As soon as Ameena arrived at home, she looked for answers to her questions about the Hand of Fatima. She sorted through the shelves on her mother’s bookcase, taking any books on Berber history she could find.
She went to her room and lay in the middle of the floor atop her brand new Berber carpet (furry side down), studying the books. Each of them had different answers about the culture of Islam and Morocco. Unfortunately, none of them had answers about Hamsa.
Kareem entered Ameena’s room and lay beside his little sister.
“What are you reading?” he asked as he peered over her shoulder.
Ameena showed him the cover.
“Ah, The hand of Fatima. You know Mohammad’s daughter was named Fatima.”
Ameena shook her head.
“That’s where it got its name. That’s how our mother got her name, too.”
Ameena looked at Kareem. He was wearing a plain jacket-shirt called a Sherwani. He also wore a red velvet cap called a fez. A long purple tassel hung from the top. The tassel swung back and forth as Kareem bent his head to read. Ameena flicked it with a finger.
“Quit playing. Today is a very important day for me.”
Ameena gave Kareem a puzzled look.
“Today we celebrated The Revolution of the King and the People!” exclaimed Yusef.
Ameena leaned on a hand and looked at her brother.
“The French removed our King Mohammed from his throne. We were a country without a king. Today celebrates the return of King Mohammed and the royal family.”
While she spent time at the fish market with her mother, Ameena forgot about the holiday.
“You know, that’s also why most Moroccans speak French as well as Arabic, and Berber.”
Ameena nodded.
“In fact, it just represents another part of Morocco’s past. There were the Portugese and the Spaniards, but there were also the Vandals, the Goths, and the Ottomans who all raided Morocco. We’ve survived them all.”
Ameena was intrigued by Kareem’s excitement.
“Maybe you can go with me to the celebration tonight.”
Ameena frowned at Kareem.
“We can still ask our mother. The worst she can do is say ‘no’.”
Kareem and Ameen went downstairs for dinner. Mrs. Mansoor had prepared all the fish she bought at the market. She also prepared couscous as a side item.
“Kareem, are you returning to school tonight for the dance?” asked mother.
“Yes, I am,” said Kareem.
“I think I will take you,” she said.
Ameena and Kareem glanced toward each other, a little surprised.
“That would be good. May Ameena go, too?”
“It would be a good thing if she did. ‘The Revolution of the King and the People’ is one of the true Amazigh celebrations.”
“I think I’ll go, too,” said Mr. Mansoor.
After dinner, Mrs. Mansoor helped Ameena get ready.
“Full hijab, dear,” said Mrs. Mansoor.
Ameena fit her veil over her face. She picked up the necklace from her trip to the Sahara. She adjusted it as she checked herself in the mirror.
“You cannot go out with this old thing,” said her mother. Mrs. Mansoor went down the hall and returned with a variety of necklaces draped over one arm.
“Here’s a few fancy necklaces for you.”
Mrs. Mansoor fixed the necklaces around her neck. Some were made of shells. Others were made of brass and copper. Still, others were made with wood and leather. Together, they were as fanciful as the jewels of the nomads back in the Sahara.
“And you need a headband, too. We’ll place this on your head like a crown. Now you look better.”
Mrs. Mansoor and Ameena joined everyone in the living room. All of the men were dressed in their ceremonial best: black leather slippers, black slacks, a gray sherwani, and a red velvet fez.
“Let’s get going or we’ll be late,” said Kareem.
Ameena went with Kareem and her parents to Kareem’s school. All of the people gathered outside were dressed formally, too. When the Mansoors pressed thru the crowd, the auditorium was much smaller than Ameena imagined it would be. About fifty men, women, and children kneeled around the outer walls of the room. Each wall measured no more than ten meters long. Mr. Mansoor pushed along the outer edge, finding a small spot where everyone could kneel.
As soon as she was comfortable, Ameena listened to the music. She recognized it immediately as Gnawa. A musician plucked his guitar rhythmically, which sounded similar to the snake charmer’s music. Two bongo players led the drumming. The audience followed, rapidly clapping to the music.
She also watched the center of the auditorium. A single man danced to the music, scatting back and forth. Periodically, he also bounced up and knelt down to the ground before popping to his feet again.It was as entrancing as a cobra rising from his basket.
Just as she was getting into it, the music stopped. Everyone applauded as the man caught his breath.
“Welcome to tonight’s festivities,” said the man. It was one of Kareem’s teachers.
“As you may already know, your children have spent the entire day celebrating ‘The Revolution of the King and his People.’ It is a celebration of everything Moroccan, from our Independence to our French, Spanish, Italian, and Turkish heritage. It’s also a celebration of the Amazigh.”
The Flag of the Amazigh people, which hung behind Kareem’s teacher, had three horizontal stripes: sky blue, light green, and pale yellow. A red figure was painted in the middle. The figure, which looked like a loose drawing of a man, had an upright body and two half-circles – one for the arms and one for the legs. The half-circles arced away from each other.
Kareem noticed the flag, too.
“Father, what does the Amazigh flag mean?”
Before Mr. Mansoor could answer, Kareem’s teacher introduced the flag.
“This is why we’re here,” said the teacher as he pointed to the flag.
“The blue of the sea and the yellow of the desert is connected by the green of the fertile farming lands.”
“…and the man in the center…” said the teacher, “represents the bloodshed of our ancestors. We’ve fought to be free.”
It was not coincidental that Kareem’s teacher ended the speech with the words ‘We’ve fought to be free.’, since the word Amazigh truly meant ‘free man’.
After the speech, everyone celebrated with more truly Berber activities, including Gnawa dancing and singing and mingling with Kareem’s teachers and friends. Afterwards, they returned home.
“Kareem, I’m so proud of you,” said Mrs. Mansoor.
“Why?”
“All of your teachers told me you were an upright man.”
“An upright man?”
“Someone to be counted upon, like a leader or a responsible person of the community.”
Ameena listened as her mother praised her brother. Ameena wondered what it would take to get that kind of attention, too. She heaved a sigh and leaned back in her seat. Behind her veil, not even her eyes allowed anyone a chance to see how Ameena felt on the inside.
She figured that time may never come in her mother’s eyes.
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