The term Marabout appears during the Muslim conquest of North Africa. It is derived from the Arabic word “Mourabit” or “mrabet” (one who is garrisoned)[2]: religious students and military volunteers who manned the Ribats at the time of the conquest.[3] Today marabout means “Saint” in the Berber language, and refers to Sufi Muslim teachers who lead lodge or school called a zaouïa, associated with a specific school or tradition, called a Tariqah (????? ?ar?qah: “way”, “path”).

The pronunciation of that word may vary according the spoken Berber dialect, for example it is pronounced as “Amrabadh” in the Riff dialect. The “marabout” is known as “Sayyed” (???) to the Arabic speaking Maghribians. Many cities in Morocco got their names from local “marabouts”, and the name of those cities does usually begin with “Sidi” (????) followed with the name of the local “marabout.” The standard Arabic for “saint” would be “Waliy” (???).

[edit] Syncretic holy sites

A marabout may also refer to a tomb (Arabic: ?????? [qubba]) of a venerated saint, and such places have become holy centers and places of pious reflection.

The roots of this tradition can be traced back to ancient times when the Berbers believed in the polytheistic religions. Herodotus mentioned the tradition too, when he has spoke of the Nasamones bringing animal sacrifices to the tombs of holy men.

[edit] Some Zawiyas linked with specific marabouts

Note that these are not places of formal pilgrimage (limited in Islam to religious pilgrimages of the Hadj and Jerusalem), but are rather places of reflection and inspiration for the pious.
Morocco Sidi Ali el Goumi
Sidi Allal el Behraoui
Sidi Abdelah ben Hassoun
Sidi Moulay Idriss
Sidi fath
Sidi el Arbi ben sayyeh
Sidi Ahmed Tijani
Sidi Moulay Ali sherif
Sidi Hajj Hamza Qadiri Boutchichi
Sidi Sheikh Abdul Qadir Jilani
Sidi Abdel Kader el Alami
Sidi Moulay Ibrahim
Sidi Mohammed Ben Aissa
Sidi Ahmed Ben Idris Al-Fassi (Idrissiya and Sanoussiya)
Sidi Abu Lhcen Shadili
Sidi Abdeslam ibn Mchich Alami
Sidi Muhammad al-Arabi al-Darqawi
Sidi Muhammad ibn Sulayman al-Jazuli al-Simlali
Sidi Abu Abdallah Mohammed Amghar
Sidi Abu Abdallah al-Qaim bi Amrillah
Sidi Muhammad ben Issa al-Barnusi al-Fasi Zarruq

Or
zawiyas: Zaouïa Naciria
Zaouïa Cherqaouia
Zaouia Aïssaouia
Zaouia Tidjaniya
Zaouia Idrissiya
Zaouia Sanoussiya
Zaouia Al Qadiriya
Zaouia Al Alamiya
Zaouia Jazouliya semlaliya
Zaouia Hamdouchia

Algeria Sidi Ahmed Tidjani de ‘Ainou Mahdi proche de Laguouate fondateur dela Tidjaniya
Sidi M’hamed Bou Qobrine Founder of the Rahmaniya (Algiers and Bounouh)
Sidi Abderrahmane Thaalibi Founder of the Thaalibiya (Algiers)
Sidi M’hend oumalek (Tifrit nait oumalek)
Sidi Moh’Ali oulhadj (Tifrit n’Aït el Hadj)
Sidi Harrat Benaissa El Idrissi (Zemmora, Relizane)
Sidi Abd-Allah ben Mançour
Sidi Abid Echerrif (Guentis)
Sidi Abou AbdAllah Ech Choudi El Halloui
Sidi A’hmed el Mejdoub
Sidi Bel Abbes (namesake of Sidi Bel Abbès)
Sidi Ben-Ali (Aïn el Hout – Tlemcen)
Sidi Ben-Ali (Nédromah)
Sidi Ben-Azzouz (Borj Ben Azzouz)
Sidi Bicinti el basco
Sidi Bou Adjami
Sidi Boudarga
Sidi Boudjemaa
Sidi Brahim
Sidi Daoudi
Sioud anta’ El-Eubbad es-Saffi
Sidi En-Naceur
Sidi Et Toumi
Sidi Hamadouche
Sî ibn ‘Alî Sharîf (Akbou)
Sidi Mohammed Ben Omar El Houari
Sidi Mohammed bou Semah’a,
Sidi Moh’amed Ou’l Il’afian.
Sidi Moulebhar
Sidi Qadir
Sidi Bel-Ezrag
Sidi Serhane
Sidi Soumeymane Ben Abdallah
Zaouia de Sidi Benamar (Fillaoussenne)
Sidi-Wahhab
Sidi Yahia el Aidly (Akbou)
Sidi Yakkout

