Michael...

Michael and Tupac, beloved dans le monde entier. Who taught us to talk, who taught us to dance?

We've watched and heard tributes all this week, but I got a kick out of this one:



And one of my favorites, that I don't think was widely shown in the U.S. "They don't really care about us."

Ma mer Mediterranee - Arusha Topazzini

Arusha Topazzini is a promising new multilingual singer/songwriter of Indian, French and background.

She deftly juxtaposes a eulogy to the sorrowful fate of the nameless hundreds who die each year as harraga, "burners", crossing the Strait of Gibraltar to reach Europe and the promise of a better life, with the lilting melody of the Mediterranean rim - strumming guitar, a dash of Latin percussion, some jazz, and Arusha's haunting voice and wordplay on top of a steady sound of waves crashing into the shore.

Have a listen to "Mer Mediterranee", the lyrics are below in French, Spanish & English.

Mer méditérranée, oh ma mère méditérannée, oui ma mort méditérrannée, oh cette mort méditérrannée…

Mediterranean sea, o my Mediterranean mother, yes, my Mediterranean death, this Mediterranean death…
(IN FRENCH, MER= SEA, MERE= MOTHER, MORT=DEATH)

El mar Mediterraneo, mi madre Mediterranea, si, my muerte Mediterranea…esta muerte Mediterranea…
(En Frances, Mer= el mar, Mere= la madre, Mort= la muerte)

1)mer méditérrannée, toi si belle, toi si calme,
au bleu azur, azur et jade;
caveau liquide, tombe outre-mer et cobalt
témoin d’autant de noyades
anonymes!
tant de cris étouffés dans tes vagues, de bateaux engouffrés dans tes naufrages…
ces centaines d’âmes perdues oubliées parmi tes mirages…

Mediterranean Sea, you who are so beautiful and calm, blue like the sky, blue and green…
You are like a liquid tomb- dark and rich blue,
And witness to so many drownings
(anonymous!)

So many cries stifled in your waves, so many boats swallowed in your shipwrecks…
Hundreds upon hundreds of souls lost and forgotten amongst your illusions…

Mar Mediterraneo, tan linda, tan tranquila, mar azul y verde, eres un sepulcro liquido, oscuro y azul profundo…testigo de tantos ahogos…todos anonymos!
Tantos gritos sofocados in tus olas, tantas barcas consumidas in tus naufragios…
De cien a cien de almas perdidas y olvidadas en tus ilusiones…
mer méditérranée, oh ma mère méditérannée, oui ma mort méditérrannée, oh cette mort méditérrannée…

2)de Lampedusa à Gibraltar, les corps que tu régurgites au bord des plages,
viennent troubler le soleil doré des vacanciers,
viennent hanter le rêve des passants, le sommeil tremblotant des écoliers,
cette longue souffrance, le soleil voile, noyé des sans-papiers…
anonymes!

From Lampedusa to Gibraltar, the bodies you throw up on the beach cast a shadow upon the holiday makers’ golden sunshine, and haunt the dreams of passers-by, the trembling sleep of schoolchildren…
This long and heavy suffering: the hidden drowning sun of illegal migrants…
anonymous!

De Lampedusa hasta Gibralatar, los cuerpos que vomitas en las playas molestan el sol dorado de las turistas , y los suenos de los transeuntes , el sueno tiemblado de los ninos…
Este sufrimiento largo y pesado : el sol ahogado y Escondido de los clandestinos…

3)ni d’ici ni d’là-bas, sans papiers tu n’es pas, sans papiers c’est sans droit sans toit,
alors que toi et moi traversons les oceans, sans papiers
moi et toi nous y mourrons dedans…
anonymes!
ni d’ici ni d’là-bas, victimes noyées des lois, légiférées dans les riches couloirs politiques…
victimes des manipulations médiatiques, des crédulités, des peurs publiques,

You’re neither from here nor there- when you’re an illegal migrant you do not exist; when you’re an illegal migrant, you have no rights, no roof over your head…
But whereas you and me can travel across oceans, without the right papers, me and you just die in them…
anonymously!
Neither from here nor there, these drowned victims of laws tabled in politics’ plush corridors…
Drowned victims of media games, of public credulities, and public fears…

no eres de aqui ni siquiera de aya, quando eres clandestino, no existas, quando eres clandestino, no tienes derechos, no tienes donde dormer..
pero si tu y yo podemos viajar por los oceanos, yo y tu- clandestinos- solo podemos morir a dentro de estos oceanos…
anonymos!
Ni de aqui ni siquiera de aya…estas victimas ahogadas de las leyes aprobadas en los corredores lujoso de la politica…
Victimas ahogadas de los juegos mediaticos, de las credulidades publicas, de los miedos publicos…

4)oh mer méditérrannée…
oh ma mère, laissée à attendre, rêver, espérer…
un petit retour, une petite parcelle de moi, de ma mort méditérrannée…
anonyme!

