Buried Treasure in Spain

The Culture of the Moorish Cistern and its Creators’ Contributions to Sustainability on the Iberian Peninsula, a Brief Ethnography

Aeon Bailey | April 21, 2022

A Night in Granada

His hair flung droplets of sweat when he spun around, the emotion in his face swelling to the quickening tempo of the music. He stomped his wooden shoes into the stage, and for a moment I thought he might fall through. The dancer caught notice of me in the front row and stared into my eyes as if my gaze was keeping his balance, the red lights of the stage flourishing around him. His feet moved seemingly independently of the rest of his body, and I wondered how many years it had taken him to develop such muscle control. 

His dance partner was equally striking: cheekbones like box-cutters, hair in a perfect bun, a long, black dress that squeezed her like an old friend. She knew exactly where to step and when without ever breaking eye contact from her counterpart. Though I could hear it, I could not see the movement of her feet; the dress concealed them, and when she lifted it to show the audience how expertly they moved, everyone was floored.

The singer wailed what sounded like Arabic (but what I recognized as Spanish and later learned was Andalusian, specifically) to the guitarist’s classical song. The audience held its breath. It was colorful. It was moving. It was flamenco.

Home Away From Home

I was attending the show with my class during our study abroad program’s excursion to the Andalucia region of Spain, and we had stopped in the city of Granada to take in the culture. I chose to study abroad for my final semester as a Communication student at the College of Charleston in order to make the most of my Spanish minor. I was living in a small town in the rural region of Extremadura called Trujillo with a married couple and their three teenage daughters. Our home was in a small apartment in the Guardia Civil, a little campus where national police officers work and live. For school, I would hike 20 minutes uphill to La Coria, a retired 15th century convent that housed my group’s classroom. The twelve of us students would enjoy the sounds of cowbells from the open window during our lessons, and afterwards, the school served coffee. It was truly a magical time. 

Less magical was my online class not affiliated with the study abroad program. I liked my professor and classmates, and even the content for that matter. However, my advanced-stage senioritis precluded me from emotionally embracing the course's central requirement: a semester-long cultural study culminating in a 20-page essay. This was the second part of a year-long course that had been building to the project, and though I was well aware of what was to come, I still had literal nightmares about the task. I needed a passing grade to graduate, or I would have to take the whole year over again. Already being in my fifth year of college due to transferring schools during the COVID-19 pandemic, I knew I needed to graduate in the spring, or I never would. I half heartedly pitched something or other about the culture of hostels in rural Spain before later switching topics and deciding to write about the Moorish Cistern of Caceres, or “aljibe” in Spanish.

My interest in the aljibe began outside of an academic context. I was searching for attractions near the city for my own recreational purposes during my time abroad. When I learned about the aljibe, I was determined to make it the focal point of the required research project. I felt as though its centuries of contributions to the community would make for a great study in sustainability, which we will soon define. I also felt as though it would be advantageous to write about a location that I had the unique opportunity to observe firsthand. As Robert Hillenbrand (2003) writes for Architectural History:

...no matter how many excellent books on Islamic architecture have been published in the West, many of them might just as well have been published on Mars as far as those historians of the subject who live in the Muslim World are concerned. Such scholars can work only with the materials available to them; and those materials do not get them very far.  

I wanted to create an academic experience for myself while immersed in the ancient Islamic world. I was also struck by the unique ingenuity of the Moorish people. It is important also to take a moment to demystify the term “Moor,” which has been used loosely and broadly throughout time. According to National Geographic (Blakemore, 2019):

If the term “Moor” seems familiar but confusing, there’s a reason: Though the term can be found throughout literature, art, and history books, it does not actually describe a specific ethnicity or race. Instead, the concept of Moors has been used to describe alternatively the reign of Muslims in Spain, Europeans of African descent, and others for centuries. 

My definition of “Moors” refers exclusively to North African Muslim people, and the paper will include a history of the group in Spain. Additionally, the dangers of homogeny are worth a longer look, so I decided it would be appropriate to study the sociology of Catholic dominance and its impact on minority groups, including Moorish people.

