At Home in the Medieval Medina of Fez, Morocco

The medina of Fez – the ancient walled city with its twisting alleys and souks - is widely regarded as the most intact Islamic medieval city in the world. Fez was established at the end of the eighth century AD and became one of the most important centers of Islamic intellectual and cultural life.

Built by skilled artisans working for over a thousand years, the Fez medina is a honeycomb of architectural treasures. However, beginning in the early years of this century, as the center of political and economic power was shifted from the Fez medina to the new city, and eventually to Casablanca and Rabat, the Fez medina slipped into decline.

UNESCO has designated the Fez medina in its entirety as a World Heritage Site, and a number of major monuments are being saved from ruin and restored by national and international players. However, as I write this within the twisting alleyways of Fez, thousands of remarkable traditional houses are falling into ruin. They are being split into apartments and their valuable ornamentations being offered for sale in the international architectural antiques market.

In the past five years, there has been a renaissance of interest in the private houses hidden in Fez. This is great cause for celebration for those who want to experience the real Fez medina. It was not always the case.

When I first arrived in Fez eight years ago to study Moroccan Arabic at the Arabic Language Institute in Fez, I came for the legendary allure of Fez’ old city. I wanted to live in the real Fez, with its twisting alleys where men in hooded djellabas walked past boys bringing their bread to the communal ovens on boards, where the overloaded donkeys carried leather from the tanneries. I wanted the impossible – to feel at home in a place of such extraordinary mystery and allure.

But when I arrived in Fez I found that, other than the once-legendary Palais Jamai - on the hillside above but not in the medina -- whose restoration has rendered it garish and fake, and a handful of $6-10 dollar a night hostels just inside the main tourist gate of Bab Boujeloud, there were no places to sleep in the medina. The winding mysteries of the medina could be experienced only during day-trips. You could walk through the medina but never be at rest there. You were always passing by, passing through and essentially being a tourist. There was a sense that there should be repose there that somewhere there were hidden places of repose but you were strangely locked out of them.

I didn’t even know about the houses then. Of course I knew that people lived in houses. I could see people coming out of heavy wooden doors off the many alleyways, and sometimes I could get a glimpse of tiled hallways inside before the doors closed. But I had no idea of how magical these houses were. I did not know about the painted and carved ceilings and the 15-foot-high doors with small keyhole doors cut in them. I did not know about the riads with orange trees and fountains, the mosaic terraces, the internal courtyards where rain and birds came freely into the center of the house.

I did not know that such mysterious repose and such silence could be found at the center of such a winding, such a hectic and brilliant city. These private worlds were built to conceal themselves. No windows to the streets, their gaze turned inward, and simple, massive wooden doors announcing to passersby nothing of the wealth of the occupants. I did not know any of this. And without knowing it, I did not know Fez. I lived in a small cinderblock villa in the new city and looked out at the lights of the medina at night with real yearning.

When I announced to my fellow students that I was going to rent a house in the medina, they fell over each other to tell me how, as a woman alone, I would never be able to do it. We had never known anyone who had done this. I was as surprised as they were when I ended up with a ring of keys – some modern, some skeleton keys, to the ground floor of a small house in a maze of alleys off Talaa Kebira, the main road down into the medina.

When I brought my friends Scott and Hassan there, they were astounded that I would have rented this. On two sides of a small and dusty marble and mosaic courtyard with a wall fountain, two 15-foor-high doors gave onto two large salons. Each salon was completely tiled with traditional Moroccan zellighe tile, on the floors and part-way up the walls. The plaster walls were moisture-stained and leaked sand and lime. Arched-top windows were capped with stained glass and covered by window grilles in rusty iron arabesques. Small panes were missing from the windows. It was empty. It had no shower and a Turkish toilet. Hassan, a Fassi, looked at me as though I had lost my mind.

For myself, I felt that my life had begun.

Hassan helped me arrange for a donkey-load of wool to be brought to the house and dumped on the floor of one of the empty salons in a two-foot high pile. The alley outside the huge door was so narrow that we had to back the donkey down the alley. Hassan bought fabric and brought a mattress-maker, an old man with the biggest needle I had ever seen, to sew me a bed. In three hours, he had made the small woolen mountain into a traditional mattress. I bought five brass lanterns for candles.

On my first night in my house in the medina, I was so overcome with emotion I could hardly sleep. I could hear the call to prayer clearly though the courtyard, which was open to the stars. The moon cast arabesque-grille shadows on the bare mosaic floors. The heavy outer door was bolted tight from inside, and the hall leading to the central courtyard was closed off by an inner door. It felt safe and enclosed. I could hear the music from a wedding down the alleyway. In the morning, I could hear the musical cries of the mint and milk peddlers. When I swung open the huge doors, the courtyard was filled with light and small birds were singing, perched on the railing upstairs.

For me, this was indeed the beginning. I have since bought my own place in Fez, an astounding jewel box massriya suite. Hassan and I were married five years ago. I have always kept my original home in Fez. In the last five years, roughly 25 of these remarkable houses have been bought and restored in the Fez Medina, by both Moroccans and foreigners. A small number have been turned into wonderful guesthouses, finally allowing travelers access to these secret inner worlds of Fez. A few are available to rent in their entirety for travelers who know how to find them.

Perhaps the most important consequence of this development is the renaissance of attention to private dwellings in the Fez medina. This international attention has caused some original Fassi families to return from Casablanca and Rabat and establish family houses once more in the Fez medina. This is excellent news for the future of the medina, which will depend on the private efforts of thousands of families to preserve the remarkable examples of Islamic architecture that are in their care. Cultured travelers to Morocco will find that staying in the ancient medina is a much more memorable experience than staying in the number of modern hotels in the new city. I encourage everyone I speak with to make the effort to do this.

And a final note for cultural travelers who share my awe for the authentic antiquity of Fez: please do not purchase architectural artifacts from the antique shops of Fez. Focus on the huge amounts of antique furniture, carpets, lamps, and the thousands of other items found in the bazaars of Fez. Please avoid the temptation to buy doors, windows, carved wooden masharabiyeh screening, or other decorative woodwork that has been plundered from private houses in the medina of Fez. It can be difficult to resist, because they are beautiful. The market in architectural antiques in Morocco is booming, and it creates a strong temptation for struggling medina families to sell the priceless doors and windows from their family houses. Once these traditional houses have been robbed of these treasures, they will never come back, and Fez will be the poorer for it.

Tourism is the lifeblood of the Moroccan economy. We want to be responsible and ensure that our cultural tourism dollars support the preservation of Morocco’s remarkable medinas, not erode them. With responsible stewardship, they will last another thousand years, an ongoing wonder, and an important part of our human heritage.