Tunisia Zaouïa de Sidi Ben Azzouz. Nefta
Zaouïa de Sidi Bouteffaha. Béja
Zaouïa de Sidi Salah Zlaoui. Béja
Zaouïa de Sidi Abdelkader. Béja
Zaouïa de Sidi Bou Arba. Béja
Zaouïa de Sidi Taieb. Béja
Zaouïa de Sidi Baba Ali Smadhi. Béja
Zaouïa de Sidi Ali El Mekki
Zaouïa de Sidi El Mazri. Monastir
Zaouïa de Sidi Bou Jaafar. Sousse
Zaouïa de Sidi Abdel Hamid. Sousse

[edit] West Africa

[edit] Muslim religious teachers

Muslim religious brotherhoods (Tariqah in the Sufi tradition) are one of the main organizing forms of West African Islam, and with the spread of Sufi ideas into the area, the marabout’s role combined with local practices throughout Senegambia, the Niger river valley, and the Futa Jallon. Here, Sufi believers follow a marabout, elsewhere known as a Murshid (“Guide”). Marabout was also adopted by French colonial officials, and applied to most any imam, Muslim teacher, or secular leader who appealed to Islamic tradition.

Today marabouts can be traveling holy men who survive on alms, religious teachers who take in young talibes at koranic schools, or distinguished religious leaders and scholars, both in and out of the sufi brotherhoods which dominate spiritual life in Senegambia.[4]

In the Muslim brotherhoods of Senegal, marabouts are organized in elaborate hierarchies; the highest marabout of the Mourides, for example, has been elevated to the status of a Caliph or ruler of the faithful (Amir al-Mu’minin). Older, North African based traditions such as the Tijaniyyah and the Qadiriyyah base their structures on respect for teachers and religious leaders who, south of the Sahara, often are called marabouts. Those who devote themselves to prayer or study, either based in communities, religious centers, or wandering in the larger society, are named marabouts. In Senegal and Mali, these Marabouts rely on donations to live. Often there is an traditional bond to support a specific marabout that has accumulated over generations within a family. Marabouts normally dress in traditional West African robes and live a simple, ascetic life.

[edit] Child exploitation schemes

Main article: Talibes

Some Senegalese marabouts have been accused of exploiting young students, recruiting young boys from all over Senegal and neighboring countries to enroll in their schools. These children are then forced to beg on the streets for money under threat of physical harm, while their teachers take the profits, leaving the children without proper clothing, food or shelter.[5] This computer forensics information exploitation is in stark contrast to the tradition of Marbout-led koranic schools which have operated across West Africa for centuries.
Example flyer for a French-African “marabout”
[edit] Syncretic spiritualists

The spread in sub-saharan Africa of the marabout’s role from the eighth through 13th centuries CE created in some places a mixture of roles with pre-Islamic priests and devines. Thus many fortune tellers and self styled spiritual guides take the name marabout (something rejected by more othodox Muslims and Sufi brotherhoods alike). The recent diaspora of West Africans (to Paris in particular) has teddy bear hamster brought this tradition to Europe and North America, where some marabouts advertise their services as fortune tellers.

The hike through Dogon is over and I am reluctant to leave this beautiful, peaceful place. Rasta is officially off-duty but gives me a ride to Djenné to see the iconic Great Mosque and the madrassas that have attracted Islamic scholars since the 14th century. I sit in the back of the Land Rover feeling a bit glum.

For the first time in many days, I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror.  My hair and skin are dusted with the same ruddy color as the earth, my nose is a sunburned triangle, my clothes are stiff with dirt and sweat. I have never been so filthy in my life and I have never cared so little. I look utterly unfit for human company.

We cross the Bani river on a small barge and drive into Djenné’s Monday market preparations just after the sun rises. Trucks unload, women emerge from all directions carrying babies and baskets full of produce, fish, millet. Within minutes a critical mass gathers in front of the imposing Great Mosque, the world’s largest mud brick structure. Built in 1907 on the site of a 13th century mosque, the Great Mosque is central to life in Djenné both in location and in its enduring relevance. It makes an impressive backdrop to the chaos of market day, the sights and smells of which make me extremely uneasy after several days of solitude and quiet.

There are people everywhere – so many people it’s nearly impossible to move, to bargain, to buy. I let the crush of bodies carry me along as women hawk their wares in a cacophony of Bambara, Fulani, Djennéké. Suddenly I hit my limit.  I am a Rainman freaking out over the smoke alarm, I am Nell going batshit crazy in the forest. I retreat to an empty side street to hide. More than anything in the world, I want to be alone and undisturbed.

“CA VA CA VA CA VA CA VA?” shriek four little boys who seem to be bolting straight at me.

“Ça va bien,” I answer wearily.

They follow me the rest of the day, swarming around me like mosquitoes. I find an internet cafe and thirty minutes later, realize that they are waiting for me outside. I electric spice grinder and bean bag lap desk retreat to my hostel for a bite to eat and when I emerge, they appear. I climb to the roof of a building to take photographs and see them waiting patiently below.

