A visit to an authentic Moroccan hammam

October 1, 2009

Moroccan hammams are traditional bath houses that have played a vital role in Arab cultures for hundreds of years. Local women congregate here to relax, nourish themselves, visit with friends and catch up on town gossip. The hammams truly are the pulse of any Arab city and I was eager to spend some time in an authentic Moroccan hammams, rather than those created especially for tourists in the larger Western hotels. My friend Hafida offered to take me late one night in Essaouira, Morocco.

First, you need to check your modesty at the door. Men and women are segregated- some hammams have completely separate facilities while others host men only during certain hours. With that said, Moroccan women think nothing of seeing one another naked. While I generally don’t find myself to be overly modest, this is a level of openness that I think is shocking to most Westerners. You begin the bathing ritual in your panties, having undressed in front of other women who are often inclined to give your body more than the occasional curious glance, but by the end of the hammams, you’re left standing there essentially as you came into this world: stark naked.

The hammams generally cost about 10-40 dirhams (or about $1.25-$5.00 USD) and supplies are available on-site for an additional charge, though most women bring their own. Their own what? Shampoo, black soap, kiese mitt, razor, perfume, etc. After paying the entrance fee, women disrobe in a large lounge area, leave their things with an attendant and begin the ritual.

The first thing that hit me as I walked in the door is how incredibly hot it was. It’s not at all a dry heat, but a “water dripping from the air” humidity that’s by design. I love a good American sauna, but a sauna had nothing on this hammam. Within about five minutes, I could audibly hear my pulse in my ears- a sure sign that the blood is pumping and my body temperature is up. There are three chambers to the hammams and they vary by temperature. I will freely insert here that I don’t do extreme heat very well- I am prone to passing out cold (as I did in a Kuwaiti hammam earlier this year), so Hafida and I spent the lion’s share of our time in the middle chamber….thankfully. The rooms are large and beautifully tiled and everyone tends to just find their own corner of the room. Some hammams have gorgeous pierced- dome ceilings and attendants who will perform the hammams ritual for you at an additional charge, though the hammam that Hafida and I attended was all business.

One begins by filling huge buckets from brass fixtures along a wall. To wash Hafida and I, we used fourteen buckets, or the equivalent of about 70 gallons of water. The buckets are filled one by one and then dragged over to your corner of the room. Small stools are available for you to perch on as you clean, so we grabbed two and set off. A bucket of fresh water is dumped out on the floor to cleanse it of any residue from the person who came before you and then the ritual begins…

You relax and sit for quit some time in the hammams as the water penetrates the skin and readies it for cleansing and exfoliation. After you’ve been “plumped” as I like to call it, savon noir is made by mixing some black soap, henna and water in a small cup. Too much henna will stain the skin, so it must be used in moderate amounts. After mixing, this paste is applied from the shoulders down to the toes. Friends generally help one another with product application to the back. You rinse by dipping a taca (large cup with a handle) into the hot water bucket and pouring it over yourself. The next step is a rigorous scrub with a traditional kiese mitt. Made from a fabric that reminds me of a scratchy cotton, the kiese resembles a fingerless mitten. It is slipped onto one hand and then you scrub yourself as though your very survival depended on it. No crack or crevice is spared and friends often spend of expired cells that slough off the skin and fall to the floor. There seems to be some kind of bizarre pride taken in who sloughs more skin- while the results are immediately unsettling from an aesthetic perspective, the skin is left smoother than you can image. More rinsing via the taca and another round of black soap application ensues.

A dizzying series of cleansing rituals follow- every time I am certain there is nothing left to clean, Hafida pulls out another potion or brush and we start over again. Shampoo for the hair. An argan oil potion for the face. Nail brushes for our fingers and toes. On and on it goes, and always another application of black soap inbetween. Hafida urges me on- you missed a spot here, do you wish to take off your panties to do a better job, etc. The hammam is bustling- a cacophony of alternating rounds of chatter and laughter as children play in the water or use the big buckets as bath tubs, plopping down inside with a toy. There is a constant stream of women coming and going and only occasionally do you see a woman disengage from the ruckus, turn towards the wall and quietly tend to the most intimate of grooming necessities before engaging in the social circle again. Moroccan women are curvaceous and the tall/thin model ideal that we seem to chase in America is the exception, rather than the rule, in Morocco. These women seem quite secure in their figures in a way that I find incredibly refreshing…

Just when I am absolutely certain that one more round will leave me unconscious from the oppressive heat and humidity, Hafida declares that the ritual is complete and we can go. Hamdullah! We venture back into the lounge area (which is cooler than the hammams, but by no means is it cool), gather our things from the attendant and begin the process of drying and dressing. Many women are gathered in this space, chatting idly about their families, fashion, their health etc. The pace is decidedly leisurely and no one seems to be in a rush to get anywhere. Save for me. While I am drinking in the experience and enjoying the show, I am utterly convinced that unconsciousness is moments away. Hafida graciously purchased a cold, bottled water for me and I preened out the doorway, searching the streets for our driver, Hassan, and some cool night air. Luckily, I found both.

We were at the hammams for right at an hour. Just for comparison, I have my daily shower down to a petite 4 minute ritual that includes shampoo, conditioner and shaving. Hafida explains that 2-3 hours at the hammams is not unusual (and still I ask HOW?). She says that we went through all the normal steps, but apparently they’re performed more elaborately and with greater leisure when one is with a large group of friends and not paranoid about extreme heat. The women will return in just a few days, to do it all again. And it’s easy to see why when on considers the results- I am certain that I have never been so soft or smelled so clean. Long live hammams!

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