It was during my study abroad group’s excursion to Granada that I began to draw connections to the topic. Much like the palaces in the Alhambra of Granada and the candy cane arches at the Mezquita in Cordoba, Flamenco is, in a way, an expression of the perseverance of the Arabic people on the Iberian Peninsula. It is suspected that the unique style of music and dance was developed during the exodus of Moorish people (among others) from Spain in the 15th Century, when minority cultural groups were made to either convert to Christianity or flee, a period known as “Reconquista.” Flamenco is but one of many modern Spanish traditions with Arabic roots, and it demonstrates its people’s pain and passion. In the same vein, architecture is a symbol of their perseverance. Indeed, according to the Journal of Black Studies, “The Moor reality was critical in Spanish history for seven centuries. It remains a key piece in the understanding of the Black influence in the Iberian Peninsula” (Toasije, 2009). And thus, we turn our attention to one such means of influence—one that is hidden underground. 

Introduction: Into The Cistern

Diamonds. Petroleum. Truffles. Some of the world’s most valuable riches lie beneath the surface of the Earth. Such is the case with the Moorish Cistern of Caceres, located under the Museum of Caceres in the Extremadura region of Spain.

The cistern is roughly 45 by 32 feet and made from materials that its architects borrowed from ancient Roman structures (Morato, 2019). It supplied water to the surrounding community and is one of the largest tanks of its kind in existence today. Despite its famed size, the darkness crowds the space. When you first step inside – under the narrow arched doorway and down the steep, stone stairs – you are struck by just how cramped your path is. Twelve pale arches supported by 16 Roman columns rise from the black water and force their way upward toward the thick, marble ceiling. It is waterproofed by mortar so that it may safely contain the famously erosive element. You are separated from the cavern by a small, metal rail as you make your way down the thin walkway. It stops midway through the cistern. 

The voices of those visiting alongside you float out over the dark water and echo eerily throughout the tank. You wish you could travel as far into the alijbe as your voice. You can’t.

You want to take your time. Perhaps if you look hard enough into the darkness, you will be able to make out details in the furthest corners of the cistern. However, the crowd of people behind you is eager to get through, and the line of folks in front takes notice. It is your cohort’s time to leave. After only a fleeting glance, you must return up the stairs and back through the museum so that other tour groups, families and students can get through.

These were my initial impressions from field notes taken during my first visit. It was one of many that would eventually result in a total of 30 hours over two-and-a-half months spent collecting information at the site. Although I was only beginning to become familiar with the space, I knew the history of the structure almost by heart.

A fortress once loomed over the vast aljibe, and its Islamic architects created arches in the water tank to ensure structural integrity beneath the citadel. These architectural features are why the cistern is still intact today (Figure 2). The citadel was constructed during the Muslim Almohad dynasty, which enjoyed power in Spain from A.D. 1130 to 1269 (britannica.com, n.d.). It was especially useful in times of conflict, when water could be supplied to the military as well as civilians in the surrounding area. Openings in the cistern still allow for rainwater to enter, and it could hypothetically fill to ultimately contain 815 gallons (calculated by using the area of the aljibe to find out cubic feet, which can then be converted). It was so effective at capturing and distributing water that during the aforementioned period of Reconquista in the 15th century – when the Spanish Catholic monarchs Ferdinand and Isabella unified and homogenized the various kingdoms on the peninsula – the fortress was destroyed in a show of Christian dominance, but the cistern was kept due to its undeniable value. The Christians built the Palacio de Las Veletas in place of the Muslim citadel, and people in the city could enter through a courtyard in the back in order to access the water supply (Morato, 2019). In fact, the aljibe was even functional through the 19th century, proving its merit as a sustainable water source (Viajar por Extremadura, n.d.). 

Abstract

I will be examining sustainability (defined below) and introducing ethnography in the first major sections of the research project, followed by a description and analysis of the culture of the site today. This will lead into an examination of attitudes toward Arabic (and specifically North African Islamic, or Moorish) people throughout Spanish history, including the Extremadura region where our study takes place. Finally, we will conclude our journey with a cultural analysis that synthesizes all aspects discussed. Before we embark on this process, however, we must define sustainability.

