2023-08-05 18:00:04
Find all the episodes of the “African Nights” series here.
You enter through a double leaf door enhanced with geometric ironwork. If it weren’t for the building where it is located, halfway between Art Deco and modern styles, the visitor would have difficulty guessing the age of Don Quixote, born in the late 1930s.
It is past 11 p.m. this Saturday evening, and most of the bars in Casablanca have closed. For night owls who want to prolong the party until 3 or 4 am, it’s time to migrate. Choice: towards the clubs of the corniche, at the edge of the ocean, or those of the city center, near the medina and the port. It is here, housed near the Clock Tower and the United Nations Square, at the junction of what was once the Moroccan and European cities, that the octogenarian “cabaret” continues to host part of the night. casablanca.
The owner of Don Quixote is no longer Hispanic, but Tangier. In love with “dancing tea”, “Mexican Orchestra” et “Spanish dance”, according to the advertisements of the time, followed by an audience that loved rock, trap, chaabi and raï. Journalists, artists, students, foreign residents or visitors, regulars or simple neighbours… “Mainly young people who want to let off steam in a place where there are no codes or competition”confides the writer Houssam Al Figuigui, our companion that evening: he frequents the place ” for fifteen years “.
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For less than 10 dirhams (about 0.90 euros), you can arrive by red taxi in the district of bazaars and exchange offices, which was the first business center of Casablanca, that of merchants. The traces of this effervescence, nourished by the construction of the port at the beginning of the French protectorate in Morocco (1912-1956), are still present: the neo-Moorish Excelsior, one of the first hotels in the city, the old Café de France , bank and insurance offices… And then the building called “Moretti”, including a section of the ground floor, covered with a green tarpaulin crossed out with the inscription “bar night-club” in white letters, marks the arrival at destination.
Red leather benches
Once through the arcades, the reception is quickly consumed. « Salam », « bonjour », « hello » : seated on chairs, two men stare at the customers and answer in their language, nonchalantly. Houssam Al Figuigui noticed the absence of Bouchaïb, the physiognomist. He departs, takes news. Comes back, looking disappointed: “He died a few days ago. “He was there all the time, it’s weird”adds another.
After the usual condolences, the entrance, paying on weekends (50 dirhams with a drink) but free for family members. On the left, the bar, closed at this time. On the right, a large format painting overlooks the room. “We do not know the author, only the year: 1934raconte Houssam. The painter wanted to represent Cervantes’ hero by imitating Rembrandt, but he did not succeed. Everything is black, we can only make out a silhouette. »
He laughs, enjoys this “parabola”, before heading, at the bottom, towards a steep staircase from which springs a hubbub. From midnight, at regular intervals, customers enter in clusters and take its steps to reach a space whose designation varies: “the cellar”, “the hole”, “the shelter”. The writer Mohamed Leftah, who devoted a few pages to Don Quixote in his book To the happiness of limbochose “it was”.
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Downstairs, the decor is simple. A large counter, tables that can hold four or five people, chairs, red leather benches. And a dance floor. “They are rare in downtown clubs”, notes a client after taking a few steps to an air of Najat Aatabou. As soon as he arrives, Houssam approaches Saïda, the bartender, orders two Special beers (produced in Morocco) and goes to the DJ. A word in the ear, a coin in the hand and the voice of Cheikha Remitti makes everyone agree. “No need to tell him what I want to listen to. I give him 10 bullets saying “atomic bomb”, it works every time. »
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The track fills up in seconds. Dreadlocks or short hair, woman tattooed from head to toe, boy in “LMFAO” outfit, jeans, sneakers, T-shirt, kimono… “Anyone comes to dance here, we are not in a demonstration but in a common space where everyone is at the same level”observes Yassine, a “encoder” who studied at the 1337 school in Benguerir. “The other night, there was a hairdresser from Hay El Farah [un quartier périphérique de Casablanca]remembers Houssam. A little bearded man with a chechia. He danced, he was happy. He hugged many people and promised to come back. »
“It’s a place that resists”
Orchester national de Barbès, Rachid Taha, Nass El Ghiwane, Dizzy Dros, Haja El Hamdaouia… The hours go by, the hits follow one another, the empty Specials pile up: up to twenty bottles per table for the thirstiest. Abderrahim, the waiter, will only have to count them to establish the bill.
At the peak of the evening, around 2 o’clock, the first cohorts rise in the open air, before diving again. “In Darija, we call the inhabitants of Casablanca the Bidaouis, that means “the Whites”. When you say “the Bidaoui night”, it is necessarily a sleepless night! », the bouncer is having fun. Without ventilation (only a few windows allow a thin stream of air to filter through), the smoke from the cigarettes, mixed with the heat of the bodies, makes the “pit” unbreathable.
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“You have to have breath to deserve Don Quixote”, thunders, rather tipsy, Hassan, an artist, while lighting the last cigarette of his pack. Meanwhile, Moumen, a choreographer, is heating up the track: a musician has convinced the DJ to play one of his tracks. “It’s hard to do that anywhere elseassure Houssam. Here, a stylist comes to present his clothes or a singer to test his voice and that does not arouse any opposition, on the contrary. »
He remembers Cheb, a follower of post-chaabi who went to live in France, or even Aïssam, a rapper – who has since died – who sang at the counter, a cappella, under encouragement. He also remembers the evenings that concluded the demonstrations of the February 20 Movement, this wave of protest born in 2011 in the wake of the Tunisian and Egyptian revolutions. “It was an incredible atmosphere. We met activists at Don Quixote, some of whom are in prison today. It is a place that resists, like us. »
It is 3 o’clock. Le Don Quichotte will soon close, Saïda and Abderrahim are crowded for the last orders. On the track, dozens of women and men jump with both feet, repeating in chorus the words of a song by Hoba Hoba Spirit, an emblematic group from the metropolis. His title : Welcome to Casa.
Find all the episodes of the “African Nights” series here.
#dance