped by alliances, migrations and tribal recompositions.

The ruling lineage of the tribe was known as El Mezouari. The name derives from the Amazigh term amezwaru, meaning “the first”, the one who goes before, or the person who leads a particular function or community.

The El Glaoui had long been regarded as a Makhzen family serving the Alaouite dynasty, at least since the reign of Sultan Moulay Ismail, who ruled Morocco from 1672 to 1727.

One of their earliest ancestors mentioned in historical accounts was a man named Abdessadek. At that time, however, the lineage possessed neither great fame nor exceptional power.

It was not until the first half of the 19th century that the family’s ascent towards power began.

The first step was taken by Hammou Amezouar El Glaoui, better known by the Arabic name Ahmed. His people appointed him amghar, or sheikh, making him the leader of the tribe around Telouet.

At the time, however, Telouet remained under the authority of the powerful caïd El Hachemi Zemrani of Demnate.

El Hachemi Zemrani belonged to a lineage associated with the Banu Maqil and originated from the douar of Zemrane, north-east of Marrakech. As a Makhzen caïd, he claimed longstanding authority over several High Atlas tribes, including the Glaoua, Ghoujdama and Fetouaka. His influence extended as far as the Dadès Valley.

The Banu Maqil were Arab tribal groups that entered the Maghreb during the medieval period. Their different branches gradually spread across southern Algeria, Mauritania, Western Sahara and Morocco.

The modest Sheikh Ahmed married the daughter of another tribal leader, Ahmed Ben El Haj Mohamed, from the neighbouring village of Taghennouste. The marriage improved his social position, but it was above all Telouet’s strategic location that enabled him to increase his influence.

He was able to offer shelter, protection and security to the camel caravans travelling through the mountains.

In exchange for this protection, he required merchants to pay passage dues, providing him with a regular source of income. His position was further strengthened by the exploitation of a salt mine discovered at Adouz, near Telouet.

Ahmed’s increasingly prosperous activities soon caused concern to his father-in-law, Ahmed Ben El Haj, and provided his enemies within the clan with a pretext to drive him out of Telouet.

He sought refuge among the Aït Ounila, a neighbouring tribe traditionally hostile to his own people. Amghar Ahmed died during this forced exile in 1855.

The conquering pride of the chief of Telouet

During this exile on the banks of the Ounila River, Amghar Ahmed’s son was born.

He was named Mohamed Ben Hammou and grew up with a fierce determination to avenge the humiliation inflicted upon his father and reclaim the leadership of the tribe in the family stronghold of Telouet.

Mohamed Ben Hammou was a man of small stature. He therefore received the nickname Ibibet, the name of a small bird commonly translated here as “the little sparrow”.

Despite the apparent gentleness of this nickname, the young Mohamed became a determined war leader only a few years after his father’s death.

In 1858, he led an attack against the hamlet of Taghennouste. During the battle of Tighoufar Aït Rbaâ, his grandfather, Sheikh Ahmed Ben El Haj, was killed.

The fearless young chief believed he could now begin extending his power south of the Atlas. Once again, however, his ambitions came up against the powerful caïd of Demnate.

Mohamed Ibibet’s ambition was nothing less than to unite the different components of the Glaoua tribe beneath a single banner and transform them into a major power in the High Atlas and beyond, following the example of the great caïdal families of the Mtougui and the Goundafa.

The Goundafa, known in Amazigh as the Ignifissen, formed a group of tribes established along the N’Fiss Valley in the High Atlas.

Long attached to their autonomy in the face of the Sultan’s authority, they would enter the Makhzen network during the final decades of the 19th century. Their leader, Si Ahmed, pledged allegiance to Sultan Moulay Hassan I, who appointed him caïd.

Following his death in 1885, his son Si Tayyeb Goundafi inherited the position and extended the family’s influence from the Haouz plain to the Souss.

The final steps before victory

Caught between these powerful caïds, Amghar Mohamed Ibibet nevertheless succeeded in attracting the attention of the central government, which was always eager to use tribal rivalries to preserve its own authority.

His audacity and determination in confronting his enemies made him a potential ally in the region.

Sultan Moulay Abderrahmane Ben Hicham, who ruled Morocco from 1822 to 1859, appointed him Amghar n’Ufella, or supreme sheikh, over the tribes of Aït Telouet, Aït Ounila and Aït Tammante.

The supreme sheikh had little time to enjoy a title that seemed to fulfil his most intimate ambition.

Like his father Ahmed before him, he faced the fierce hostility of the Zemrani clan of Demnate. Following the death of El Hachemi Zemrani in 1858, his brother Omar succeeded him and made every effort to damage the reputation of his rival in Telouet and bring an end to his growing power.

Omar Zemrani persuaded the Sultan that Mohamed Ibibet was plotting against the sharifian government. He received authorisation to arrest him and bring him to trial.

But the little sparrow’s good fortune—and political instinct—had not deserted him.

The Sultan died in 1859, and Mohamed Ibibet immediately travelled to Marrakech to attend the ceremony of allegiance to the new sovereign, Moulay Mohammed Ben Abderrahmane, who would rule Morocco until 1873 and later become known as Mohammed IV.

During the ceremony, Sidi Boubker Ben Ali Ennaciri, the sheikh of the highly influential Nasiriyya zaouia of Tamegroute, completed the chief of Telouet’s strategy by interceding with the new Sultan on his behalf.

The Sultan decided to pardon Amghar Mohamed El Glaoui. In 1864, he raised him to the rank of Makhzen caïd and placed the tribes of the Aït Ouaouzguite confederation under his command.

Mohamed Ibibet’s hour of glory had arrived.

He used his new position to build a kasbah beside the older stronghold in Telouet. He then embarked upon a policy of expansion towards south-eastern Morocco.

His first major objective was to take control of the Kasbah of Taourirt, in present-day Ouarzazate. Like Telouet, Taourirt occupied a strategic position from which the caravan routes of the South could be controlled.

To achieve this, Mohamed formed alliances with the leaders of several tribes around Ouarzazate. In 1877, he succeeded in taking Taourirt and drove out Sheikh Mohamed Ben Abdellah.

This important conquest gave him control over commercial activity at another major crossroads. From Taourirt, routes led towards the Drâa Valley and the great oasis of Skoura, as well as towards the Dadès and Todgha valleys.

Amghar Mohamed Ibibet then attempted to use Taourirt’s central position to fight the tribes of the South that resisted the Makhzen, including that of his longstanding rival, the powerful Amghar Mohamed Zanifi of Tazenakht.

Proud of his recent promotion to the rank of Makhzen caïd, he set himself the ambition of bringing the independent tribes of the South under the Sultan’s authority.

This undertaking anticipated, in an entirely different context and on a far greater scale, the campaign that French colonial forces would pursue several decades later under the name of “pacification”.

The sparrow’s interrupted flight

The ambition proved too great for a small sparrow that already imagined itself an eagle.

Mohamed Ben Hammou El Glaoui made the mistake of overestimating his strength. Above all, he attempted to move faster than the political realities of late 19th-century Morocco would allow, at a time when tribal pride and competing ambitions remained exceptionally powerful.

His campaigns required considerable financial resources. He believed he could impose heavy charges and new levies upon the other tribes of the Aït Ouaouzguite confederation, as well as upon the Aït Zineb and the inhabitants of Tikirt, Ikhzamen and Ouarzazate.

