Modern Women in Old Fes

FES, Morocco -- Before setting off on our tour of Fès el-Bali (Old Fès), I suggest to my guide that we stop for a cup of mint tea. Amina Zakkari looks at me mischievously and leads me into a dark, divey café. "This is a men's café," she giggles. Indeed, it is filled with men and only men, who stare at us ominously, but leave us to sip our tea in peace.

Amina confesses that she would never patronize such a place on her own; but in the company of a foreign client she is exempt from some of the informal rules of café culture. I, too, would not bear the scrutiny of the cafe's clientele without the protection of a local guide. But together we have the confidence to down a few glasses of "Moroccan whiskey" with the boys.

Unlike the regulars, we do not spend all day mulling over our minty brew, as I have hired Amina to lead me through the age-old alleyways and crumbling courtyards of eighth-century Fès el-Bali.

We enter through the main gate -- the exquisite, tiled Bab Bou Jeloud -- into a swarm of sights, sounds and smells. Artisans hammer away at ceramic tiles; women laden with shopping bags inspect fresh produce; shopkeepers beckon customers from behind mountains of olives, nuts and figs; butchers swat flies off of sides of beef; chickens nervously strut to and fro; cats keep a watchful eye from drooping rooftops. The occasional cry of "Balek!" sends everyone scurrying to the sidelines, as a muleteer drives his beast of burden through the barrage. "It means 'Look out!'" Amina explains, "and they mean it."

The Fès medina is one of the world's largest living medieval cities. Within the walls of the old town lies a maze of nine thousand winding alleys, blind turns and unseen souqs. Its labyrinthine lanes are crammed with workshops and markets, ancient mosques and hidden palaces. For the uninitiated, it is virtually impossible to navigate.

Amina weaves her way through the narrow, crowded streets, dressed in a traditional hooded robe, or jellaba, that swishes around her ankles as she steers left and right. I follow close behind, wary of losing my guide. She darts around a corner and down an alley, and suddenly we are in an oasis of calm: a quiet, overgrown courtyard.

The facade of the town house is just a plain, mud-colored wall, and the only opening is the entrance door. But the inner courtyard is flooded with light and drowning in bougainvillea. It is surrounded on all sides by shaded alcoves, once sumptuous and still adorned with corroded muqarna stucco work and chipped zelij tiles.

Pastel-veiled women, watching their children play, smile at us shyly. Amina explains that most women are more comfortable relaxing and socializing in the privacy of such spots, off the streets and away from leering eyes. I couldn't agree more.

Despite her appearance and the setting, Amina is a modern woman. She is single and childless -- rare for a woman in her early thirties -- and she is career-minded. Females represent only a small percentage of "official" guides, who must study for several years and pass a vigorous examination to obtain the license to work with tourists. Female guides are controversial, as the strictest interpretations of Islam forbid women from interacting with men, especially foreign men. Amina was forced to break off her first engagement, she confides, because her would-be in-laws did not approve of her career.

We leave the courtyard sanctuary and reenter the chaos. Again, I stay close on Amina's heels as she navigates the serpentine streets: through the henna souq, the historic market for the red-brown dye that women use to emblazon patterns on their hands and feet; past the ninth-century Kairaouine University, one of the oldest and most prestigious universities in the Muslim world.

We emerge onto a large square, the Place an-Nejjarine, dominated by a fantastic fountain of colored tiles under a carved canopy of cedar. An old inn for traveling merchants has been restored and transformed into the Nejjarine Museum of Wooden Arts and Crafts. We peak inside to admire detailed designs carved into furniture, tools and musical instruments. The nearby Carpenters Souq is not part of a museum, although I would not know it, as I watch the craftsmen putting finishing touches on the glittering thrones that are used in traditional wedding ceremonies.

We stop in front of a cell-like electronics shop. "This is my future husband," Amina whispers. The handsome shopkeeper seems happy to see her, but I cannot tell if she is speaking factually or wishfully.

After four weeks in Morocco, I am used to the relentless stares of men on the streets. I have come to recognize that the unsolicited attention is annoying, but rarely dangerous. Nonetheless, I feel protected by Amina's presence -- especially when an idle male bystander beckons to her and she snaps "Get back to work and stop harassing women!" Only after he protests does Amina realize he is an acquaintance who was extending a friendly greeting. She laughs but is unapologetic. "I walk around the medina everyday," she explains. "I have to be tough."

Amina is struggling to maintain a delicate balance, preserving traditional Muslim values but also forging a meaningful career. It is a struggle that is taking place -- to varying degrees -- across society. Not the least, the progressive monarch has weighed in on the subject. In 2002, King Mohammed VI married Salma Bennani, a computer engineer, symbolizing women's changing role.

Even more notable, this year the government adopted landmark changes to the Moudawana, or Family Law. According to the new legislation, a wife is no longer obliged to obey her husband. Both women and men have the right to seek a divorce in case of wrongdoing. After a divorce, a husband is obliged to continue to support his children. Women have also gained the right to an equal share of an inheritance.

Such revolutionary changes are controversial, but the king has decreed them. Mohammed VI may seem progressive, but he retains near-absolute power in Morocco. His political authority is enforced by a religious belief that the royal family are direct descendents of the prophet Mohammed and therefore rule by divine right. So even controversial legislation does not receive much criticism.

Amina ducks under a bar meant to keep out mules, and heads down a narrow lane. Stalls are piled high with candles and offerings, as we approach the Zawiya Moulay Idriss II -- a shrine to the founder of Fès and the spiritual heart of the city. As a non-Muslim, I cannot enter the shrine. But I peak into the courtyard, which is bathed in sunlight and floor-to-ceiling tiles. A pilgrim is washing his feet in the central fountain.

Non-Muslims are welcome to enter one of many medersas, or Quranic schools that were built by the Merenid dynasty in the 14th century. From the roof of the Medersa el-Attarine, we watch an orange sun drop behind green rooftops. For the fifth time that day, the voice of the imam sounds across the medina: Ashhadu an la Ilah ila Allah...Ashhadu an Mohammedan rasul Allah...Haya ala as-sala... The voice is calling the faithful to prayer. Moroccans of all ages retreat into the mosque, and a relative calm settles over the medina.

We end our tour at Amina's home, located in the French-built ville nouvelle, or new town. The men of the family are away, but the house is filled with the activity of three generations of women: Amina and her three sisters, her proud mother and her wizened grandmother.

The youngest generation is non-stop busy, serving tea, preparing dinner and calling out comments from the kitchen. Only Amina is allowed to rest because she works outside the house and contributes her earnings to the family's income. She and I sit between her mother and grandmother, who grill me about my family life back home.

As the evening wears on, plates of salads and grilled vegetables appear before me, followed by a steaming tajine with chicken and lemon. We dip into the common pot with morsels of bread to pick out the choice pieces of meat and soak up the rich juices. The women chat about the news of the day and gossip about Amina's love interest. And I settle into the warm and welcoming female camaraderie of a Moroccan family.

Mara Vorhees is a freelance writer living in Somerville, MA. She is co-author of the forthcoming Lonely Planet guide to Morocco.