Sustainability Through the Ages

I am designating the word “sustainable” to mean that which has environmental, economic, and social longevity. The aljibe’s centuries-long existence as a resource for its community is just one of three ways in which we may learn about sustainability from the Moorish Cistern of Caceres. Not only is it a testament to the possibility of environmental sustainability via its unceasing ability to distribute clean water, but it is also an economic and social site of sustainability as well. The aljibe drives traffic through the Museum of Caceres, which serves as the cistern’s only current access point. Thus, it generates revenue for the community. Additionally, having been built by Islamic architects, it is a site of great religious and historical importance. The city in which it is located is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, meaning it is protected by the United Nations. By establishing World Heritage Sites, the UN, “...​​seeks to encourage the identification, protection and preservation of cultural and natural heritage around the world considered to be of outstanding value to humanity” (unesco.org, n.d.). The cistern is one of many examples in Caceres of ancient architecture that is of such outstanding value to humanity. 

By using the three-tiered definition of sustainability, it is clear that the aljibe’s existence is sustainable in every sense of the word. Thus, it is the perfect subject for ethnography, which centers around society’s habits.

Understanding Ethnography

According to an illustrated guide on conducting ethnography, “Ethnography is about culture. We use this method to learn about the systems of beliefs and values, as well as generally held assumptions about the way life goes, that are shared by a group of people” (Galman, 2019). I am not only examining the sustainability of the aljibe but also the way it functions in the lives of those who pass through it. In order to understand this, I spent time note-taking, photographing and interviewing at the site.

Ethnography is the perfect medium for my project as it deals with the very elements of culture in which I am interested. With ethnography, I am required to develop a narrative surrounding my extended time spent in a place, drawing conclusions about my subject’s broader, societal relevance. And so, I set out with great confidence to begin the process of developing such an ethnography, feeling that my subject was perfect. Nothing could go wrong.

Getting to Work

The first problem that I encountered was that nobody seemed to want to speak with me as an informant, likely because my Spanish sounds American and, well, bad. I approached several museum workers who told me they could not help, as well as a few tourists, who either politely declined or simply could not understand me. To be fair, it is hard to convey even in my native tongue what exactly it is that I’m doing in a way that sounds appealing and convenient to new people. 

I had my first stroke of luck during my second visit when I asked a new guard I hadn’t seen before if she could answer some questions. She pointed me in the direction of another guard who she said would be better equipped to help. He was stationed downstairs in the final room of the museum before the aljibe. I had brought a friend with me this time (one with more advanced Spanish ability), and the two of us paraded down the steps with all of the enthusiasm in the world. That’s where we met “Luis.” He was a graying man with an awkward smile, and I was amused to find that – despite being a museum guard with robust knowledge of the facilities – his interest in his work was minimal. When I asked him (in Spanish, of course) what the aljibe meant to him, he told me that he didn’t really think about it that much. Being there was just a job.

“How long have you been living in Caceres?” I asked, looking to get to know him a little better in order to fill out my story.

“Ten years,” he replied dryly.

I asked about his first impressions of the aljibe.

“I found it very surprising to find such a thing inside the old town,” he said, perhaps alluding to the structure’s size. “I think there are so many people who are interested,” he continued. 

I agree that many people at the site seem to find the aljibe interesting, but Luis didn’t appear to be one of them. 

A Brief History of the Moorish People in Spain

Even though Luis couldn’t help me, the internet could. As a student enrolled in Spring Topics in Hispanic Cultures, I had a literal front row seat all semester to an entire course centered around the history of Spain, from pre-Roman times to the modern day. I supplemented my Spanish notes with sources found online in order to compile a timeline of the Moors on the Iberian Peninsula. 

According to National Geographic, General Tariq ibn-Ziyad arrived on the peninsula with a group of Muslim Berber forces – or indigenous North Africans, such as those from present-day Morocco, Tunisia, Algeria and Libya – and conquered the area in A.D. 711 (Blakemore, 2019). They named the territory al-Andalus, and it soon became a cultural hub. The Moors established cities including “...Sevilla, Córdoba, Granada and Cádiz [which were recognized] throughout Europe and North Africa as centers of great learning, renowned for magnificent art and architecture, and homes to eminent scientists and philosophers” (Lowry and Watson, n.d.). Their rule lasted for almost 800 years until they succumbed to Christian dominance during Reconquista, Granada being the final Moorish city to fall to Ferdinand and Isabella. 

