In Morocco, an ancient tradition of horsemanship survives the test of time.
This August, thousands gathered for the equestrian feats in Mansouria. The small town lies south of the capital Rabat. Nineteen horse troupes came from different parts of the kingdom. They celebrated a three-day event showcasing courage, skill, and tradition.
The horse-riding festival is known as Tabourida. It means “The Powder Game.” The display pays tribute to military parades performed by Arab and Berber tribes since the 15th century. Famed French artist Eugene Delacroix popularized Tabourida in the 19th century. In his painting, he called the event Fantasia, and the name stuck.
Al-Mahdy Hayzoun, now 23, has been riding in his troupe for 12 years. Though based on training for war, he says Tabourida brings together people from all walks of life.
“There is the poor and the rich, people of different backgrounds,” he says. “But once we’re all on the field, next to each other, we’re all equal, with the same goal.”
That unity is what Tabourida is all about. Each troupe, or sourba, of 10 to 30 riders is judged on their synchronicity as a group. After lining up at the top of a track, wearing ceremonial robes and with their horses dressed in elaborate bridles and brightly colored saddles, the lead rider calls out and the troupe races down the field.
After another signal, the riders brandish guns and fire a shot in unison.
Competition is fierce, but today, there is no prize. The only judge is the audience. The more synchronized the display, the louder the cheer from the crowds. It takes skill, talent, and much discipline.
Participation can be expensive and dangerous. Arabian or Berber horses can cost as much as 300,000 Dirhams ($30,000). Inexperienced riders frequently fall from their horses, and sourbas risk hitting a barrier at the end of the track if they don’t stop their horses in time.
But the sport and the culture that comes with it are part of a heritage Moroccan citizens cherish. In some cases, the leader position is passed down through families. In others, the sourba picks the most respected person to lead.
“We inherited this,” says Khalid Qarqoury, a 43-year-old public worker who leads his sourba. His father held the position before him. “Some do this for a year or two, but when you have the passion, you hold the rifle for the rest of your life.”