These demands provoked the indignation of their leaders.

They quickly joined together in a coalition known as the Allies of Tagouzoult. Local tradition associates the name Tagouzoult with the idea of courage or bravery.

Their objective was to restrain the excesses of the chief of the small mountain settlement of Telouet.

Unable to defeat the forces united against him, Mohamed Ibibet abandoned his campaign and withdrew to his stronghold.

He now considered it wiser to consolidate his commercial activities in the High Atlas.

He revived the Monday souk at Ighil n’Oubiane, which had originally been established by his father.

He also built a new caravanserai to strengthen his control over caravans arriving from the Tizi n’Telouet Pass. A second market was established on Thursdays at Zrekten, together with another caravanserai.

From his small village beneath the immense mountains, Amghar Mohamed Ben Hammou El Glaoui—Ibibet—had surrendered himself to the dream of the Atlas.

He had imagined that the name of his clan, the name of the Glaoua, might one day command the countless tribes of Morocco.

Destiny decided otherwise and compelled him to be patient.

Yet the destiny of the Glaoua was like an Amazigh carpet whose splendour emerged thread by thread.

Just as Mohamed Ben Hammou had sought to restore the pride of his own father, Sheikh Ahmed, and raise the family name still higher, his dream of power would be inherited by two sons of an entirely different stature: the elder, Madani, and the younger, Thami.

At his death, Mohamed left his eldest son, Madani El Mezouari El Glaoui, an established authority and a considerable fortune.

This inheritance would enable Madani to rise to the highest levels of the Makhzen and eventually obtain the most prestigious office available: that of Grand Vizier to the Sultan.

In the heart of his younger son, Thami El Mezouari El Glaoui, Mohamed also planted the seed of the ambition he had carried within him from the beginning.

It held the promise that one day, at last, the sparrow would become an eagle.

Read also : The lost destiny of Jews from South East Morocco

The post The Glaoua: the extraordinary rise of a High Atlas tribe appeared first on Southeast-morocco.com.

M’Hamid El Ghizlane: at the threshold of the Sahara

At the far end of the Drâa Valley, M’Hamid El Ghizlane marks the transition from the oasis world to the vast expanses of the Sahara. Its modern village, old ksour, increasingly fragile palm grove and first sand dunes form a landscape of transition, once crossed by caravans and now the main starting point for journeys towards Erg Chigaga.

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What to know before your visit

Distance from Ouarzazate: approximately 260 kilometres, or nearly four hours by road. Distance from Zagora: approximately 95 kilometres, or around 1 hour 30 minutes. Location: the small dunes visible around M’Hamid are not the dunes of Erg Chigaga, which lie roughly 50 to 60 kilometres away across desert tracks.
The N9 road ends at M’Hamid after following the oasis settlements of the middle Drâa Valley. The village stands at an altitude of around 500 metres, in an environment that has become extremely arid. Recommended visit time: Half a day is enough to explore M’Hamid, its palm grove and some of its old settlements. Allow at least two days if you also wish to spend a night in the desert. Admission: access to the village and palm grove is free. Visits to certain houses or privately owned places may be subject to a small charge. Guide: a guide is not essential within M’Hamid itself, although local knowledge is useful when exploring the old ksour. A guide and experienced driver are essential for reaching Erg Chigaga or travelling along remote desert tracks. Best time to visit: from October to April. Outside the winter months, plan outdoor visits for the early morning or late afternoon.

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Panorama

• Why visit M’Hamid El Ghizlane ?
• What to don in M’Hamid El Ghizlane ?
• How to get to M’Hamid El Ghizlane ?
• Where to stay in M’Hamid El Ghizlane ?
• Beyond M’Hamid El Ghizlane

Our editorial take

M’Hamid El Ghizlane has neither the monumentality of Aït Ben Haddou nor the bustle of Zagora. Its modern centre, arranged along the main road, may even disappoint travellers expecting to encounter towering dunes and an immediately spectacular vision of the Sahara.

The place begins to reveal itself only when you stop treating M’Hamid as an isolated destination. Walk towards the old village, enter the palm grove, observe the houses gradually overtaken by sand and understand that you have reached the final meeting point between a cultivated valley and lands long travelled by nomadic communities.

M’Hamid is above all a place of passage. Yet it is precisely this transition — from road to track, oasis to desert and permanent settlement to travelled space — that gives it its true depth.

Why visit M’Hamid El Ghizlane?

Discover the last oasis of the Drâa Valley

M’Hamid stands at the southern end of the oasis system that stretches along the middle Drâa Valley.

From Agdz onwards, the Drâa runs through a succession of palm groves, cultivated gardens and earthen villages. At M’Hamid, this long ribbon of vegetation gradually comes to an end. The riverbed, usually dry at the surface, turns westwards, while cultivated land becomes scarcer and sand begins to spread between the palms.

M’Hamid is therefore more than a settlement built on the edge of the desert. It is the southernmost part of the middle Drâa oasis system, where irrigated agriculture has become particularly vulnerable to water scarcity, advancing sand and soil degradation.

This fragility is part of what visitors encounter. Isolated palm trees, abandoned plots and partially collapsed earthen walls are not merely picturesque features. They reveal the profound transformations affecting the oases of southern Morocco.

The name El Ghizlane comes from the Arabic al-ghizlān, the plural of ghazāl, meaning “gazelle”. M’Hamid El Ghizlane can therefore be understood as “M’Hamid of the Gazelles”, a name traditionally associated with the gazelles that once roamed the surrounding desert plains.

Understand a former caravan crossroads

Before motor vehicles replaced the great camel caravans, M’Hamid occupied a strategic position on the trans-Saharan routes.

People, animals and goods gathered here before continuing south across the Sahara or entering the Drâa Valley on their way to the markets of northern Morocco.

These routes connected Morocco with regions south of the Sahara, historically known as the Bilad al-Sudan. They carried goods, but also stories, languages, music and social practices. The cultural diversity of the oasis developed through encounters between oasis communities and Amazigh, Arab, Saharan and sub-Saharan populations.

The ruins of Ksebt El Allouj, commonly attributed to the Saadian period in the late 16th century, are associated with this period of trans-Saharan trade. Their exact function remains imperfectly documented, but the site recalls the historical importance of M’Hamid on the routes linking the Drâa Valley with the lands beyond the Sahara.

A landmark in Morocco’s modern history

M’Hamid also occupies a particular place in the modern history of Morocco.

On 25 February 1958, two years after independence, King Mohammed V met representatives of Saharan tribes in M’Hamid and delivered a speech concerning the country’s territorial unity and the future of its southern regions.

This event gave the remote oasis a political and symbolic importance far greater than its geographical size might suggest.

Read also : The Sahara, the mirror space of human adventure in Africa

Read also : Once upon a time in the ksar of Aït Ben Haddou, four Christian princesses …

What to do in M’Hamid El Ghizlane

Walk between M’Hamid Jdid and the old village

Walking from M’Hamid Jdid towards M’Hamid Bali is one of the best ways to understand the oasis beyond its modern roadside centre.

M’Hamid Jdid, the new village, contains most of the shops, cafés, accommodation and agencies organising desert excursions. To discover a different side of the settlement, leave the main road and walk towards M’Hamid Bali, the old village.