Oh my Mediterranean Sea…
Oh my mother, left to wait, to dream, to hope…
…for something to come back, a tiny part of me, of my Mediterranean death…
anonymous!

ay mi Mar Mediterraneo,
ay mi madre, dejada con sus esperanzas, sus suenos, esperando una pequena vuelta, un pequeno pedazo de mi…de mi muerte Mediterranea…
anonyma!

5) déjà mon coeur me brule, mes paupières se ferment, je ne vois que le bleu autour…
les derniers larmes des voyageurs, les derniers cris, les derniers pleurs…oh ma mère
un silence azur, une infinie douleur de cette mort, cette mort méditérrannée…

Already my heart begins to burn, my eyelids are closing, I can only see blue around me…
I can only hear the travelers’ last tears, the final cries, the final wails…oh mother!
A blue silence, an infinite pain… this death, this Mediterranean death…

ya mi corazon me esta quemando, mis parpados se estan cerrando-se, no puede ver nadia que el azul al rededor…
no puedo escuchar nada que los ultimos llantos de los pasageros, lo ultimos gritos…ay, mi madre!
Un silencio azul, una dolor infinita…esta muerte, esta muerte Mediterranea…

mer méditérranée, oh ma mère méditérannée, oui ma mort méditérrannée, oh cette mort méditérrannée…

You can also hear more of Arusha's music at Reverb Nation.

I won't be surprised if Arusha becomes the next big thing: FRoots, Putumayo, and then, The World!

Back soon with more posts...

Images of Iranian architecture- foundation, function and embellishment.

Sol dar zamin.

Source, source, source.

Fashion Friday: Isabelle Creation

Today it's all about the details in a wearable collection from the very new Isabelle Creation, a French designer in Morocco.


The designs are a little bit funky, and the fabric is fun. This designer/stylist doesn't take things too seriously, playing with shape, neckline, and sheer fabric in abundance.


I don't love just everything (like some of the mandarin blouses...), but I do appreciate J.C. for her playfulness with color combinations and layering:


love of those gorgeous belts made to go with caftans and takchitas:


unusual embroidery:

For the full collection (and there is a lot more...) visit Isabelle Creation's Collections and have fun!

Beloved, do not let me be discouraged

And I quote my friend here when she sent me this video saying "new music that isn't weird."

No, it is achingly beautiful.

"Beloved, do not let me be discouraged" by the Brooklyn Rider ensemble and Iranian kemancheh player Kayhan Kalhor:




This reminds me of the Silk Road Ensemble project with Yo-Yo Ma, whom I listened to as my mind flew across the steppes and walked through misty forests with their music.

Lalla Loves: dapper men & loveletters

Back from an extended coffee break, more to come tomorrow, meanwhile...

The Sartorialist proves that some historical reinactment is a good thing:


Followed with the slightly odd but no less charming plight of an Israeli government official whose responsibilities require him to respond to loveletters to Tzippi Livni, among others.

Reporter Irris Makler introduces us to a man at the Israeli Foreign Ministry who's got an unusual task among his governmental duties...answering letters from Arab men throughout the Middle East who are looking to marry Jewish women.

Fashion Friday: Al Kawtar Women's Center in Marrakesh

It ain't haute couture but it is a great way to score some beautiful togs with modern Moroccan flair that also benefit the producers directly.


Using high quality material (often linen) and handmade techniques, the ladies at the Al Kawtar Center use contemporary techniques to produce spare, contemporary embellishment for clothing and homewares based on more traditional Moroccan embroidery.


Al Kawtar Center is based in Marrakesh and provides child care service and the opportunity for women of all ages learn a trade, generate their own income, and helps the disabled. Equally important, the center promotes literacy among all its members:

"The Centre includes an embroidery workshop which also offers apprenticeships to those disabled young girls and women who did not learn a craft.

The midterm aim is to provide these women with the possiblity to independently earn their living in a safe environment and in dignity.

In addition to working skills the Centre seeks to promote literacy as well as self-esteem and the overall spiritual and physical well-being of all its members."

My metaphorical hat is off to you, ladies.

Lalla Links: Alhambra, LED Arabic Calligraphy & Andalusia(n)

And on we go...

- Check out this radio piece on De-Coding the Alhambra

"Investigators are trying to catalog the thousands of Arabic inscriptions that cover the walls and columns of the Alhambra in Granada." -NPR

(Just watch, Dan Brown'll be warping this era too, I bet ya.)