“Cadeau?” they ask. “Cadeau cadeau cadeau cadeau?”

They are holding me hostage for a present.

I buy a sad, flimsy-looking soccer ball and we kick it around with a gaggle of street kids who whoop with delight at my pathetic, amateur-hour fakes. Just as I’m about to bend it like Beckham for my adoring fans, the  ball bursts. I watch the children’s bodies deflate along with it, their faces falling. There is nothing more tragic than a group of kids gathered around a dead soccer ball. Dispirited, we gradually disperse and I wander back to the hostel as the light grows dim.

The square is empty. Two women are engaged in the Sisyphean task of sweeping the ground clean and the effect is a choking cloud of dust that hovers above the town.

I spot Rasta sitting in a restaurant smoking and drinking tea. I am happy to see him – we have not been more than four feet apart for many days, and I realize that as much as I crave solitude, I also miss his company.

“Taaaaaaaaataaaa!” he calls out. “Older sister! Come sit by me.” He is listening to music on his phone and plays me a few of his favorite songs. I whip out my iPod and play him a few of mine. We are having a cultural exchange.

“What does it mean, ‘Gold Digger’?” he asks.

After I explain the concept of broke niggaz, ballin’ shorties, and prenups, I tell Rasta about the market and the children and the soccer ball and how much I miss being in the Dogon even though I’ve wanted to come to this place for so long.

“Oooooooh, Taaaaataaaaaaaa,” he laughs. “Why are you so sad?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “But I feel very sad tonight. I don’t know why.”

Rasta grabs his jacket. “I will take you to someone who will tell you why.”

* * *
I follow Rasta down a narrow alley that opens up to the madrassa, where students from all over the world have studied the Qur’an for centuries. I trip over blue collar bikers pile of wooden tablets covered in Qur’anic verses and stumble my way up the dark and uneven steps.

“Rasta, where are we going?” I ask anxiously. We pass students studying in ascetic cells by lamp light. They greet us in Arabic.

“Taaaataaaaaaa,” he sings, ignoring me. As usual, information is in short supply.

At the top of the stairs is a slightly larger cell with a beaded curtain. I linger shyly by the entrance as Rasta parts the beads.

“Salaam aleikum,” he says. Wa aleikum as salaam.

A bearded man dressed in white sits crossed legged on a thin mat weighed down on each corner by papers and books.  He smiles and motions us in.

Rasta has taken me to a marabout.

Marabouts are holy men, spiritual leaders, teachers, ascetics, amulet-makers, fortune tellers – or all of the above, depending on where you live. From the look of him, this guy’s the real deal: the monk-like simplicity of dress, the gaunt chiaroscuro face, the vague, mystical look, the piles and piles of Qur’anic exegesis in his whitewashed room.

Detracting from the overarching ascetic/monastic vibe is a badly dubbed Kung Fu movie, which has captured the attention of an eight year old boy, whose rapt expression radiates the ecstasy of a pig in shit. Rasta is also completely captivated, and it is only slowly, languidly, reluctantly that the marabout pulls his gaze away from the television to ask me to write my name on a piece of paper.

He looks at it, thinks for a few seconds, and begins to scribble furiously, creating what appears to be a combination of squiggly lines, Arabic and unrecognizable symbols. This goes on for several minutes: scribble, scribble, Kung Fu, scribble, smile encouragingly, scribble scribble, Kung Fu. I smile back, thinking: A Rastafarian, a marabout, a Shaolin warrior, and an overfed American walk into a bar…

Rasta nods at the piece a paper, now almost completely covered with columns of scribbles, squiggles, dots, and the names of the prophets. “Now he will tell you your problems.”

He begins to translate:

You are worried about your work. You need to be the top man, the best. You are unhappy. You will be the best, but not at this work. You are worried about your husband, about your husband dying before you.

Meanwhile, the boy changes the channel to another program.

WHERE IN THE WORLD IS OSAMA BIN LADEN? screams the television.

You will be a very old woman, with very long white hair.
Your nature is to travel, and when you travel, you never have problems.
But sometimes there are problems in your family. Your father is very upset that you are here.

If you sacrifice a goat and distribute the meat to the poor, in twelve months your problems will be resolved.

“Do you have a goat?” Rasta asks.

I reply with regret that goats are difficult to come by in New York and that even if I had one, I wouldn’t quite know what to do with it. Images of a botched sacrifice play like a bad slasher movie in my head – blood everywhere, bleating goat, me flapping my hands in panic, PETA activists throwing buckets of red paint. We pay the marabout the equivalent of $2.50 and he offers, in response to my goat problem, to sacrifice one for me and distribute the meat in Djenne.

I happily make a contribution toward a goat. It seems like a grand idea – all of my problems solved, goat meat for the poor, no bungled execution in the streets of Brooklyn. I’ve got all of my bases covered. After all, one can never be too careful or too lucky.