Think Forward.

To be a good Father ! 2190

Reogine, 10 mon.
1 min read.
To be a good Father! That's the biggest achievement, that I'll ever achieve in life. I dream of that moment of holding my child to my chest and starting to recite the Adhan. in his or her little soft ear. Whispering as if exporting a part of my soul into it. But to be a good father is difficult. I see it as going through stages to achieve a well-respected position, you should start by being a good servant to Allah. then you start to learn how to be a good son, After that if you are blessed enough you'll learn to be a good brother and a good relative that was an easy one for me. Passing to be a good part of the population, a good man. For some, this one had no mercy and they got trampled by it. I know a lot who couldn't survive this stage. What an agony to see yourself helping in this destruction whether you meant it or not. I always feel sorry for those whom I made life harder. Yet it's better than feeling sorry about myself. this stage gets you ready to be a good husband. You make all the effort. that you had learned to put in everyone and devote it to one person. whether he or she deserves it or not but there's no way for you to know, Until you know. perhaps you would never know. these thoughts as much as they delight me, they whisper a diving fear. in my soul, fear of Allah ... the prayers that I missed the lies that. I've told, seeking pleasure. the natural pleasure always makes me laugh. Its relation with pain makes me acknowledge why some of the most pleasurable things in life are classified as Haram ...
Reogine

Reogine

In these random impressions, and with no desire to be other than random, I indifferently narrate my factless autobiography, my lifeless history. These are my Confessions, and if in them I say nothing, it’s because I have nothing to say...


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Moving away from me 212

Boucharfou, 12 h.
By leaving me you exhausted me, and it's cruel Have mercy on me my beautiful You fucked up my passion But one day you'll find your sanity You cross me carelessly Me who loves you and that's all the difference They were beautiful our lovers' kisses If you don't remember them Ask your lips They are still in fever Our bonds were so strong So much so that when our blood squirts We don't know if it's yours or mine Ask the night why these stars despite their splendor And their glow Are not worth that of your smile O moon, if you accompany me in my loneliness ………and if one day I agonize in the meanders of space Tell the darkness that the martyr of love is dead........ and sprinkle stardust on my shroud Dr Fouad Bouchareb Inspired by Farid Al Atrache's song > https://youtu.be/57Xezl_YR6c?si=JVP_kEQZCY8rZbNF All rights reserved

No Religion in Science But Ethics in Citizenship 217

Fatima Zahra Sahli, 13 h.
I write these words with deep respect and a sense of emotion. Professor Jamal Fezza my former high school philosophy teacher and later my thesis co-supervisor is currently facing an unfair wave of criticism. And I feel the need to publicly express my support. Those who know him understand how deeply he embodies intellectual rigor, ethical integrity, and an unwavering commitment to what science is meant to be: a space for free thought, beyond identity-based boundaries. In emotionally charged moments, it’s easy to withdraw into national or personal reactions. I know this I’ve experienced it myself. Once, I was faced with a difficult decision, and I chose not to attend a scientific event, out of loyalty to my country. But that decision was mine alone. I never asked anyone else to follow suit, nor did I demand that scientific spaces be shaped to reflect my personal stance. That’s what Jamal Fezza is reminding us of today and that’s what I stand by: science should never be confused with foreign policy. Refusing to engage with researchers based on nationality is not an act of resistance it’s a step away from dialogue and intellectual integrity. This doesn’t mean turning a blind eye to injustice. It means preserving the university as a place where ideas, not identities, are confronted. I am proud to have had Professor Fezza as a teacher, and later as a mentor. But beyond the personal bond, I am above all grateful for the example he continues to set with clarity, honesty, and courage. We need voices like his, especially when they are inconvenient.
youtu.be/RsfDelvjatA

