Think Forward.

The Sighs of Azemmour 4808

Aziz Daouda, 1 y.
- History - Art - Realist -
3.7 min read.
As we were heading towards Walidia, just to enjoy its beautiful lagoon, oysters and fish, my daughter, my wife, and I decided to make a short stop in Azemmour. I had promised myself I woud show my daughter the city as soon as I had the chance. We are here a stone's throw from Casablanca, a handful of kilometers from El-Jadida and not far from Jorf Lasfar, a pride of the industrialization of modern Morocco. Personally, I am rather fond of this city. Few are so captivating. I cannot explain why. There, you can be at times a berber in short Jellaba, tchamir and rounded or pointed toe slippers; sometimes a Phoenician clad in white in the style of the Greeks in their time of glory; sometimes wearing the toga of a proud Roman citizen or the blue turban of a rough Berghouata. You can daydream about the Portuguese singing their triumph at the capture of the city. You hear, the sound of your steps on an aged pavement, evoking that of the Saadian army taking possession of the city walls. The noise and vociferations of the soldiers resound there again and again; but in silence. At the turn of an alley of the ancient city, you hear the distant and confused voice of Sidi Abderahman El Mejdoub, wailing his pain in front of evil, questioning the world and the universe. At the turn of a street, you are greeted by the whispering voice, barely audible, of Rabbi Abraham Moul Ness and his prayers at the rising of the sun and its setting Sidi Brahim for Muslims. Religions struggle to find boundaries here... Moreover, it is a sort of miracle that revealed to the two communities that Abraham was indeed a saint. The citizens had just installed a mill right in front of the cave where he spent his time meditating and praying. The animals that powered the mill quickly fell ill and died one after the other. It was then understood that Abraham did not want to be disturbed in his meditation. Since then, he is Rabbi Abraham for the Jews, Sidi Brahim for the Muslims, holy for both. Farther inside the city, you can see rather silent young people, looking sullen, crestfallen, who face you at the turn of a lane. Some of those who walk by you look haggard, as though they expressed weariness or disgust; perhaps even deep anger and repeated hurt. At the corner of neighbouring street, on a small shapeless square, it is the jerky sound of a loom that catches your ear. One of the last Deraz still in activity weaves silken or woolen scarves. Tourists like them but do not come often... He works, he loves his job and keeps doing it, waiting for better days to come; or at least hoping that the war in the Middle East stops. Deep down, he must wish that his Israeli friends return to reason and quickly drive out their current leaders; neurotics thirsty for blood more than other thing. He is waiting for the Moussem but does not know if the Jewish Moroccans who return annually for the pilgrimage will still be numerous. The Arts and Crafts House is silent and expectant too. It spends long spells of time waiting that a small group would pass by to finally enliven it for an hour or so. The master craftsmen who stay there seem to contemplate the passage of time. Their eyes are nostalgic for a recent past certainly idealized, and a more distant past loaded with wealth and power, forever gone. A lady of a certain age, without any discomfort, dressed in battered pajamas, is there in front of her home, sitting on an stool. The blue door of her modest house, is wide open. The lady is a bit too large for her stool. Her gaze is blank. She does not notice our silhouettes and seems not to hear our involuntarily light steps, as if not to disturb the history or stir the anger of abandoned walls, houses with walled doors, those that time has knocked down and those that passively wait for the signal of the tumbling of tired stones that no longer have anything to hold onto. Behind the heavy doors of ancient buildings - and there are still many thank God - and some houses not yet walled up or fallen into oblivion of time and humans, we can guess the presence of young girls busying themselves with embroidery. Few are those who still have a passion for this ancestral art specific to the city with its bright colours and dragons. What are dragons doing here, if not recall a past so distant that it fades into the background of history. Some say that it is a Portuguese merchant who introduced this art behind the walls of the city. At the corner of a small square, as there are many in the city, in front of a small and neglected grocery store, stand idle young men. One of them must look like Mustapha Azemmouri, also called Esteban the Moor or Estevanico. He may even carry his genes. Without Estevanico, North America would never have been what it is now. What a destiny. To leave one country and travel so far, and change the course of history on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. Walking out through one of the gates of the ancient city, one only has one thought: Azemmour is looking for a present that does not come. It is dying and dying. Maybe it is already dead. Some time ago, Karim Boukhari wrote in an article « I have visited Azemmour. A friend, from the city, warned me: Watch out, he said, it is a dead city. » Go and walk the promenade around the city walls. An esplanade that my friend Zaki Semlali has laid out with the little he had to revive this special relationship that the city has with river Oum Rebi3. Today, plastic is unfortunately more abundant than fish. Gone are the shad and the beautiful, fleshy ambrines. Some sections of the wall and houses collapse and flow towards the oued like tears of agony. The nostalgic Azemmour peeks at the Atlantic Ocean and watches, helplessly, the waves smashing in the distance. I pray the Almighty that this piece of our precious history can finally benefit from the attention of our rulers. My daughter, my wife, and I left the place sad, wounded in the depths of our souls; but the sublime voice of Sanaa Marahati singing some poems written somewhere in the city makes us hope for a better future for Azemmour.
youtu.be/T4BIRCsXQWs?si=KmRqI3mq...
Aziz Daouda

Aziz Daouda

Directeur Technique et du Développement de la Confédération Africaine d'Athlétisme. Passionné du Maroc, passionné d'Afrique. Concerné par ce qui se passe, formulant mon point de vue quand j'en ai un. Humaniste, j'essaye de l'être, humain je veux l'être. Mon histoire est intimement liée à l'athlétisme marocain et mondial. J'ai eu le privilège de participer à la gloire de mon pays .


