Aïta mon amour at Jazzablanca 2025 : «Moroccans are great partygoers!» [Interview]

Ya Biladi

07-07-2025

A jazz festival open to a wide range of musical styles, Jazzablanca made a fitting choice by including «Aïta mon amour» in the lineup of its 18th edition, held from July 3 to 12, 2025. The duo behind the project, versatile artists Widad Mjama and Khalil EPI, refuse to recognize boundaries in music. By paying tribute to the ancestral heritage of aïta, they have crafted impressive contemporary compositions rooted in this unique Moroccan art form, now featured on their album Abda.
«Aïta mon amour» offers a sonically rich experience, blending electro with centuries-old traditional sounds in perfect harmony. This fascinating fusion not only evokes emotion and poetic nostalgia, but also gets audiences moving, body and soul.
Once a pioneering figure in Moroccan rap, Widad Mjama teams up here with Tunisian musician and producer Khalil EPI in an eclectic and successful partnership, which she discussed with Yabiladi.
In 2022, you told our editorial team that the project closest to your heart was called Aïta mon amour. How have things been since?
We've tried to nurture this project with care and commitment, something you truly have to believe in. Today, we see the enthusiasm it's generating, both in Morocco and abroad. That response reassures us about the artistic direction we chose. It's incredibly rewarding because, in the end, the work always pays off, as long as you keep going.
You've played several shows in Morocco and internationally since then. But your first real tour promoting Abda happened last June. What kind of feedback have you received from Moroccan audiences?
The response has been overwhelmingly positive, especially since we performed in cities that are often left out of the usual concert circuits. Each time, we were pleasantly surprised to find that we already had an audience there, people who knew us. One thing that truly fascinated me was discovering just how much Moroccans love to celebrate. Everyone loves aïta!
This tour, organized with the French Institute of Morocco, was amazing, whether in Tangier, Tetouan, Fez, Meknes, El Jadida, Kenitra, Agadir, or Essaouira. We had a warm audience in each of those cities, and it makes us want to return, to meet new fans in other regions and share our music in places we don't often get to visit.
Some believe aïta should be preserved in its original form, untouched by modern influences. Is that the best way to safeguard this largely oral cultural heritage in Morocco?
There's absolutely nothing wrong with preserving traditional heritage and presenting it as it is. But I don't see a problem with evolving aïta either, especially since those who perform it traditionally are still the majority. These artists know the rules and codes. They reproduce and pass them on.
Orality has kept this transmission alive, even though it naturally introduces change over time. Across the centuries, some things remain while others fade. Aïta has survived precisely because it has evolved. Change ensures continuity.
In the context of the Aïta mon amour project, I've met with chioukh and connoisseurs of this popular art form. We've learned a lot from them. And here's something I want to emphasize: when I first started exploring this music, I focused on the chikhates, but I also met musicians, generous and open-minded, who shared their knowledge with us. They come from the aïta tradition, but they embraced our creative vision with great openness.
You were the first female rapper to perform on stage in Morocco. Today, you're a pioneer in the electro-aïta genre. Have you always aimed to be on the cutting edge, or did this project emerge from a more organic journey?
I think it would be a bit pretentious to say I've always wanted to be at the forefront. That's not the case at all. I don't think anyone wakes up one day thinking, «I want to be the first to do this». In my view, no one is ever truly the first to do anything.
A good friend of mine who runs a theater company often says, «We didn't invent anything, let's stop pretending otherwise». In other words, I experience Aïta mon amour more as a personal and artistic journey. It probably also has something to do with a certain maturity, which ties together all the themes we've touched on.
In many ways, this project feels like a full-circle moment. Back in high school, I was already singing popular aïta songs. And now, here I am, on stage, mic in hand, performing them live.
Like jazz, both rap and aïta are musical forms deeply rooted in protest, artistic expressions that speak out against injustice and celebrate freedom. They began as raw, cathartic cries from within. Do you relate to that tradition, especially as a woman in a male-dominated artistic scene?
Absolutely. Misogyny and underrepresentation are still widespread across all genres. People tend to think this issue is specific to certain cultures, but it's the same in Europe and the West. We're still surprised when we arrive somewhere and find female sound engineers, whether in the artistic or production side of things.
I also believe there's a built-in protest element in everything we do right now that carries political weight. Aïta is a form of music that was historically carried by women to denounce local injustices and to resist French colonization during the Protectorate.
Even when the lyrics speak of love, they remind us that love itself is a political act—loving who we want, when we want.
Are these themes reflected in your album Abda?
Definitely, they're already present in aïta itself, which celebrates love. We often forget that most of this repertoire's lyrics were written from a female perspective, even if the authors remain unknown. Aïta speaks of love, of absence, of grief, it also speaks of war. It's a mirror of the society we live in.
Many of these old lyrics still carry contemporary meaning. They resonate with us because, unfortunately, so many things haven't changed—starting with injustice.
During your European tour, you performed at the foot of a church, and even inside a deconsecrated one. Was that a special experience for you?
It absolutely was, especially in the early stages of this project. If I remember correctly, it was our third show, and we were performing in a deconsecrated church in France. It was incredibly powerful to bring aïta into a space like that, during one of our creative residencies.
We were two North African artists stepping into that space to perform. It meant a lot to me in terms of reclaiming space, especially given the legacy of Western domination in our countries. These power dynamics still linger, and we have to reckon with that.
So yes, for me, performing aïta in a deconsecrated French church was a deeply symbolic and powerful act.
On a more personal note, is aïta a way for you to pay tribute to your ancestors?
Absolutely. It's a homage to my rural roots. My brother, sister, and I are part of the first generation born in the city—Casablanca. But the countryside has never been far from us.
Here at Jazzablanca, a jazz festival, you're clearly open to musical diversity, easily moving between global and local styles. Could you see yourself exploring jazz in the future?
Why not? I think we can try anything. I truly believe that music has no borders. I'm already an avid listener and consumer of many different genres.