My history professor, to whom I will be referring as Professor Muñoz, relayed most of this information to us during class. However, I wanted to know more. Specifically, I needed a better understanding of the Moorish Cistern of Caceres.

Painting a Portrait of the Aljibe

Professor Muñoz was so enthusiastic about the project that he spent time at the beginning of our lecture explaining the aljibe’s significance to the entire class. When I sat down with him after the lesson had concluded, he was decidedly more invested than my previous interview subject. He even sent me an email following up about how excited he was for the project to come together. This restored my confidence.

“Do you mind if I record?” I began.

“Yes, you may record.”

I asked Professor Muñoz how long he had lived in Caceres, to which he replied about 34 years. He doesn’t remember exactly the first time he visited the museum, but he knows he was a young boy. The last time he visited was before the COVID-19 pandemic in 2018.

“I think it has an old-fashioned structure, but it is a museum that is very well-oriented,” he tells me. “You have an archeology museum, but it is also a very important ethnography museum.”

I asked him why he thought the aljibe underneath was still standing. In short, he thinks it is because of its function as a military necessity.

“On the one hand, it always had a use,” he began, “but it existed for military needs.” 

He then offered a piece of insight of which I was not previously aware – the cistern was originally a mosque but was then converted into a water tank.

“What they do is turn it into a cistern, because Cáceres [had become] a military stronghold,” he explained.

Later, as we know, the aboveground structures were destroyed during Reconquista, as Professor Muñoz put it, “... to convert souls.”

I wondered if the cistern could hypothetically be used to distribute water in an emergency today, and he theorized, “...it could be used today… I can see, as something of the past, something that many centuries ago, is still in force.” He likened it to the Roman bridges of Extremadura, some of which are still in use by pedestrians.

Finally, I asked my professor what the significance of the aljibe is to the local community.

“It is a major symbol,” he explained fondly.

I was excited to have this insight from a professor of history and reflected on his words during my subsequent fieldwork.

The process of fieldworking mirrored my studies in Spanish. I sat in the museum just as I did in the classroom and experienced both the joys and tedium of the process of familiarization. Of course, we know there is no space in the cistern itself where note-taking could take place (at least, not in a way that would be respectful to the other visitors, as my prolonged presence in the aljibe would impede traffic). So, much of my observations actually concerned the larger museum itself.

The museum inhabits what was formerly the Palacio de Las Veletas, which, as a reminder, was a Christian palace that took the place of the Muslim fortress over the aljibe during Reconquista. Today, it blends in with the other gorgeous Christian structures that constitute the city of Caceres, but is distinguished by a simple sign that reads “Museo.” The striking red and gold flag of Spain and the elegant green, white and black flag of the Extremadura region flutter over the lettering in the wind. There is the distinct sound of pigeons flapping and cooing as the birds make their homes in the ancient bricks.

The first room is dark and small, and a woman behind a glass partition asks for identification (in my case, a passport). I arrived on Sunday for my first several visits because I read that admission would be free, but later discovered that as a student I could enter without paying no matter the day. I typically got there first thing in the morning and was among a small group of initial visitors, and I was thus able to observe how foot traffic increased over time. There is typically a small amount of visitors in the morning, followed by a great influx before lunch. This influx precedes another lull when people leave for food, and afterward, the museum is at its busiest before closing. The hours vary by day (Figure 3).

The first five rooms fall along a square path on the first floor and educate visitors on early Spanish archaeology, from cave paintings to combat tactics. Room 4 sometimes hosts special exhibits, like the Museo del Prados “Touching the Prado” exhibit, which presented famous paintings from the Prado with special textures added so that the visually impaired could touch the replications of the art to experience the work more clearly.

The next series of rooms, numbered 9 to 14 and located upstairs, constitute the ethnography section. According to the museum guide (Figure 4), “...the section explains different processes and shows various objects which inform us about the models of cultural development in the province of Cáceres.”