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Growing Older: A Joyful Perspective 201

Boucharfou, 21 h.
- Society - Lifestyle - Health -
0.9 min read.
​Growing older is not a pain in the ass. No offense to the late Bernard Pivot. Growing older is hilarious. I would even go further: Growing older is exciting, it is soothing, it is marvelous, it is fantastic, and it is rather reassuring. Growing older is a boon and an unprecedented opportunity to watch your children grow up and grow old... ​Growing older is a gift from heaven and a blessing from God to enjoy your grandchildren by playing with them, having crazy fun with them, and almost becoming children with them... ​Growing older is marvelous and simply fascinating to keep seeing your childhood friends, to persist in joking with them, and to share memories and adventures experienced together... ​Growing older is an ideal opportunity to discover other cultures, to travel, and to treat yourself again and again... ​Growing older is becoming wise, it is sharing experiences, it is advising the younger and the less young... ​Growing older is helping your neighbor, it is assisting others... ​Growing older is the time to meditate, to dream, and to pray for this world that is becoming crazier and crazier... ​Growing older is expecting nothing from others but responding to the expectations of others... ​Growing older is being serene and confident in the future and never fearing what lies ahead or the bad tomorrows. Growing older is being optimistic and always seeing the glass as half full. ​Growing older is having faith and believing in the goodness of God, who alone programs all things. ​Growing older is defying age and its wrinkles and its share of weaknesses, illnesses, and crises... ​Growing older is facing life and its uncertainties... ​Growing older is waiting patiently and serenely for the sound of one's own knell (or funeral bell)... ​Dr. Fouad Bouchareb May 8, 2024 All rights reserved

The Value of Authenticity 390

Boucharfou, 2 d.
​This is our problem. 👌 ​What value does friendship have without sincerity? What value does reading have without understanding? What value does writing have without evoking emotions? What value do words have without meaning? What value does discussion have without logic? What value does a smile have without pure intentions? What value does a commitment have without loyalty? ​Too often, we make friends without being sincere, we love without being faithful, we talk a lot without acting, and we promise without keeping our word. ​Dr Fouad Bouchareb All rights reserved Agadir, November 15, 2025