Its earthen buildings, narrow passages and gradually abandoned houses offer a glimpse of the oasis’s former organisation. Some areas remain inhabited or belong to local families, so visitors should remain discreet and respect private life.

The walk is particularly pleasant in the late afternoon, when the light brings out the texture of the earthen walls and temperatures begin to fall.

Explore the palm grove

The palm grove connects the oasis’s different settlements and old fortified villages.

Along its paths, you will encounter date palms, small cultivated plots, irrigation channels, tamarisk trees and areas already invaded by sand.

Walking through the palm grove helps visitors understand how a traditional oasis functions. It is not a naturally green landscape, but an environment created and maintained by generations of inhabitants, dependent on a delicate balance between water, crops, trees and human settlement.

A satellite-based study covering the period from 1984 to 2016 identified a marked long-term reduction in the vegetated area of the M’Hamid oasis. Drought, declining water availability, the abandonment of farmland, migration and certain forms of tourism development have all contributed to its transformation.

Explore the old ksour

Several old ksour — fortified earthen villages — are scattered across the wider M’Hamid oasis.

The area is not limited to M’Hamid Jdid and M’Hamid Bali. It also includes older settlements such as Bounou and Ouled Driss.

Their earthen houses, covered lanes and shared spaces reflect forms of architecture adapted to extreme heat, wind and the scarcity of building materials. Much of this heritage is now severely degraded, although local initiatives have attempted to restore buildings and maintain life within some of the old villages.

A local guide can help identify the different settlements, avoid entering private property and provide a clearer understanding of their history.

See the ruins of Ksebt El Allouj

Ksebt El Allouj is one of the main historical remains in the M’Hamid oasis.

Situated away from the modern centre, its ruins are generally dated to the Saadian period and associated with the control of caravan routes.

Do not expect a restored monument. Much of the earthen structure has collapsed, and the site has few visitor facilities. Its interest lies in its position, its earthen architecture and what it suggests about M’Hamid’s former role.

Because the remains are fragile and signage is limited, it is preferable to visit with a local resident or guide.

Reach the first dunes

You do not need to travel as far as Erg Chigaga to encounter your first sandy landscapes.

Small dunes lie around the edges of the oasis and can be reached on foot or during a short camel ride. They are especially beautiful at sunrise and sunset.

These dunes are modest in scale, but their proximity to palm trees and earthen houses creates a landscape characteristic of M’Hamid, suspended between oasis and desert.

They provide a rewarding introduction for travellers with limited time. They should not, however, be confused with the much larger dune systems found farther to the south-west.

Read also : The palm grove of Skoura, the quintessential oasis

Travel to Erg Chigaga

Erg Chigaga — also written Erg Chegaga — lies approximately 50 to 60 kilometres from M’Hamid.

There is no paved road to the dunes. The journey follows tracks across stony plains, sandy areas and a succession of desert landscapes.

The trip usually takes between 1 hour 30 minutes and two hours in a four-wheel-drive vehicle, depending on the condition of the tracks and the location of the camp. It can also be undertaken over several days on foot or with a camel caravan.

Do not attempt this journey alone. Tracks can change, landmarks are scarce and mobile communications cannot always be relied upon. Travelling with an experienced local guide also helps avoid unnecessary and damaging vehicle movements through a particularly fragile environment.

A guide is essential.

Spend a night in the desert

A night in the desert allows you to watch the sunset, experience the Saharan night sky and discover the extraordinary scale of its silence.

Several types of experience are available: a camp close to M’Hamid, a fixed camp in the surrounding desert or a more remote stay among the dunes of Erg Chigaga. The right choice depends on the time available and the level of comfort you require.

Before booking, ask how the camp manages water, waste and sanitation. A responsible desert camp should employ local guides and staff, limit unnecessary motorised journeys and leave the site clean after its guests have departed.

Looking for advice? Contact us

Read also : The oasis bears the seeds of tomorrow’s Morocco, and of the world

Experience nomadic cultures during the festivals

M’Hamid hosts several events devoted to Saharan and nomadic cultures.

The International Nomads Festival brings together music, talks, crafts, oral traditions and activities connected with nomadic life. The Taragalte Festival, founded in 2009, combines concerts, poetry, cultural encounters and reflection on desert culture and the environment.

More recently, the Zamane Festival has highlighted the musical traditions of southern Morocco, the biodiversity of the oasis and initiatives led by local communities.

Festival dates change from year to year, so always consult the official programmes before planning your journey. The International Nomads Festival continues to be held annually in M’Hamid, while the third Zamane Festival took place in late 2024.

Read also : The lost destiny of Jews from South East Morocco

How do you get to M’Hamid El Ghizlane?

From Zagora

M’Hamid lies approximately 95 kilometres south of Zagora.

The N9 passes through Tamegroute, the Fezouata palm grove, Tagounite and the increasingly arid landscapes of the lower Drâa Valley.

The journey takes around 1 hour 30 minutes, although it would be a pity to make it without stopping. Tamegroute, the old ksour and the viewpoints over the valley all deserve some time.

Coaches, minibuses and shared grand taxis usually operate between Zagora and M’Hamid. As timetables can change, check locally before departure.

From Ouarzazate

M’Hamid is approximately 260 kilometres from Ouarzazate, representing nearly four hours of driving without stops.

From Agdz, the road follows the Drâa Valley, passes through Zagora and continues to its terminus at M’Hamid. It is a long journey, but one that reveals the gradual transformation of the region’s oasis landscapes.

For a more comfortable visit, plan an overnight stop in Agdz, Zagora or one of the valley’s palm groves rather than attempting a return journey from Ouarzazate in a single day.

From Marrakech

M’Hamid can be reached from Marrakech through the Tizi n’Tichka Pass, Ouarzazate, Agdz and Zagora.

The complete journey represents a very long day on the road. To experience the Drâa Valley properly, divide it over two days and plan at least one additional night in M’Hamid or the desert.

Getting around M’Hamid

The centre of M’Hamid and the nearby sections of the palm grove can easily be explored on foot.

A car, bicycle or local guide may be useful for reaching the older settlements scattered across the oasis.

Journeys beyond the oasis require a suitable vehicle and a driver familiar with the desert tracks. A four-wheel-drive vehicle is not a substitute for local knowledge, preparation or desert safety precautions.

Where to stay in M’Hamid El Ghizlane?

Staying overnight in M’Hamid allows you to enjoy the cooler morning temperatures, walk through the palm grove before the heat becomes intense and begin a desert excursion without first driving from Zagora.

The centre of M’Hamid Jdid offers the most practical options, close to shops, cafés and transport.

Accommodation around the palm grove, Bounou or Ouled Driss generally provides a quieter setting and a closer connection with the region’s earthen architecture.

A third option is to stay in a camp close to the oasis. This is suitable for a first desert experience or a short stay. To discover the larger dune landscapes, choose a more remote camp towards Erg Chigaga and allow at least two days for the excursion.

Looking for advice? Contact us

Beyond M’Hamid El Ghizlane

M’Hamid is the natural conclusion of a journey following the Drâa Valley southwards from Agdz and Zagora.

On the road back towards Zagora, Tamegroute deserves a stop for its zaouia, historic library and pottery workshops. The village maintains a long ceramic tradition, recognisable by its irregular shades of green glaze. Some workshops welcome visitors and may offer introductory sessions or longer courses.

