Mektoub. Arabic, meaning “it is written”, from the Islamic notion that Allah (pbuh) has pre-written all that is meant to be. Also meaning fate, or destiny. Pre-destined. Pre-ordained. Meant to be.
I didn’t actually learn the translation for mektoub prior to embarking on the Marrakech henna journey so aptly named ‘Mektoub Henna’. The organisers, Lisa Butterworth and Jenpa Konchok, of this journey have been nurturing this idea for a decade or more, and the pandemic stalled it for two of those years. Twice the dates have been rescheduled, postponed, pending the safe re-opening of international borders. Even as I finally boarded my own flight to Morocco, I had yet to allow myself to believe it was actually able to happen.
From the seed of an idea in the minds of Lisa Kenzi Butterworth, germinated with Jenpa Konchok, and brought to bloom with Monique Herzig, this humble “henna workshop” promised us henna tuition with native Moroccan henna artists, and an insight into the historically deep and rich Moroccan culture with planned daily excursions.
Off the tail-end of a pandemic and carrying the cumulative anxiety we had all been conditioned with as a result of lockdown living, social distancing, mask-wearing, sanitising and vaccinating, the first Mektoub cohorts numbering 16 touched down one-by-one in the medina. Greeted warmly and guided to our riads by our hosts, Lisa, Jenpa and Monique who were already gently sleep-deprived from anticipation and preparations for our arrival. Indeed the first 24 hours were surreal as we all came to terms with successfully fleeing leaving our respective countries, and now being slapped face first with the desert heat and rich bilingual culture, vastly differing from the home life we had been cocooned in for two years.
The shock was real. We were all gently supported in seeking our own necessary coping methods, which set the ethos for the entire week: Take what you need to feel comfortable in yourself; Leave what you do not need, without fear of judgment. I quickly retreated to my room for some isolation and space to reflect/readjust in time to welcome my dear roommate to our new home for a week.
Welcome to Riad Farah Riad Farah Riad Farah
Riad Farah and Riad El Nil were the two homes that our henna journey would be spread across. El Nil was the smaller, quieter riad. Farah was the larger riad, with a communal meeting room, large dining room and spacious rooftop terrace used as the main location for teaching. These centuries-old villas of burnished plaster are cooling living spaces, appropriate for the climate, beautifully decorated, complete with marvelously retrofitted plumbing and electricity. Though the staircases are an uneven drunken-like experience, and the ‘afterthought toilet’ (read: the tiny toilet cubicles retrofitted into the cupboard under many a staircase) may give our Western health-and-safety sensibilities pause for thought, there’s really no substitute for the immersive experience of staying in a riad while visiting Morocco. Every resting space is a photo opportunity. It is perfect for your instagram grid posts.
Riad Farah Riad Farah Riad Farah
We settled in the first night with a traditional family meal of a home-cooked tagine, prepared by the team who managed Riad Farah. Gratefully tucking in, learning how to authentically eat from teacher and host Khadija (Galerie Henna) the meal was sweet and delicious, followed by a platter of the freshest fruit we had ever tasted. There was no need for ice-breakers or team exercises – food had instantly bonded us and we had become family. Road-weary, and well-fed we gratefully tucked ourselves in for a restful night of sleep.
On the morning of the first full day, I took myself to the morning briefing and guidance session, arriving quietly late – inadvertently setting my attendance pattern for the rest of the week. No one batted an eyelid or took offense – as grown adults, everyone was given the grace to come and go as they needed to. I took in very little of the orientation talk as I struggle with my bearings, or maps and orientation until I’ve been able to hit the streets and feel the surroundings. And truly, there is no map that can accurately reflect the experience of walking around the medina in Marrakech which followed at lunchtime as we moved out for a group meal. To save on repetition and superlatives let me state up front that every single meal we consumed during the Mektoub journey was deliciously fresh, flavoursome and amazing. With access to the freshest local ingredients, you’d really have to be intentional to find a bad meal in Marrakech. Perhaps we were spoilt by our hosts who researched many restaurants prior to our arrival. It’s possible. But I choose to believe that it’s impossible to find a bad meal in Marrakech.
Khadija @galerie_henna
Our afternoon was then delightfully occupied with learning from Khadija. Assigned as a riad ‘Mother’, as well as core henna teacher, native to Morocco. Khadija enveloped us all with her boundless love and energy for henna. She shared endlessly during her class, and continued beyond her classes, always giving to us from her experiences, her knowledge and her love. Often also offering dual/triple services with her translation skills and cooking skills. We learned Arabic vocabulary from her on a daily basis. There was also an evening cooking lesson. Khadija took it upon herself to offer the most embracing welcome to Morocco.
Our week continued to be filled with the generous spirit of sharing knowledge from the invited henna teachers from around Morocco. Nadia, a resident henna artist at the Marrakech Henna Art Cafe, demonstrating her individual and beautiful almost magical style of henna. Nakia, interrupted her peak henna season bookings to travel through and drop in to teach us about three key styles of Moroccan henna and the associated spirits with each style. Fatima who travelled from Timoulayt to teach us Saharaoui and tape resist henna art. Humble and diminutive, each artist brought unique insights into the history and culture of henna in Morocco. Our brains were regularly teased, expanded and blown by what we learned.