The ethnography section then leads visitors down the stairs and into another archaeology section, and finally, to the cistern. Then, the museum stretches outside into a courtyard, at which point guests may enter an annex that houses the fine arts section. The collection features work from Spanish artists and some others (such as Portuguese sculptor Rogerio Timoteo, whose blend of geometric and organic sculpture was on display throughout the museum during my final visit). In every room, there is a conspicuous lack of focus on the Moorish people, who are responsible for the construction of the museum’s most famous attraction.

Of course, I was there to take field notes on the aljibe specifically, and so I took advantage of a set of benches in the foyer above it where people would pass through to enter. This is where I settled in with my notes app, paying attention to how others utilized the space (Figure 5).

As an observer, I paid witness to a number of fun little scenes that others did not even realize were playing. A group passed through with children, all of whom looked under the age of seven and seemed too young to be able to appreciate the space; the adults carried them down to the aljibe on their own mission to witness the architecture. A group of two middle-aged women and one older man passed through and paused briefly, seemingly pretending to appreciate the room while knowing they were really only there for the cistern. The people who lingered the longest were waiting for their companions, who were merely using the bathroom (located off of the foyer) before making their own descent.

My greatest takeaway was the confirmation of my previous suspicion: that the aljibe is a site of great cultural importance, and that it drives traffic through the museum. It was interesting to see people hurry through on a mission to catch a glimpse of something that has survived far longer than any of its visitors ever would. 

My next takeaway was that the vast majority of people I saw were white. I was glad to see groups of people committing time to learning about a culture apart from their own, but I wondered how much each of us had personally contributed to white hegemony on the peninsula.

Attitudes Toward Black and Arabic People in Present-Day Spain

Ever since embarking on this journey, I have kept my eyes peeled for evidence of the legacy of Moorish people in Spain. Some signs are obvious, like Trujillo’s Alcazaba castle, a military fortress in the town in which I am staying. Others are subtle, like the “Al-” prefix in front of certain Spanish words. Alcova. Algebra. Alcohol. I often pass by a restaurant called “Al-Andalus Bar” while doing fieldwork in Caceres, and sometimes my friends and I enjoy a wine called Arabe, the bottle adorned with a golden, decorative Muslim arch. Most of these clues, however, are smothered by the vast pervasiveness of Catholicism that dominates the country. According to statista.com, there were approximately 23,000 parishes in Spain in 2019. Compare that with this figure from the same site: only about 1,760 mosques existed in the country as of 2021 (Romero, 2021). Anthropological Quarterly reports that today, “Muslim immigrants are discursively constructed as outsiders, as incapable of living up to a secular, human ideal which the [southern] region would like to project itself on European and global stages” (Rogozen-Soltar, 2007). 

Practitioners of Islam are not the only people who have been erased. Spain has a conformity problem: the country is incredibly homogenized. 

As we know, the Moors were African Muslims, their African heritage constituting a major tenant of their culture and identity. According to the Yale Historical Review’s reporting on the most recently available data, only about 2% of the population in Spain today is Black. Chasia Jeffries (2021) writes:

Despite a prevalent role in the history of Spain, the presence of Black people in Spain  today is sparse, and discussion of their race and ethnicity is usually in the context of  immigration. This is the result of a deliberate reconstruction of Spanish narratives and history, one that erased Black bodies in an anti-Black push toward the Westernization of the Iberian Peninsula.

Spain’s racism is terrifying. I was exposed to it for the first time during Carnaval, a celebration coinciding with Mardi Gras that pops up in towns all over Spain. The festivities include dancing, drinking, and running with the bulls. Costumes are highly encouraged.

I showed up to Trujillo’s main plaza dressed as a viking, ready to risk it all in a sprint up the narrow streets ahead of a herd of horned cattle. I was brimming with anxious energy, scared and excited to check an item off of my bucket list—until something distracted me from my nerves. A man dressed in a long white gown and a red checkered head-covering strode through the plaza. He was a white Spaniard dressed as an Arabic caricature. Slowly, I noticed other offensive costumes. Native Americans. Romani people. And, when my friends finally joined me, they reported sightings of Blackface. 