The old villages of the valley, the ksar of Tissergate and the Zagora palm grove continue this exploration of oasis cultures.

In the opposite direction, the paved road ends at M’Hamid. Desert tracks lead towards Erg Chigaga, the landscapes around Iriqui and, on longer crossings, Foum Zguid. These routes must be organised with professionals who know the terrain.

M’Hamid should therefore not be seen merely as a departure point for a night under canvas. The village forms the final chapter of a valley shaped by water and agriculture, but also the first chapter of a world in which distances, movement and ways of life belong to a different geography.

For more informations : contact us

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More places to explore

M’Hamid El Ghizlane: at the threshold of the Sahara

Ksar of Aït Ben Haddou: the earthen village that became an icon

Telouet kasbah: the Glaoui palace in the High Atlas

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Telouet kasbah: the Glaoui palace in the High Atlas

In the heart of the High Atlas, Telouet Kasbah was both the residence and command centre of the Glaoui, the powerful family of caids who extended their authority over much of southern Morocco before and during the French Protectorate.
Behind walls now largely reduced to ruins, rooms decorated with zellij, carved stucco and painted ceilings still survive—the last witnesses to the splendour of a vanished power.
Located between Marrakech, the Ounila Valley and Aït Ben Haddou, Telouet tells the story not only of a palace, but also of the rise and fall of the “Lords of the Atlas”.

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What to know before your visit

Distance from Ouarzazate: approximately 76 kilometres via Aït Ben Haddou and the Ounila Valley. Allow close to two hours without stops. The distance between Aït Ben Haddou and Telouet is around 47 kilometres. Distance from Marrakech: approximately 130 kilometres via the N9, the Tizi n’Tichka Pass and the P1506. Journey times vary considerably depending on traffic, roadworks and weather conditions in the mountains. Location: Telouet stands at an altitude of approximately 1,800 metres.
Temperatures can be cool, or even cold in winter, and snow may make access more difficult. Condition of the kasbah: Telouet Kasbah was severely damaged by the earthquake of 8 September 2023. Following a long closure and safety work, some of the interior rooms are once again accessible. The areas open to visitors may nevertheless change as restoration and consolidation work progresses. Recommended visit time: allow approximately two hours for the kasbah, and longer when visiting with a guide. A full day is recommended to explore the Ounila Valley between Telouet and Aït Ben Haddou. Admission: an entrance fee applies. The price has recently been around MAD 50, although it is advisable to confirm the current rate locally. A guide is included in the admission fee.
The decorated rooms are immediately impressive, but the real richness of Telouet lies in its organisation, its successive phases of construction and the political history of the Glaoui family. Best time to visit: spring and autumn. In winter, check road and weather conditions around the Tizi n’Tichka Pass and Telouet before travelling.

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Panorama

• Why visit Telouet Kasbah ?
• Understanding the history of the Glaoui family
• What to see at Telouet Kasbah ?
• How to get to Telouet Kasbah ?
• Where to stay in Telouet ?
• Beyond Telouet Kasbah

Our editorial take

Telouet Kasbah does not reveal itself as immediately as Aït Ben Haddou. Its exterior appears confused, deeply damaged and at times almost absorbed by the ruins surrounding it. At first, visitors may feel that they have arrived too late, confronted by the remains of a monument apparently condemned to disappear.

Yet the moment one enters the rooms that are still accessible, everything changes. Collapsed earthen walls give way to zellij, carved stucco, painted woodwork and the sophisticated compositions of a genuine palace. This sudden transition from ruin to refinement is one of the most striking experiences in the region.

But Telouet should not only be admired. It needs to be understood. The kasbah was the centre of a territorial, economic and military power that dominated part of Morocco before collapsing at the time of independence. Its walls therefore carry a history that is more ambiguous than glorious: a story of wealth, the violence of the caidal system, an alliance with the French Protectorate and the fragility of all forms of power.

Why visit Telouet kasbah ?

Discover one of southern Morocco’s most distinctive palaces

Telouet Kasbah was not built according to a single architectural plan. It developed through successive extensions constructed between the nineteenth century and the middle of the twentieth century around a number of earlier buildings. Construction of the main complex is generally thought to have begun in the 1860s, followed by several periods of expansion led by different members of the Glaoui family.

At its height, the complex served many different purposes. It contained the family residence, reception rooms, an administrative centre, a court, military quarters, stables, storerooms, servants’ accommodation and buildings intended for travellers and representatives of the authorities.

Telouet was therefore closer to a small palatial town than to the simple fortified residence that the word “kasbah” might suggest.

Observe the meeting of two architectural traditions

The oldest sections use the materials and architectural principles of the High Atlas: thick walls, stone, earth, defensive structures and towers overlooking the surrounding landscape.

The later palatial wings reflect a very different ambition. The Glaoui employed craftsmen capable of recreating the elaborate decoration of Morocco’s imperial palaces: geometric zellij, finely carved plasterwork, sculpted wooden doors, painted ceilings, columns, polylobed arches and muqarnas.

Architecture became a political language. The purpose was no longer simply to protect a residence, but to impress visitors and make the power of its owners visible.

Experience the contrast between splendour and ruin

Few monuments in Morocco offer such a powerful contrast. From the outside, the fractured structures, breached walls and weakened towers suggest a world that has collapsed. Inside, several rooms have preserved decoration of a quality comparable to that found in some of Marrakech’s finest palaces.

This coexistence of splendour and disappearance has become the defining character of Telouet. It should not, however, make us forget the extreme vulnerability of earthen architecture, further weakened by abandonment, severe weather and the earthquake of 2023.

Read also : Telouet: cradle and stronghold of the Lords of the Atlas

Understanding the history of the Glaoui family

Telouet, a strategic passage through the Atlas

Before the construction of the modern road over the Tizi n’Tichka Pass, the routes through Telouet formed one of the principal links between Marrakech and the pre-Saharan valleys. Caravans, the armies of the Makhzen, travellers and goods all crossed the Atlas through these mountain passages.

The presence of nearby salt deposits further increased the economic importance of the area. Control over the passes, markets, taxes and movement of goods contributed to the wealth of the local rulers.

Telouet was therefore not an isolated palace in the mountains. It stood at the centre of a network connecting Marrakech with the Drâa, Dadès, Todgha and Tafilalet valleys, as well as the old trans-Saharan trade routes.

The turning point of 1893

In the autumn of 1893, Sultan Hassan I was returning from a long expedition to the Tafilalet when a snowstorm brought his army to a standstill in the Telouet region. Madani El Glaoui mobilised the resources of his territory to shelter and supply the royal court and troops for several weeks.

This hospitality decisively strengthened his relationship with the central authorities. Hassan I granted him responsibility over extensive territories and supplied him with modern weapons, including the famous Krupp cannon now associated with the rise of Glaoui power.

The influence of the Glaoui did not emerge overnight. The events of 1893 nevertheless gave Madani the political and military means to expand his authority rapidly.

From Madani to Thami El Glaoui

Madani El Glaoui was the true architect of the family’s expansion. He became one of the leading dignitaries of the Makhzen and eventually served as Minister of War and then Grand Vizier under Moulay Abdelhafid.

