If you ever happen to pass through Chefchaouen in the spring, walking up the small alleyways from the entrance square to the medina, you might be lucky enough to come across Ahmed Erribhe, a young Moroccan painter by profession. This is a colorful account of my encounter with him.
You cannot miss him, with his wide-brimmed straw hat and his paintings displayed on the exterior walls of houses and shops. His spot along the narrow street is carefully arranged to make the most of the space while allowing pedestrians, heavily laden donkeys, and the occasional small motor vehicle to pass. An easel on which he creates his works, a stool, a small table covered with a tablecloth and adorned with a vase of flowers, a notebook with preliminary sketches, a palette in his hand and an array of brushes—everything appears to be placed just right, in keeping with a refined aesthetic that reflects a keen artistic sensibility and an orderly, detail-oriented character.
His paintings depict scenes of everyday life unfolding in the streets and squares of small Moroccan towns. Ahmed draws inspiration for his subjects from historical photographs that he finds in various places or online, using a tablet he always carries with him. His color palette recalls that of early twentieth-century Expressionist artists: figures with softly defined features set within a symphony of vivid colors that harmonize beautifully with the shades of blue for which Chefchaouen’s alleyways are famous.
Ahmed Erribhe, 36 years old, is originally from the city of Larache. He lived there with his family until adolescence, developing a passion for art from a very young age. Self-taught at first through books and later also through television, he recalls: “Once a week I waited eagerly to follow a new painting lesson. I remember a man from Eastern Europe, perhaps Polish, who explained different techniques for applying color, completing a painting in each one-hour lesson. It was very useful and interesting. I learned a great deal by watching that program every week for quite some time.”
Ahmed spends most of the year between his hometown and Spain, in Barcelona, where his two older sisters live with their families. His bond with them is strong, especially since the death of their parents. He always carries a few photographs of his nieces and nephews on his tablet, which he proudly shows to others.
Ahmed lived in Barcelona for a long time. That is where the oil paints, acrylics, brushes, and linen canvases he uses come from; it is also where he bought some Western-style shirts and T-shirts, which he wears under his djellaba or caftan. “A look that’s all my own,” he says with a smile—one that mirrors the story of his life, suspended between Africa and Europe.
He stays in Chefchaouen for about three months each year, in the spring, when the climate becomes milder and it is possible to spend the entire day outdoors, far from the winter temperatures that often bring snow to blanket the region’s hills. Like an outsider, he lodges in a small hotel on the edge of the medina. Everyone in town knows him, yet he admits with a hint of disappointment that many are wary of him: “I spend time with tourists, I have European manners, and I’m curious.” He believes this mistrust is “a form of ignorance” and does not share the general closed-mindedness, which he feels causes many people to keep their distance. And yet Ahmed has many friends on the streets. As he walks or sits painting, he constantly pauses to shake hands—“Salam aleikum,” “Wa aleikum as-salam”—with everyone he meets: from the itinerant bookseller who suggests his next reading, to the farmer descending from the mountains with a load of herbs and spices; from the grumbling shopkeeper who, even when genuinely fond of him, complains about finding Ahmed’s paintings hanging on the closed door of his shop, to the owner of the café where Ahmed replenishes his water supply for tea, offered to guests in faithful observance of Arab hospitality traditions.
Close friends include Elyas and Yassen, two local children whom he looks after while their father is at work. He teaches them the art of drawing and the use of color. One of the boys is immediately fascinated by my camera and shows a natural aptitude; the other seems more drawn to drawing, practicing with pencil and charcoal while sitting on a step in the alley. Ahmed trusts them to quietly and dutifully watch over his spot when he steps away for lunch or to pray at the nearby mosque.
His most dedicated student, however, is his friend Mohammed, who often stops by to paint under Ahmed’s expert guidance. He has just completed a small painting, which he points to proudly, his eyes lighting up behind dark sunglasses with an eccentric yellow frame. Passionate about music, he finds Ahmed’s iPad irresistible; Ahmed lends it to him so he can listen to some 1970s British rock.
And so unfolds Ahmed’s day in Chefchaouen – amid the warm earth tones on his palette, reds and oranges and the infinite shades of blue, from indigo to turquoise. Between brushstrokes, the reading of a few pages of a book, a prayer, and a glass of tea. In the company of friendly passers-by, accompanied by the unexpected background notes of Dire Straits.
Stories from my journey in Morocco, May 2015