The interview in Hlima’s home
During our visit to Hlima’s picturesque home, we are welcomed with warmth and kindness, served with home-made butter, olive oil, fresh flatbread and thyme tea, a testament to the deep-rooted hospitality of her community. With an impressive 47 years dedicated to the art of weaving, Hlima honors local traditions not only in her craft but also in her warm hospitality.
Though being in the spotlight is far from her comfort zone, after a little contemplation, Hlima graciously engaged with us to record the interview. Initially, she appeared somewhat embarrassed and surprised, unable to fully grasp why we found her narrative and her connection to weaving so compelling. Naturally reserved and soft-spoken, she gradually began to share more about herself as the conversation unfolded, revealing the layers of her story and the heartbreaking fate that shapes both her life and her weaving.
A life lead in love and dedication
We sit down at her house with a strange sense of absence, and it is only after a while that the reason becomes clear: the house is unusually quiet. This is almost unheard of in other households in the village, where three or four generations live together, and there are always children making noise in the background.
It soon turns out that Hlima has had ten children—seven sons and three daughters—but many of them never reached adulthood. Those who did are married and have moved to larger cities like Rabat, leaving her home an empty space filled with family memories. “They are so far away, and it fills my heart with sadness,” she admits.
Caring is at the heart of Hlima's life. “Several of my children suffer from chronic illnesses, and I try to manage their treatment,” she explains. “My husband and I live alone now, and my youngest son has moved to the other side of our house since his condition worsened.”
As our conversation unfolds, Hlima opens up about the great challenges she faces. “My smallest son has been struggling with a neurological disease for over twenty years, draining our financial resources. His condition often leads him to the hospital, which he keeps escaping. Most recently, it took us days to find him and take him back to the hospital in Salé. This is very hard, a constant challenge for us."
This condition places enormous emotional and financial burdens on her and her husband. “We spend the money we earn from weaving and farming on household necessities and medicines. All our income goes on these things; we don’t save anything,” she explains, highlighting the reality for many weavers and their families. Yet, her spirit remains unbroken. “Life is difficult, but I want to be strong for my family,” she asserts, embodying the essence of resilience.
Hlima’s weaving journey
“I learned to weave after I got married at a very young age,” Hlima shares, blinking timidly. “The women of the village taught me. I would watch them closely, memorize their steps, and gradually I found my own rhythm.”
As we sit beside her loom, Hlima reflects on the early days of her weaving journey. “I can’t recall the exact date I made my first carpet, but it was around the time my eldest son was born. He is now 47; he was born on the anniversary of the Green March, and I made my first rug shortly after” she shares, nostalgia lacing her voice.
Note: The Green March in 1975 was a significant event in Morocco's struggle for Western Sahara. During this event, more than 300,000 unarmed Moroccan civilians marched into Western Sahara, asserting Morocco's claim to the territory. The Green March contributed to Spain's renunciation of its colonial rule, leading to Morocco's eventual control of the territory, whose ownership remains contested.
At around 60 years old, Hlima speaks candidly about her age and origins. “I was a young girl when I got registered, so they gave an estimate of my birthdate. It's all a bit unclear,” she chuckles softly, with modesty in her words.
Crafting rugs with a purpose
At home, in the clean room, Hlima is working on a lovely pink flatwoven Hanbel. She has mastered flatweaving alongside the more commonly used hand-knotting technique in her village. She is one of the few people in her village who often makes Hanbels, using only a few of well-matching colour shades and geometric patterns.
For Hlima, weaving is magic, and she takes great care to ensure that her rugs bring good luck to their future owners. She showcases deep respect for tradition and spirituality tied to her craft. Before she begins weaving a new project, she takes special precautions. Setting up the loom, Hlima uses bones to tap out the wooden elements to keep the evil eye and malicious spirits from seeing the rug and harming its owner.
Her weaving tools hold stories of their own; her beloved hammer comb was a treasured gift from the Jewish neighbouring family to her mother some sixty years ago, before they left to Israel. "I have used this comb since I started weaving, I treasure it." - she smiles as she shows off the richly crafted metal tool.
She takes joy in her craft and the connections it fosters. “Weaving is a means to connect with the community and keeps our culture alive,” she says, explaining that the village weaving collective is a platform for the local women to meet, work and connect. “I have been weaving my whole life, and through it, I connect with my ancestors and my community. Also, weaving helps me get through the hardships of life.” she concludes, as a testimony to the enduring power of tradition.