His younger brother Thami continued this rise to power. Appointed Pasha of Marrakech, he became one of Morocco’s most powerful figures during the French Protectorate. He owned extensive land, controlled numerous economic activities and maintained close relationships with the colonial authorities and prominent foreign visitors.

This power, however, rested on an authoritarian system. The taxes, forced labour, imprisonment and military interventions imposed upon local populations should not be hidden behind the romantic expression “Lords of the Atlas”.

The fall of a world

During the early 1950s, Thami El Glaoui openly opposed Sultan Mohammed V and supported the manoeuvres that led to the sovereign’s exile in 1953. The Sultan’s triumphant return in November 1955 marked the definitive end of Glaoui power.

Thami El Glaoui submitted to the Sultan and died only a few weeks later, in January 1956. Telouet Kasbah was subsequently abandoned and looted before gradually falling into ruin.

Telouet thus became an almost perfect symbol of the disappearance of the caidal system: an immense and still sumptuously decorated palace, deprived of the power that had brought it into existence.

Read also : Once upon a time in the ksar of Aït Ben Haddou, four Christian princesses …

What to see at Telouet Kasbah

The walls and successive layers of the palace

Before entering, take time to observe the entire complex from the outside. The buildings do not present a single orderly façade. Towers, defensive walls, terraces and ruined wings overlap, reflecting the different periods of construction.

This apparent confusion helps visitors understand how the kasbah developed alongside the growing power of the family. Each generation enlarged, altered or embellished the residence.

The reception rooms

The most remarkable spaces are the former ceremonial reception rooms. Their walls are covered with zellij, while the upper sections combine carved plasterwork, calligraphic inscriptions, plant motifs and geometric compositions.

The painted wooden ceilings, carved doors and precisely assembled floors demonstrate the skill of highly specialised craftsmen.

It is important to remember that the entire palace has not survived in this condition. The rooms currently accessible represent only a small part of the original complex.

Entrance to the kasbah is ticketed.

The courtyards and galleries

The inner courtyards connected the different parts of the residence and organised movement between private, administrative and ceremonial spaces.

The openings between the reception rooms now create striking perspectives. They also reveal how power was staged through architecture: a succession of doors, changing light and a gradual progression towards the most richly decorated spaces.

The ruined sections of the kasbah

Some areas have completely collapsed or remain closed to visitors. They should not be regarded simply as a picturesque backdrop. Earthen walls can weaken rapidly, and the damage caused by the earthquake is still clearly visible.

Remain within the authorised visitor routes and do not cross barriers or enter closed areas.

Read also : The palm grove of Skoura, the quintessential oasis

Read also : The lost destiny of Jews from South East Morocco

How to get to Telouet Kasbah

From Ouarzazate

The most rewarding route follows the road towards Aït Ben Haddou and then continues through the Ounila Valley. From Ouarzazate, take the road towards Marrakech before turning towards Aït Ben Haddou. Beyond the ksar, the P1506 climbs through the valley, passing Tamdakhte and Anmiter before reaching Telouet.

The journey covers approximately 76 kilometres, but deserves a full day. Earthen villages, cultivated terraces, rock formations and ancient fortifications are all an essential part of the experience.

From Marrakech

From Marrakech, follow the N9 towards the Tizi n’Tichka Pass and Ouarzazate. After crossing the pass, take the turning signposted for Telouet and the Ounila Valley.

Telouet can be visited as a stop before continuing towards Aït Ben Haddou and Ouarzazate. This alternative is slower than the direct main road, but considerably richer in terms of scenery and cultural heritage.

By public transport

Shared transport services are available, but they remain irregular and are not well suited to an excursion combining Telouet, the Ounila Valley and Aït Ben Haddou in a single day.

A car, a private taxi hired for the day or an excursion with a driver will offer much greater freedom. Road conditions should be checked in winter and after periods of heavy rain.

Where to stay in Telouet

Telouet has a small number of simple inns and guesthouses located in the village or its immediate surroundings. Staying overnight allows visitors to experience the kasbah and village after the day visitors have left, while also providing more time to explore the Ounila Valley.

Accommodation remains limited and availability may vary according to the season. Booking in advance is recommended, particularly in winter. Check whether heating is available and whether dinner can be provided at the property.

Travellers looking for a wider choice of accommodation can stay in Aït Ben Haddou or Ouarzazate and visit Telouet during a day trip through the Ounila Valley.

Looking for advice? Contact us

Beyond Telouet Kasbah

Travel through the Ounila Valley

The Ounila Valley naturally connects Telouet with Aït Ben Haddou. The road passes through a mountain landscape gradually shaped by cultivated terraces, earthen villages and former Glaoui strongholds.

This is far more than a secondary road. It reveals the relationship between the High Atlas passes, the southern valleys and the old trade routes.

Visit Anmiter, the village painted by Jacques Majorelle

On the road between Telouet and Aït Ben Haddou, Anmiter is one of the most remarkable earthen villages in the Ounila Valley. Jacques Majorelle stayed there during his 1921 journey through the Glaoui territories and made the village one of the major subjects of his work. Its kasbahs, terraces and landscapes appear in several of his paintings, and some of the original viewpoints can still be recognised today.

The paintings created during this expedition were exhibited in Paris in 1922, and Majorelle later returned to the valley several times. The house in which he stayed also preserves small wall paintings attributed to him.

Anmiter reveals another side of Majorelle: not simply the creator of Marrakech’s famous garden, but a painter of earthen architecture and High Atlas landscapes.

Stop in Tamdakhte

Tamdakhte was once an important fortified centre between Telouet and Aït Ben Haddou. Its history is closely connected with the expansion of Madani El Glaoui’s power at the end of the nineteenth century.

Its large earthen buildings, now partly ruined, extend the historical narrative of the valley and demonstrate that Glaoui power depended upon an entire network of kasbahs and command posts.

Continue to Aït Ben Haddou

Approximately 47 kilometres from Telouet, Aït Ben Haddou forms the natural continuation of the journey. The two sites complement one another particularly well:

• Telouet tells the story of the power exercised by a family of caids;
• Aït Ben Haddou reveals the organisation of a fortified community;
• the Ounila Valley connects the two monuments through both geography and history.

Telouet should therefore not be presented as a rival to Aït Ben Haddou, but as the second half of the same great heritage route.

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The post Telouet kasbah: the Glaoui palace in the High Atlas appeared first on Southeast-morocco.com.

A man walks toward the last standing ears of wheat. Since morning he has worn the title of King — but in the wheat fields of central Morocco, to be King is already to be marked for death. Around him, his harvesters hold their breath: in a moment, they will seize him.

It is the early twentieth century, in the countryside of central Morocco and the Sous valley. The ethnographer Émile Laoust travels from tribe to tribe, watching the end of the wheat harvest — and records a gesture that Islam, its surface covering, cannot fully explain. Among the Mtougga of Bouâboud, the Aït Yousi, and in the Rif, the same principle recurs. Farmers do not cut the wheat. They kill the field.

Laoust records these practices before they fade. Some have since vanished; others may have survived in weakened or altered form. What follows is, first, a dated testimony — the record of a researcher who took care to write down, tribe by tribe, formula by formula, what his informants told him.

