What is a Berber music or Gnawa night like in Morocco?

A Gnawa night is one of the most quietly powerful experiences Morocco offers, and it stays with people long after the desert dunes have blurred in memory. Gnawa music comes from the descendants of sub-Saharan Africans brought to Morocco centuries ago, and it is at heart spiritual, even healing — the original ceremonies (lila) ran all night to induce trance and drive out troubles. What you feel, even in a shorter performance, is that deep, rolling, hypnotic groove: the three-string bass guembri laying down a fat, throbbing line, the metal qraqeb castanets clattering like a train gathering speed, and voices trading call-and-response chants until the whole thing locks into something almost meditative.

For most guests, the magic happens in one of three settings. The first, and my favourite, is around a fire at a desert camp in the Sahara, where Berber and Gnawa musicians drum and sing under an absurd canopy of stars and, before long, everyone is clapping, swaying and being pulled up to dance whether they meant to or not. The second is an intimate riad evening, sometimes arranged privately, where a small group plays in a candlelit courtyard — far more atmospheric than any stage. The third is catching it live in a square or café, especially in Essaouira, which is the spiritual home of Gnawa.

If you can possibly time it, the Gnaoua World Music Festival in Essaouira (usually June) is extraordinary — a free, sprawling celebration where Gnawa masters (maâlems) jam with jazz, blues and world musicians on stages all over the old town, and the whole city pulses for days. It is one of Africa's great music festivals and completely changes the feel of the town. Marrakech's Jemaa el-Fnaa also has nightly Gnawa troupes among the storytellers and snake charmers, though that is more rough-and-ready street performance.

Berber (Amazigh) music is a related but distinct pleasure — more village and mountain in flavour, built on hand drums (bendir), the rhythmic clapping and chanting of ahidous and ahwach group dances, and reedy flutes. At a mountain guesthouse or a wedding-style celebration you might see whole lines of villagers dancing shoulder to shoulder in patterned robes, and it is joyous and communal rather than trance-like. Both traditions are living, everyday music here, not museum pieces.

My honest tip: lean in. Do not just watch politely from the edge — clap along, accept the hand that pulls you up to dance, ask a musician about the guembri afterward. The performers love sharing it, and a Gnawa or Berber night becomes the evening your group talks about for years. I can arrange a private musicians' evening at your riad or camp, or build your trip around the Essaouira festival if the dates align.