Speaking of Arabic calligraphy, the Ministry of Type regularly features posts on eye-popping modern Arabic word-images & text, like this "light brushing":

-When we went to see Izza Genini's Nuba of Light and Gold, a documentary on Moroccan Andalusian music (think of it as the "classical music" of Morocco and parts of North Africa) we went away humming the tunes. The hubby clapped along in rhythm to the songs during the film, to the great annoyance of the other people in the theater - all three of them (*sigh*)

My mother-in-law actually hums some of these tunes when she cooks, and the soundtrack to the film has JUST been released!* I'll have to find a way to get my hands on it...

Check out the CD jacket cover here.

And back to Andalusia for a horserider's detail & great shots from the latest Feria de Abril in Sevilla:

*Thanks for the tip, Joan!

Images courtesy frank.s, Ministry of Type, Marocorama, Cell7.

Vintage Morocco Travel Posters

Another busy week, so lets enjoy some vintage travel posters, shall we?

I love skyline posters

I found these (and old b&w postcards*) on MarocAntan.

Extra points if you can guess the decade any of these were designed in!

And my favorite among these:

*Some of which you may want to take with a grain of salt...

Why "atay" and not "chay"?

I recently managed to get my hands on the book L’Art du the au Maroc by Noufissa Kessar Raji –a nearly exhaustive coffee-table sized book on everything related to tea in Morocco, and in it found the answer to a question I had posed more than once:

Why do Moroccans (and other North Africans) say atay instead of the Arabic shay for tea?

Here’s my translation of Kessar Raji’s response:

“In almost every country in Europe with the exception of Russia, the word for tea begins with a “T” (tea, thé, thee), a distant echo of the dialect spoken in Southern China (Fukinese) transmitted by the maritime route: tay or te.

By contrast, it was through the continental route that Russia, Turkey and Persia received the initial tch sound, typical of the Pekinese dialect: chai. As for the final i, it comes from the Chinese expression tcha a ye: “tea leaves”.

In the Arab and Muslim countries of the Middle East, the word for tea is chaï or tchaï or châhï, while in Morocco, as well as in other North African countries, they say tây or more commonly atây, adding a prefix that is in fact a masculine singular article in Berber.

Between the Maghreb and the Machreq we find the difference between the two ways of saying tea in China: that of the Pekinese and other northern regional dialects from where loads of tea departed on the overland route, and that of the eastern and southern coasts where maritime export occurred.

Thus Chinese tea reached countries like Russia, Iran, Turkey, and Egypt by caravans taking the overland route, probably starting in the 15^th century, where its presence was noted by certain royal courts of the region.

But tea had to compete with a serious rival, for this was during the same period that Yemen launched/started the coffee culture and along with it the coffeehouse as a place for socializing. This drink was at first appreciated by mystics who used it as a stimulant to stay awake during their long nocturnal religious ceremonies; but it would go on to be progressively adopted throughout the region.

Adopted by the Turks, it followed the extension of their empire into North Africa all the way to Morocco’s borders.

A strange political insularity was reflected in an important element of daily life. In contrast to Algerians and Tunisians who appreciated and integrated coffee and coffeehouses [into their culture] beginning in the 16^th century, Moroccans waited until the beginning of the 18^th century for the arrival by sea, and in very small quantities, not the beverage of their Muslim and Arab-Ottoman coreligionists, but rather this Chinese grass that Europe had only discovered not all that long ago.”

And now we know!


Images courtesy Amazon.fr, jakkostelic, Anik Messier, and by_irma on Flickr.

Lalla Links: Translator's funnies & Global lullaby project

Stress.

To relieve some of it this week, I'm enjoying translator Alejandro Moreno-Ramos' stick figure translator comic strips...



and appreciating the charm and drive behind the Arrorro Project, a worldwide initiative to record and preserve lullabies. Check out this great post, including videos, on Global Voices, and...

Think about contributing the one your grandma sang to you as a child.

Sita Sings the Blues - So Worth your Time!

Think you already know the Ramayama?

Think again...

Sita Sings the Blues, created by Nina Paley, counterbalances a modern and ancient epic breakup story in a surprise bag of animation styles.

Hilariously narrated by Indian-voiced shadow puppet pundits that can never seem to agree but weigh in on the most mundane yet fascinating details of the Hindu gods' lives.

Throw in a 1920s babydoll-voiced chanteuse, lively 2-D animation and an eternally-suffering woman and you have Sita Sings the Blues.

Best part? The fiery destructive-cathartic break up dance.

This is definitely worth an hour and twenty minutes of your time - and you can watch the whole thing on your computer (hope you have a big screen).