African Muslims are responsible great Spanish culture and accomplishment, so I have to wonder, how did Arabic and Black people become such novelties to white Spaniards? According to Anthropological Quarterly, the answer is simple (Rogozen-Soltar, 2007):

Andalusia’s Arab and Muslim history is viewed as the region’s greatest asset and its greatest liability, which means that Muslim and Arab identities must be constantly displayed, but in ways that are highly controlled… dominant discourses of regional identity portray Muslim immigrants as exterior to the nation due to their perceived failure to adopt secular humanist norms.

It is common in Spain for minorities to be celebrated on the surface for their ability to bring in tourism via their contributions to the culture, but as we have observed, the dominant attitude is that those who are Arabic, Black or otherwise Not White are unequal to the rest of the white Spanish population. No wonder the percentages of these demographics are so small—these people are continuously pushed away. It is the primary thought that lingers with me each time I step into the aljibe.

Conclusion

The Moorish Cistern of Caceres holds more than just water. Walking the small path within, one gets a sense of its creators’ former imminence, and slowly, images of the history of the Moors in Spain are conjured. From Flamenco to the invention of chess, Arabic influence in Spain has been a gift to the peninsula. And, Moorish architects were pioneers in sustainability: the Moorish Cistern of Caceres has contributed economically, environmentally, and socially to its community for centuries. Specifically, it functions in the modern day as a way to generate revenue for the Museum of Caceres, located above the aljibe. It could also be used as a potential water source in the modern day, making it an environmental asset. Finally, it serves as a social reminder of the importance of diversity on the peninsula, as it would not have been possible without the Moors, whose descendents are marginalized in Spanish society today. 

The museum over the aljibe hosts a valuable collection of archaeological and ethnographic exhibits, but there is a noticeable lack of emphasis on the Moorish people. Of course, there is the odd sign telling of their role in the construction of the aljibe, but the overwhelming majority of displays are of white, Christian culture. Ironically, the fine arts section houses a plethora of Catholic works, and when I asked a guard who crafted the room in which we stood, she told me it was likely Jewish and/or Islamic builders. It perfectly encapsulated Spain’s relationship with groups who are modern day minorities (Figure 6). 

The aljibe is a historical marvel, and it is known internationally for its antiquity and size. My final conclusion is that the Moors should be as respected as their work, but they unfortunately are not. Today, their descendents are erased, belittled and appropriated. We can rectify the situation by continuing to study Moorish contributions to society, especially in the vein of sustainability. By reading, writing, and learning, we honor them. I hope to have done just that during my time at the Moorish Cistern of Caceres. 

Annotated Bibliography

Almohads: Berber confederation (n.d.). In britannica.com.

Encyclopedia Britannica is a consistently reliable resource, and it helped me to distinguish between the terms “Moor” and “Berber.” Additionally, it provided the histories of the groups, which were useful for constructing a narrative of the Moors in Spain. 

Blakemore, E. (2019, December 12). Who were the Moors?. In nationalgeographic.com.

National Geographic provides quality journalism on a variety of topics. I found this piece of historical reporting to be perfectly suited to my needs, especially when breaking down what exactly the term “Moor” means. I felt it was important to be intentional with my words and terminology, and “Who were the Moors?” assisted in this mission. 

El aljibe del Palacio de las Veletas en Cáceres (n.d.). In viajarporextremadura.com.

This article appears on a website that promotes tourism in the Extremadura region of Spain. I found it appropriate for my purposes as my story centers around the culture of an attraction in Extremadura; specifically, it dissects the aljibe, which is the focus of this article. The website itself appears a bit dated, as seems to be the trend with most online sources pertaining to the topic. However, the information presented is useful. 

Galman, S. C. (2018). Shane, the lone ethnographer: a beginner's guide to ethnography (2nd ed.). Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield.

This illustrated guide to conducting ethnography tells the story of a graduate student embarking on her own journey in ethnography. Told through an Old West motif, the graphic novel guides the reader through the processes of qualitative research. It is especially useful when it comes to tips for narrative writing.