Le Jardin Secret Le Jardin Secret Le Jardin Secret Le Jardin Secret Le Jardin Secret Le Jardin Secret
In Morocco, the henna syringe is mightier than the cone. In many ways, the experience of handling a henna syringe lends itself greatly to the style of Moroccan henna. No henna workshop in Morocco would be authentic without impressing the importance of learning to use a henna syringe. Its appeal for me, is mostly in the reusability of the tool, therefore more environmentally responsible. We were given access to the full spectrum of syringe choices: 5ml glass syringe; 10ml glass syringe; 5ml plastic syringe; and 10ml plastic syringe. We learned how to customise tip lengths, how to change tips, how to troubleshoot, how to clean and how to maintain the syringe. We learned insider tips on how to make the syringe smoother and how to adapt the syringe to our individual preferences. Sadly, the truth was that many of us did not fall in love with the syringe on first use. I would go so far as to say that the first interaction I had with a syringe during mektoub was demoralising. I felt deflated and disconnected, dramatically on the cusp of retiring entirely from henna art.
My decision to join the henna journey with Mektoub Henna was an attempt to rediscover my connection with henna. Following a traumatic online community implosion (that I had triggered, spurred on by global civil rights activism), then the isolation of a pandemic, I was jaded by feelings of guilt, shame, loneliness and adandonment. If I couldn’t reconnect with henna during a visit to Morocco then I knew that my time with henna was over and it would be time to re-invest my creative energies elsewhere. By the end of day 4 in Marrakech, I was retreating. I made an attempt at creating one lone henna design, and I hated it. For the rest of the evening, I avoided the social occasion (a visit from the Women’s rugby team – a group of youthful, vivacious humans who injected inspiring energy into our riad). Instead, I took advantage of the relaxed, unpressured environment. No-one was expecting anyone else to put henna on somebody else. There was no race to collect hennas from other artists. There was no pressure to practice. We felt free to just… exist and accept our current states of mind.
The day my inspiration was re-ignited happened on day 5 – the penultimate day. My relaxed morning routine meant that by this day I was not only quietly late to morning class, I was also uncharacteristically sitting at the back of the classroom. Spectating Fatima’s Sahraoui work on the projector screen, I followed along by drawing with my pencil in my sketchbook. As I witnessed the unfolding of her creativity through the lines of henna on skin, her henna art slowly but surely pulled the jaded veil from my eyes. How could her linework be so fine and delicate? Why is this line being applied like this? I had never seen a layout anything like this: The first time this style had ever been taught to artists outside of the native industry. The design principles and construction were unlike all other styles I had learned before (and likely since). My mind was blown. I could feel the drive to pick up some henna to practice creeping upon me.
We reluctantly took a break for a group lunch before returning to the riad for a conservative 2 hour lesson on Sahrawi tape resist henna. Fatima had warned that tape resist henna cannot be taught in only two hours. We all knew that such a beautiful form of henna art couldn’t be comprehensively covered in only 2 hours. But somehow, it happened. We watched, and we quizzed, and we scrutinised as Fatima created tape resist designs before our very eyes, demonstrating all her techniques, tapes and tools, unlocking all the secrets for us. When evening approached, we were handling the tapes, snipping away, sticking tape on ourselves and each other in an attempt to apply all the new things we were learning. For me, a whole new world of creativity opened up and I felt like a child with new colouring pens to play with. Later that night I went to bed wearing a community-collaborated tape resist design on my left hand, caked in fresh henna paste, and protectively covered with a plastic bag. The consummate henna student in me was back.
By the last day I felt truly bonded with my mektoub family, complete with sisters I never knew I needed, sisters I never asked for, and sisters who came to refill my cup when I couldn’t refill it myself. Our parents (our hosts) had facilitated something magical and deeply life-affecting. They concluded the week with musicians that had been booked to perform for us on the last night. We expected musical light entertainment to inroduce the sounds of the gnawa in Moroccan music, but mektoub delivered us a traditional spiritual healing ceremony – a gnawa lila, which we have all since come to describe as a vibration-raising, religious experience. Even the most rational, logical, and jaded among us felt our emotions crushed and cleansed in some way. Perhaps it’s a reflection of how mentally and emotionally damaged we all are from the pandemic. Who knows.
When I returned home from Marrakech, I continued to feel emotionally raw, vulnerable, and open to growth. I filled page upon page of my journal, trying to capture the thoughts and feelings from the henna journey. My regular therapy session was consumed with musings from Mektoub. My personal, emotional and mental growth took on huge, life-changing leaps. My ability for self-reflection has reached new levels of awareness. And amongst all of this I realised: I hadn’t rediscovered my connection to henna; I had found a new connection.
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.