The King and his son

Among the Mtougga, the harvest opens like a small court ceremony. Before any work begins, the farmer and his workers share a meal of bread and butter in the field. Then, tying on leather aprons, they line up at the edge of the wheat, sickles in hand.

The first in line carries, for the day, the title of agellid — the King. Behind him stands his son, his khalifa, literally his deputy, “successor to the dignity of king.” Then come the ait tozzoml, the “people of the middle,” the bulk of the team.

Last comes tikrut, “the ewe lamb” — the least skilled harvester, the one who struggles to keep pace. This hierarchy is no mere pageant. For one day, it recreates an agrarian kingship, one already marked for a very particular fate.

This team is not always the farmer’s household alone. Many fields are harvested through tiwizi — the collective aid by which a village or clan lends a hand to whoever cannot finish the work alone. At Tanant, the harvest tiwizi closes with a scene still remembered: the farmer’s wife and daughters, dressed for celebration, greet the workers by waving a banner — a scarf tied to a reed — to “dry their sweat.” Laoust reads it differently: originally, he suggests, the gesture served to witness the field’s death and hasten the rain that would bring it back to life. The word tiwizi deserves more than a mention — we give it its own piece.

Read also : Our ancestors, the Berbers…

The braid of the field

The King has the honor of cutting the first sheaf, carried straight to the farmhouse. He then enters the wheat and marks out the nira, the strip his men will harvest behind him.

One rule holds firm: at the center of the field, a large tuft of ears must stay standing. Different tribes give it different names — tagottit n-iger or takiwt n-iger, the “braid of the field.” The Aït Yousi call it the tail, tabzzâl n-iger; the Zemmour, the curl, launza n-iger; the Tlit, the mane, izig n-iger.

The name shifts from valley to valley; the function never does. This tuft is no oversight by a hurried harvester. It is a deliberate reserve — a place where the community chooses not to cut, not yet.

The capture of the King

The work presses on. As the end nears, a competitive energy grips the harvesters, who suddenly race each other. Soon only one sheaf remains, at the field’s edge.

The King steps toward it to cut it. But the moment he raises his sickle, his own men seize him, bind him with a turban, and drag him to the mosque, where the village waits. A striking silence greets his arrival.

Laoust reads the scene in three stages. By cutting the last sheaf, the field’s master comes to embody the spirit of the grain it holds. Once, it is believed, this ritual killing had to happen in earnest, for the crop to grow again. The hushed negotiation between the King and the taleb, inside a sacred place, may be its distant echo.

The King wins back his freedom only through ransom — honey, butter, slaughtered sheep, served as a feast for the whole village. The harvest closes with a banquet Laoust describes, plainly, as sacred in character.

Mut, mut, ia-feddan! — The funeral formula

Across much of Berber Morocco, mourning language accompanies the cutting of the last ears. At Tanant, one harvester cries out:

Among the Imeghran, harvesters say as they cut the last sheaf:

The Aït Tatla repeat almost the same words. In the Rif, the formula shifts slightly:

Among the Izenaguen, harvesters cross their arms behind their backs and call out together:

Every tribe has its own words. At heart, they all say the same thing. The field’s death is only ever a stage.

The soul of the field

Earlier in his book, in the chapter on plowing, Laoust had already dropped a key line:

— a soul he describes as

He added, almost as a warning to the reader, that he would return to the idea in the very chapter on the harvest we have just walked through. The thread, then, is Laoust’s own; we have only followed it.

This link is already at work during sowing. Among the same Mtougga, a goat is slaughtered in the field; its blood, Laoust writes, can “embody the baraka of the field or the spirit of the grain,” given back to the earth so the field’s life continues.

Laoust goes further still, raising a more unsettling question: what if the field’s master, before he was merely bound in jest, was once the real victim of such a sacrifice? The question stays open. But it places the Harvest King within a family well known to mythologists — kings whose ritual death is now staged, and may once have been carried out in earnest.

The Bride of the field

In some regions, the central tuft changes sex. It is no longer the braid but laslit n-iger, the Bride of the field — or ‘arost n-iferddan among the Hiaina.

There, the farmer’s wife herself, dressed for celebration, cuts this final tuft. She throws its ears into the air, over the workers, calling out: “For the love of God!” The women around her answer with ululations and a song in memory of Sidi Ali.

Elsewhere, it is the village’s poor women, the limldrin, who pull the Bride free by hand, ear by ear — never with the sickle. Iron must not touch this sacred body.

The spirit of the grain thus wears two faces, depending on the place: an animal’s — mane, tail — or a young bride’s, promised, like the King, to a death followed by marriage to next year’s harvest.

The harvest sacrifice

Sometimes the spirit of the wheat takes an altogether different body: an animal, led to slaughter. Laoust calls this ceremony tigersi n-lmgra, the Harvest Sacrifice.

At Douzrou, among the Ida Oukensous, the farmer leads a young white heifer into his field, its back draped in pale cloth. He walks it three times around the braid, then cuts its throat in a cleared space among the last standing ears.

The blood flows into a hole, covered first with ashes from the Ashura fire, then with earth — so that no dog, it is said, can defile blood that has turned sacred. Each participant leaves with a fragment of the white cloth, kept afterward as a remedy against illness.

Elsewhere it is a sheep (Achtouken, Ida Ou Zekri), a cow (Imejjat), or a she-camel chased on horseback to exhaustion before being killed (Ida Ou Brahim). The principle stays the same throughout: give back to the earth, in blood and shared flesh, the strength just taken from it in grain.

The bridge to Anzar

Once the field has died, it must be reborn. Laoust concludes this chapter with the following observation:

The myth of the dying wheat thus meets the myth of the rain. Laoust’s two chapters answer each other: the harvest calls the rain, as winter calls the spring.

Emile Laoust’s own perspective

Laoust does not hide his interpretive sources. In a footnote, he credits “the ideas of Mannhardt and those of Frazer in his Golden Bough,” and also cites Westermarck, praising his “fine study” of Moroccan agrarian ceremonies.

He goes as far as linking these southern Moroccan rites to “a myth dear to the classical Orient: the death and resurrection of a deity presiding over growth.” He is thinking, quite plainly, of Demeter and Proserpine — the Mother and the Daughter, Greek goddesses of wheat.

He reaches back further still, to ancient Egypt. Diodorus Siculus had already recorded how Egyptian harvesters, on cutting their first sheaf, mourned around it while invoking Isis — convinced that, in doing so, they had killed the field.

On this parallel Laoust closes his own chapter, in a line worth more than any commentary:

He was a researcher of his era, with all the limits of that era. But his comparative instinct, sitting at the very heart of the text, opens a door we have only had to push.

Read also : The Berber world

Read also : Rites and legends of Yennayer, the Berber New Year

The post The harvest King: rites and legends of berber wheat appeared first on Southeast-morocco.com.

Somewhere between January 12 and 14, an old woman still haunts the memory of Amazigh villages. They call her bayuza, the Old Woman of the cold — and her night carries a different name in nearly every valley of southeastern Morocco.

Since January 14, 2024, Yennayer has been a paid national holiday in Morocco, a recognition the Amazigh movement had sought for decades. But the ritual itself never waited for the state. In 1920, ethnographer Émile Laoust was already recording it, straight from the mouths of Chleuh women and elders, in Mots et choses berbères — still one of the most precise sources we have on these threshold rites.

