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The term “Neffar” refers to the man who wakes people up for the Suhoor meal and Fajr prayer before dawn during the holy month of Ramadan. The Neffar traditionally roams the streets and alleys in the dark of night, alerting people with the rhythmic beatings of a drum or a horn-like musical instrument called “Ghaita.”
This tradition predates smartphones and alarms and only lasts for one month each year, before the Neffar recedes into the dark with the appearance of the Eid Crescent. The Neffar carries out this practice as a voluntary service, and collects gifts and gratuities in return at the end of Ramadan.
While this tradition is unfortunately dying out, a lot of people keep trying to revive it and uphold it given the importance it holds in Moroccan tradition and its collective memory. In fact, anyone who has experienced the, somehow comforting, sounds of Neffar in their childhood, can vouch that Ramadan lacks in flavor without it.
While the practice is loved and appreciated, people seldom pay attention to the person behind the drum, simply because such traditions largely rely on selflessness; which perhaps explains people’s dismay at those who have taken the tradition to the virtual sphere.
This Ramadan, the residents of the Northern city of Tangier have been waking up to the voice and drum of Ghizlane, the first female practitioner of the dying tradition of “Neffar.”
Self-labelled “merdiyet mamaha” meaning “she whose mom approves of her,” Ghizlane, a woman in her thirties, has taken to tiktok to share reels of her waking the residents of Tangier this Ramadan.
Her initiative has sparked debate. While many were displeased by the mere notion that a woman is taking the role of Neffar, under the pretext that “some things are strictly for men and others are strictly for women,” others took issue with the way Ghizlane carried herself.
While she respected the dress code required for this task, wearing a Djellaba — a traditional loose fitting dress with a hood – and a headscarf, it was the way Ghizlane called upon sleeping people that was the point of contention of many. Initially, she summoned sleeping men by name before adjusting her method by addressing sleeping women instead.
However, the controversy particularly surrounded Ghizlane’s catchphrase of “wake up, my love, for suhoor” in a typical soft Northern Moroccan accent. Some social media users argued that “a [soft] northern accent is especially unsuitable for this purpose regardless of what she might say.”
Locals in Tangier also harshly criticized Ghizlane’s approach, claiming it was “provocative” and an “inappropriate representation of women of the region and its conservative community,” and accused her of “seeking fame by breaking societal norms.”
In a heated campaign against the woman, some have even gone as far as calling for legal action, accusing her of “inciting immorality.”
Others, however, supported the initiative and praised Ghizlane’s light-hearted attitude, seeing it as a welcomed refreshing and joyful addition to Ramadan traditions.
In the heat of the debate, Ghizlane took to Facebook to defend herself, stating that she has done nothing “shameful” and that she never intended to offend or stir controversy, but rather sought to create a fun atmosphere suitable for the spirit of Ramadan.
Ghizlane also expressed how daunting the harsh accusations have been to her, despite her not having done anything that disrespects Ramadan, emphasizing the innocence of her intentions.
Whether she used this tradition to gain online clout or to merely share her joyful spirit with Moroccans in this holy month, one can almost guarantee that a woman would face criticism whatever she does and however she acts, especially in the online world, where people are more emboldened by anonymity.
Soon enough another distraction would take place and, much like the practice she had undertaken, the dispute surrounding Ghizlane would fade out with the Eid Crescent.