Hillenbrand, R. (2003). Studying Islamic architecture: Challenges and perspectives. Architectural History, 46, 1-18. doi:https://doi.org/10.2307/1568797

I found Hillenbrand’s work to be useful as a scholarly resource, without which my own work would have been incomplete. The article deals with limitations and bias when researching Islamic architecture. I made sure to include a direct quote from this article about the subject in order to illuminate my own advantage in getting to witness the architecture firsthand (as many researchers are limited in their lack of physical access to the sites they study).

Jeffries, C. (2021, July). La Oscuridad: Revealing the history of Blackness in Spain and its impact on modern-day Spaniards and Black migrants. In yalehistoricalreview.org.

This article supports one of my central observations: that Black people face discrimination and disrespect in modern Spain. Jeffries provides a scholarly, in-depth look at the issue, including ideas that did not fit into my own work but that are definitely worth a read. In particular, I was struck by the author’s premise that “benevolent” white people who would like to help improve the situation still have blindnesses and biases that contribute to discrimination. This is not only the case in Spain but in my home country of the United States as well, and I think many would benefit from absorbing Jeffries’ work.

Lowry, R. L., & Watson, F. F. (n.d.). Spain's Moorish history: the Moors in Andalucía - 8th to 15th centuries. In andalucia.com.

This constitutes yet another resource that helped me build my history of the Moors. I wanted to consider multiple works while building my narrative, as any single source alone would make for an incomplete retrospective—whereas the synthesis of many creates a blend of unique and necessary details. This article in particular focuses on Moorish people in the Andalucia region of Spain, which is in the southernmost part of the country. 

Morato, L. (2019, January 7). Moorish Cistern of Cáceres. In Atlas Obscura.

Atlas Obscura is an online travel magazine that highlights various sightseeing destinations. One such destination is the Moorish Cistern of Caceres, which a writer describes in vivid detail. I used this to mine a few details about the aljibe. The facts presented are in alignment with what I know about Arabic history in Spain in general (from my study abroad program). 

Rogozen-Soltar, M. (2007). Al-Andalus in Andalusia: Negotiating Moorish history and regional identity in southern Spain. Anthropological Quarterly, 80(3), 863-886.

This is another scholarly article that specifically deals with the Moors in southern Spain, a region adjacent to the one in which the Museo de Caceres is located. Rogozen-Soltar writes for Anthropological Quarterly about Christian dominance in Spain, as well as Islamophobia. I found this to be a helpful resource as most scholarly sources I encountered dealt with the racial side of Spanish attitudes toward Moorish descendents, whereas this emphasizes the religious. 

Romero, T. (2021, October 7). Parishes and monasteries of the Catholic Church in Spain in 2019. In statista.com.

I was able to utilize Statista to illustrate Christian dominance through the comparison of Christian parishes to Muslim mosques. Statista is a reliable source that is frequently cited by major news publications.

Romero, T. (2021, October 14). Non-Catholic places of worship in Spain by religious denomination 2021. In statista.com.

Similarly to the previously listed source, I was able to utilize this to compare Christian parishes to Muslim mosques. I wanted to get both statistics from the same site in order to make a fair comparison.

Toasije, A. (2009, January). The Africanity of Spain: Identity and problematization. Journal of Black Studies, 39(3), 348-355.

This scholarly resource provided me with more insight into the Africanity of Spain. I utilized this article to assert a pattern of persecution against Black people in Spain, as well as write about the history of the Moors.

​​Visitar el Museo (n.d.). In museodecaceres.juntaex.es.

This web page provides information for museum visits. I used this to plan trips to the museum, and I included a screenshot of the museum’s schedule in the final paper. The site was useful in double-checking basic facts about my site. 

World Heritage (n.d.). In UNESCO World Heritage Convention. Retrieved from whc.unesco.org/en/about.

Founded by the United Nations, UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization) preserves sites of historical importance around the world by designating them as World Heritage sites. My research takes place in Caceres, Spain, which is on the list. I found this particularly interesting and relevant, and so I used the website to explain why the World Heritage designation is valuable.