Yennayer or Januarius: the roots of the name

The word Yennayer comes from the Latin Januarius — the same root that gives us January. It points to long contact with the Julian calendar, brought to North Africa by Roman conquest and kept alive in Amazigh villages long after the Gregorian calendar replaced it elsewhere.

The Amazigh New Year opens the agricultural year, not the civil one. It falls on January 14 in Morocco — sometimes the 12th or 13th elsewhere in the Maghreb — and has counted year 2974 of the Berber calendar since January 2024. The next threshold, in January 2027, opens year 2977.

A tradition popularized in the 20th century ties this count to the coronation of the Amazigh king Chachnak — Sheshonq I to Egyptian pharaohs — around 950 BCE. No archaeological evidence confirms it. The story still carries weight: it gives Yennayer an origin of its own, apart from any calendar imposed from outside.

Laoust’s forgotten chapter

Émile Laoust spent part of his career crossing Chleuh-speaking Morocco, recording what modernity was about to erase, straight from the women and elders who still lived it. Mots et choses berbères, published in 1920, remains one of the most meticulous surveys of that world.

Chapter VI, on time, weather, and sky, gives six precise pages — 195 to 201 — to the first day of the year. It holds a legend translated nowhere else, night-names that shift from valley to valley, household omens that general-press coverage of Yennayer almost never mentions.

The legend of the borrowed days

Before Yennayer come the liali — some forty dreaded nights when the cold settles into the mountains and herders fear losing their flocks. It’s in that tense climate that Laoust records, in untranslated Chleuh, the legend of the borrowed days.

As his reign nears its end, Ennayer — January, personified — swears he has harmed no one all winter. An old woman scoffs: she and her flock survived him easily, she says. Stung, Ennayer turns to Brayer, February, and borrows a day.

With that stolen day, he unleashes hail and freezing wind on the old woman’s flock, driving it to the mountaintop. Brayer asks for his day back. Ennayer never returns it — which is why, the elders say, February counts one day short of every other month.

The same motif — a month that borrows to punish — turns up elsewhere across the Maghreb in different shapes; “days of the old woman” are documented from the Sahara to the Mediterranean coast. The version Laoust fixed on paper belongs to Chleuh country alone: one day, one debt, never settled.

One night, a hundred names

Reading Laoust valley by valley, what stands out most is how many names this one night carries. The Aït Yousi call it asuggwas ujdid, “the new year.” The Aït Seghrouchen, the Izayane, and the Ichqern call it id n-bayuza, “the night of the Old Woman” — a demon wearing an old woman’s face, they believe, who passes through every house and every tent that night. The Aït Ouarain call it biannou, a word that survives in place names too: Tabennaiut, the mountain overlooking present-day Khénifra, still carries its trace.

The bonfire lit for the occasion, called bennaiu or tabennaiut depending on the tribe, isn’t unique to Yennayer alone. The Muslim feast of Achoura, which also marks a new beginning, absorbed part of the same ritual — so thoroughly that in Ouargla, the same word names Achoura itself. The two celebrations blurred together over time, and even the Chleuh who still sing these words no longer always know what they once meant.

At nightfall, Aït Isaffen children go door to door singing: “Bennayo! Bennayo! Whoever won’t give me my dumpling and my bone, may their dog drag them and churn their butter in a packsaddle!” Further south, in the Dadès valley, children chant Bayanno, kerkano; in Demnat, among the Infedouaq, they ask for the “bones of Baino.” Three valleys, three refrains — the same threshold of the year, crossed each time in song.

The threshold table: tagulla, urkimen, and seven-vegetable couscous

The Yennayer ritual, Laoust notes, comes down in Chleuh country to a hearty meal followed by forecasts for the year ahead. Families eat tagulla, a thick porridge still known today as Tagoula and believed to fortify the body, or coarse-grain couscous, berkuks.

The seven green vegetables served alongside — among them artichoke, wild asparagus, and watercress — give the dish its name, sb’a lehodrat. Urkimen, a mix of grains cooked with the trotters of the animal slaughtered at Eid al-Adha, symbolically closes the ritual cycle of the year just past. Among the Aït Tamemt, custom calls for two whole chickens per person — “as many as one has ears,” the text notes, not without a smile.

Eating one’s fill that night is no small matter: “whoever isn’t full that day won’t be full all year,” runs a saying Laoust recorded among the Ida Oukensous. The second night belongs to eggs and poultry; everyone keeps the eggshells knotted in a fold of clothing overnight, a charm against running short of money before the year is out.

Reading the year ahead: omens and divination

After the meal, among the Ntifa, a woman of the house rolls a handful of couscous into a dumpling and offers it to each family member in turn. She then sets it above the doorframe; by morning she reads it for omens in whatever hair, wool, or feather the night wind has left there — the talkimt n-djiuneg, “the dumpling of I’m-not-hungry-anymore.”

Other omens hide in the food itself. Among the Aït Mzal, a small coin, a date pit, and a piece of argan bark go into the cooking pot: finding the coin means wealth, the bark means poverty, the pit means a growing herd. Laoust himself likens the custom to the French Twelfth Night cake — a hidden token, a fortune drawn by chance, two worlds that never met yet answer each other.

Yennayer is also the night the hearth gets renewed. The lady of the house tosses the worn stones onto the dungheap, saying: “I exchange you, O stones… for peace and prosperity.” Afterward, men and women go listening at neighbors’ doors, reading whatever conversation they overhear as an omen for the year — in Timgissin, a girl hoping to marry does the same while licking the spoon that stirred the porridge.

The last Wednesday and the rain forecasts

Among the Ida Gounidif, the month’s last Wednesday calls for a ritual urkimen in which every ingredient — lentils, turnips, carob bark — carries its own meaning, in a ceremony Laoust details over several pages. It deserves a fragment of its own one day.

Among the Ihahan, three tagulla dumplings stand in for January, February, and March, set out on the terrace and sprinkled with salt. Whichever one dissolves overnight marks, by morning, the wettest month to come — a home-grown forecast, kept every year without instrument or almanac.

Yennayer today

Since May 2023, by royal decision, the Amazigh New Year has been a paid national holiday — an institutional recognition long sought by the Amazigh movement, and hailed as acknowledgment of a pillar of Moroccan identity alongside the Hijri and Gregorian calendars. Algeria and Libya had already granted it that status.

Laoust already sensed it in 1920: Yennayer’s practices fade as the countryside empties out. Today the Royal Institute of Amazigh Culture runs conferences and concerts to keep the memory alive — an institutional gesture that can’t quite replace a dumpling hung on a Chleuh doorway, read at dawn by a woman who has never heard of Laoust.

Read also : Our ancestors, the Berbers…

Read also : The Berber world

The post Rites and legends of Yennayer, the Berber New Year appeared first on Southeast-morocco.com.

Every year around January 12-14, a date pit hides inside the tagoula bowls of Amazigh families — good luck for whoever finds it. That’s Yennayer, the Berber New Year: an agricultural feast older than the calendar that replaced it, and one that never quite disappeared.

A name from far away

The word “Yennayer” comes from the Latin Januarius, the same root as our January. That link points to old contact with the Julian calendar, brought by Rome and kept alive in Amazigh villages long after the Gregorian calendar took over elsewhere. Some trace the date back to the legendary coronation of the Amazigh king Chachnak, who became pharaoh of Egypt around 950 BCE — an origin still debated, but one that gives the feast a legitimacy of its own.