Morocco: Voices of Rebellion, From Najat Aatabou to El Grande Toto... 226

Aziz Daouda, 13 h.
3 min read.
The recent edition of Mawazine Music Festival did not go unnoticed and will be remembered. There were, of course, tens of thousands of citizens from all over Morocco and beyond enjoying the various stages, with Boutchart’s record simply making them sing along, as well as that great diva singing in playback, provoking the anger of those who cried scam. But above all, there was El Grande Toto. This great star of Moroccan and global urban music, whom many dislike, or dislike intensely. El Grande Toto packed the audience, but also sparked a large number of articles and reactions, mostly unfavorable, with only a few exceptions. The majority of these reactions were rather critical, some almost scathing. *Let me say it straight away: I am not a fan of El Grande Toto nor of his type of music. At my age, it would be an insult to my musical tastes, as I can only be soothed in my Arabic version by Doukkali, Abdelhalim, Belkhayat, Samih, Farid, Oum Kaltoum, and Abdelwahab; in my French version by Brel, Reggiani, Piaf, Barbara; and in my English version by Dylan, Clapton, BB King, James Brown, and many others.* That said, I cannot judge those who dislike him, nor those who love El Grande Toto’s musical genre—that is, all the youth who identify with this style, who resonate with his intonations and rejoice in absorbing his lyrics. It is their time and their music. This reminds me that about thirty years ago, Najat Aatabou could only be heard by accident, passing by a cassette seller’s stall in a souk or secretly in one’s car. Her music seemed annoying and her lyrics vulgar. It took a long time before she was finally accepted, and later adored. What brings me to this topic is that there is something in the artistic trajectories of Najat Aatabou and El Grande Toto that resembles a broken mirror: the shards oppose and scatter, yet, upon closer look, they reflect the same reality. That of a multiple, rebellious Morocco, torn between its traditions and its desires for modernity. A Morocco that thinks it is what it is only little or not really. What it has never truly been except in a falsely constructed imagination. Najat Aatabou is the hoarse voice of the Zemours, the one who emerged in Khémisset, carried by the winds of the Middle Atlas and the whispers of a society still constrained by honor, the gaze of others, and the strictness of conventions. In the 1980s, while the Kingdom was taking its first steps toward social openness, Najat dared to sing what so many women whispered in silence: thwarted loves, betrayal, emancipation, wounded pride, desire—all in rather raw language. Her “Hadi Kedba Bayna” (“It’s an obvious lie”) resonates like a cry, soft but firm, in popular weddings, shared taxis, and the cozy living rooms of the Moroccan diaspora in Europe. With her, chaâbi, the music of the people par excellence, becomes a vector of affirmation. Najat does not apologize for being a woman, an artist, Amazigh, a rebel. She disturbs, sometimes shocks, but she imposes herself. Her music was even used in a global advertisement. Forty years later, it is another Moroccan who shakes the walls of certainties: El Grande Toto, child of Casablanca’s suburbs, dyed hair, tattooed face and arms, and sharp tongue, imposes himself as the bard of an uninhibited Moroccan youth. With him, words snap in darija, intertwine with French and English, flirt unabashedly with taboos: drugs, money, sex, and challenge social hypocrisies. Where Najat Aatabou denounced half-words, Toto displays, claims, provokes. Certainly, the forms differ: Najat draws from the ancestral repertoire, her melodies reminiscent of village weddings and the ululations of yesteryear. Toto, on the other hand, drinks from the sources of global rap, trap, and social networks, where punchlines matter more than silences. But behind these differences, the same sap nourishes their works: the thirst to speak, whatever the cost, without feeling guilty about anything. Najat Aatabou paid a high price for breaking taboos. We still remember the harsh criticisms, the heavy judging looks, the outraged fathers. But time proved her right: she is now respected, even adored, seen as one of the great voices of popular Morocco. El Grande Toto, meanwhile, is still in the midst of the storm. It will take him a long time before he is finally tolerated and accepted. Repeated controversies, court summons, accusations of indecency… Yet, his success does not wane. The numbers speak: millions of streams on platforms, growing international influence, a Moroccan youth that recognizes itself in his anger and dreams. They sing their reality and find themselves in him, whether we like it or not. Ultimately, from the 1980s to today, across centuries, Morocco has never stopped telling its story through its most unsettling artists. There were others before: Zahra Elfassia, Fatna Bent El Houcine, and many known or unknown Chikhates, female voices of the frustrations and hopes of a silenced generation. El Grande Toto, the insolent spokesperson of an urban youth in search of recognition, space, freedom, embodies this spirit today. We must not forget there were others before him: Faddoul, Nass El Ghiwane, Ach Kayne, Rebel Moon, and Lbig, among others. There was also a tradition of rebellion and bold language in malhoun with qassidas that one would no longer dare to sing nowadays, even in the most intimate circles. Between them all, decades and universes, but also this invisible thread that connects those who dare to say out loud what others still keep silent. Perhaps that is what it means to be an artist in Morocco: to shake the established order, to hold a mirror to society, and to accept to pay the price, even if it is too high...