Since January 14, 2024, Yennayer has been a paid national holiday in Morocco, an official recognition the Amazigh movement had sought for years. The Berber calendar now counts year 2976; the next threshold, in January 2027, opens year 2977.

A feast of the land and renewal

As an agricultural feast, Yennayer celebrates fertility, renewal, and the prosperity to come above all else. Much like our January 1st, it’s a time for family gatherings, good wishes, and looking back on the year gone by. People treat it as a lucky day, good for weddings, engagements, and any fresh start.

The New Year table

Food takes center stage in the celebrations. Orkimen, a thick soup of dried fava beans, wheat, and wild herbs, often opens the meal. Couscous, made for the occasion with seven vegetables, stands for abundance and balance. Tagoula, a rustic porridge of corn kernels enriched with butter, ghee, argan oil, and honey, closes the meal on flavors straight from the land.

A lucky bite

A date pit or almond piece often hides inside the Tagoula or the couscous. Whoever finds it in their bowl is said to carry luck for the whole year. In the old days, that person would even be trusted with the keys to the family granary — the agadir — a mark of confidence and shared blessing from the whole household.

What the table doesn’t tell you is everything that happens the night before and the morning after: a legend of borrowed days never returned, a couscous dumpling hung on the door and read by the wind, hearth stones renewed with spoken wishes. Émile Laoust recorded it all in 1920, valley by valley — worth the longer read.

Discover all articles: The Berber world

The post Yennayer, the Berber New Year appeared first on Southeast-morocco.com.

One summer evening, on the village Assarag, drums wake before the stars. Men close ranks in a circle; the Anksalim’s voice rises, low and insistent. Then women step in, and the Amazigh circle closes on itself, ready to turn until dawn.

The circle at the heart of Ahwach

Ahwach belongs to the Amazigh communities of the western High Atlas, the Anti-Atlas, and the Souss basin. It unfolds on the village’s central square — the Assarag, or Assais in Tamazight.

Men dressed in white take the center, drums and tambourines in hand. One of them, the Anksalim, opens the chant in a deep, haunting voice: Ahwach begins. Women then form a circle around them, ululations and tambourine beats marking the start.

The rhythm builds in waves. Bodies sway, and improvised poetry drifts from the sacred to the profane — invocation, a search for origins, confessions of the heart. Three instruments carry this rise: the taguenza (a wooden-frame tambourine), the dendoum (a double-headed cylindrical drum), and the naqouss (a metal gong struck with sticks).

Costumes, poetic duels, and colonial-era travelers’ accounts feature in our in-depth piece: Ahwach, the Amazigh Tradition of Morocco.

Ahwach and Ahidous: one pulse, two territories

People often mix up Ahwach with its Middle Atlas cousin, Ahidous. Both share the same grammar: circle, chant-and-drum alternation, poetic duel. But each carries the pulse of a different territory.

Ahidous belongs to the Tamazight-speaking tribes of Khénifra, Azrou, and Imilchil. Men and women dance elbow to elbow, in tight rows or blocks, to sung verses called izlan, kept by a single bendir and handclaps.

Ahwach belongs to the Tashelhit-speaking world of the Chleuh. Men hold the center of the circle, the percussion runs fuller, and the women’s ring can split into two facing rows that answer each other — a choreographed dialogue Ahidous doesn’t share in quite this form.

Two territories, then, for one shared impulse: turning the collective circle into the place where Amazigh speech is spoken and passed on.

A living heritage, still seeking recognition

Each year, a National Festival of Ahwach Arts brings troupes from across the kingdom to Ouarzazate, under the Ministry of Culture’s patronage — a rare showcase for an art still carried mostly by oral transmission.

Unlike the Taskiwin, a martial dance of the western High Atlas inscribed on UNESCO’s Intangible Cultural Heritage list in 2017, Ahwach has yet to earn that recognition, despite advocacy from researchers and practitioners over the years.

The gradual loss of the art’s great masters raises the stakes. University initiatives, notably around Ibn Zohr University, now work to archive voices and gestures before they fade.

Discover all articles: The Berber world

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Version française

At the end of the 19th century, southern Morocco remained a little-known land for Europeans. Under the Alaouite dynasty, the country only partly controlled these regions, which were often administered by local tribes. In 1883, Charles de Foucauld undertook an exploratory journey into Morocco’s interior, then largely closed to Christians, especially beyond the Atlas Mountains.

Charles de Foucauld therefore travelled under a Jewish identity, accompanied by the Moroccan rabbi Mardochée Aby Serour, a guide and interpreter whose knowledge of the terrain and local communities made the expedition possible.

His travel journal, published in 1888 under the title Reconnaissance au Maroc, marked an important stage in European knowledge of Morocco’s interior. It is a narrative that combines geographical observations, notes on tribes, field sketches and fragments of oral traditions.

During a stay in Tikirt, a douar in the commune of Aït Zineb, in the province of Ouarzazate, he discovered the ruins of a mysterious citadel around which local people told strange legends.

Here is his account:

A fortress between myth and history

The remains of Tasgedlt, although now partly destroyed, still suggest the scale of this ancient fortification. Its thick walls, made from a combination of masonry and rammed earth, bear witness to an architectural know-how adapted to the region’s arid climate. Its position, overlooking the landscape, suggests a defensive function. It made it possible to watch over the surrounding area, the passages, the cultivated land and the banks of the Oued Imini. The caverns beneath the citadel may have served as shelters or as places to store food, although their exact function remains difficult to establish.

The people of the region speak of a legend surrounding these ruins:

According to this oral tradition, Muslims waged long wars against these princesses before driving them away.

Charles de Foucauld, however, remained cautious. He himself noted that it was more likely that the three kasbahs were the work of a single sultan, perhaps the one who built the bridge over the Oued Rdat. This remark is important. It does not destroy the legend, but it distinguishes between two levels: on the one hand, oral memory, which gives the place a face; on the other, the historical hypothesis, which links the ruins to political power and to the organisation of the territory.

Collective memory and the remains of a forgotten past

The legends surrounding the citadel have been passed down from generation to generation. In a culture where history is first and foremost transmitted orally, such stories play a fundamental role in the transmission of heritage. The elders of the village still say that strange sounds can be heard at night near the ruins, as if the spirits of the three princesses continued to haunt the place. Some see in these legends a way of preserving the memory of a distant past, where myth and reality are intertwined.

The fortress of Tasgedlt is not an isolated case. Throughout southern Morocco, there are ruins of citadels that once served to defend trade routes. Sites such as Tamnougalt or Tazenakht bear witness to the organisation of these territories, where each fortification played the role of a bastion against invasions or tribal rivalries.

Today, the douar of Tadoula, where the remains of this ancient citadel are found, may preserve in its name an echo of Doula Bent Ouâd, the princess associated with Tasgedlt. Nothing allows this to be stated with certainty, but this proximity between the name of the place and the story handed down gives the ruin a particular depth. Between architecture, oral memory and ancient sketches, Tasgedlt remains one of the most mysterious sites in the region of Ouarzazate.

Read also: The lost destiny of the Jews of South-Eastern Morocco…

Discover all articles: The Berber world

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