Moroccan Sahara: The Irreversible Truth Confronting Denial 755

Aziz Daouda, 5 d.
Since the adoption of United Nations Security Council resolution 2927, arithmetically, broadly, and logically favorable to Morocco, Algeria seems to refuse to acknowledge the obvious. Despite the clarity of the text and the broad international consensus it generated, Algiers continues its diplomatic and media agitation, multiplying interpretations and contradictory positions. Leading this charge is Minister Ahmed Attaf, sent to the front lines. He is conducting a verbal offensive where misinformation rivals obstinacy. Every word of the resolution is dissected, twisted, and reinterpreted by Algerian agencies and their media outlets. Here, there is no fear of ridicule. It is fully embraced. Some international statements are even distorted to give them a coloring and meaning conforming to Algiers’ narrative. Staffan de Mistura, personal envoy of the UN Secretary-General, as well as Massad Boulos, have not escaped these discursive manipulations. Only Aljazeera continues the distortion and spares no words. This is not surprising: Algiers is sanctified there for well-known reasons. This now usual strategy relies on fake news and disinformation, which have become preferred tools in Algerian diplomacy when it comes to the Sahara dossier. Yet, one fact remains indisputable: Morocco is truly at home in its Sahara and asks neither permission nor validation from anyone to remain there. Fifty years after the artificial triggering of this dispute, Algeria seems to have learned no lesson and even less awareness; despite billions of dollars invested that could have benefited the Algerian people; despite successive military and diplomatic defeats, obstinacy remains the watchword here. A chronic morbidity. Since the 1991 ceasefire, the political and diplomatic momentum has irreversibly shifted in Morocco’s favor. The Kingdom has achieved a true Remontada, as Samir Bennis likes to say. The effect of propaganda and blind support from the Eastern bloc and its allies has faded. Everyone has come to reason, except a few exceptions upheld by outdated means. Morocco’s autonomy proposal, judged serious and credible by the international community, is now the sole recognized basis for a solution by the Security Council. Facing this, Algiers continues to rely on a network of marginal allies: South Africa, Iran, which have in turn expressed their dismay over Algiers' defeat, and Venezuela; all struggling to hide their diplomatic isolation. These supporters oppose a resolution which, however, places the political solution proposed by Morocco at the core of the UN process. But to no avail: U.S., French, British positions, and now Chinese and Russian ones, as well as explicit or implicit support from over 130 countries, confirm that the wind of history blows definitively in Morocco’s favor. In this context, the Kingdom displays a posture of calm firmness. His Majesty King Mohammed VI, faithful to his policy of an outstretched hand, has reaffirmed his desire for a "solution without victor or vanquished." The calm tone of his remarks confirms both his goodwill but also warns that Morocco’s patience has limits. The message is clear: the time for unilateral concessions is over; there is no alternative to the self-determination plan put forth. Foreign Minister Nasser Bourita summarized this position with a significant smile on channel 2M: "The matter is closed." This friendly smile, more than a gesture, reflects the confidence of a country sure of its rights, backed by historical, legal, political legitimacy, and now UN recognition. Who can say more? The decision of the Moroccan sovereign to designate October 31, the date of the vote of resolution 2927, as a new national holiday is not trivial. It marks a symbolic turning point: the definitive consolidation of the Sahara within the national fold and the international recognition of this reality. The Kingdom’s message is unequivocal: Morocco has waited too long, compromised too much, to continue to suffer the sterile deadlock maintained by its belligerent neighbor to the East. Now, the time has come to accelerate development, modernization, and socio-economic valorization of the South, which has become an engine of national and regional growth. This is how to interpret this declaration: There is a before and after October 31, 2025. A change of paradigm in the neighbors would make us all gain more than two points of annual growth, with all that this implies for the peoples of the region. Yet Algiers refuses, even though the country is adrift and its population lacks the essentials to live decently. But the Algerian military, behind their fake stripes, do not care. Stubborn, they see no further than the tip of their nose... They probably have not understood what Syria, Libya, and Iraq suffered, nor similar cases in Latin America. Stubbornness in folly and denial of reality can only be counterproductive. History demonstrates this abundantly. One must know how to read this history and learn from it. Algeria, unfortunately for its people, persists in a strategy of refusal, forgetting that the world has changed and diplomatic balances have shifted. It still thinks it can buy time and bet on a new American presidency in three years. Three years is long for President Trump... While Morocco advances, builds, and invests in its Southern provinces, supported by the common sense of those who know how to do business for the benefit of their peoples, Algiers remains trapped in a bygone past and an exhausted ideological narrative. The Sharifian Kingdom, on the other hand, looks to the future, serene in its legitimacy, solid in its national unity, confident in its rights, and now carried by the international recognition of a truth that is indisputable: the Sahara is Moroccan, and it will remain so.

Morocco, united and indivisible: October 31, memory and vision of a united kingdom... 983

Aziz Daouda, 7 d.
There are dates that cease to be mere markers to become strong symbols. By establishing le 31 octobre “Fête de l’Unité”, His Majesty King Mohammed VI has not only added a day to the national calendar of holidays: he has inscribed in the collective memory a certainty, that of a united Morocco, faithful to its history, confident in its destiny, certain of its future. This choice, placed on the eve of the anniversary of la Marche Verte, is not a coincidence, but a message. It links two moments: one of memory, the other of hope, to remind that in Morocco, unity is not a stance, but a collective philosophy of life, a historical continuity, a conviction ingrained in the soul of the country and each of its citizens. The age-old unity of the Kingdom is the golden thread of Moroccan history. **On November 6, 1975, three hundred and fifty thousand Moroccans, the Quran in one hand and the flag in the other, it must be recalled, supported by many nationals of friendly countries, including a Prince not to be overlooked, marched south to reclaim what should never have been lost: the Sahara, the Kingdom’s matrix.** La Marche Verte was not a conquest; it was a return, a peaceful affirmation of a legitimacy older than the borders drawn with rulers on colonial maps. It was also a vow between the Throne and the people, between the past and the future. A vow that nothing, neither diplomatic maneuvers nor hostile campaigns, nor propaganda worth billions of dollars, could undermine. The Moroccan does not yield. The Moroccan is faithful to his commitments. The Moroccan keeps his word, the Moroccan is aware of the diversity of his country but conceives it only in unity and cohesion. By deciding to make le 31 octobre "la Fête de l’Unité", His Majesty King Mohammed VI reactivates this vow and transposes it into the present time: Morocco’s unity is not a glorious memory, but a horizon built every day, a future forged on law and faith, diplomacy and perseverance, development and shared prosperity. For half a century, Moroccan diplomacy has patiently unrolled the thread of a clear strategy: defending Morocco’s sovereignty over the Sahara without ever yielding to provocation, making legitimacy prevail by reason and not by force. Recent résolutions du Conseil de sécurité have confirmed the soundness of this line. They endorse the seriousness and credibility of the Moroccan autonomy proposal, a realistic, modern path, consistent with the aspirations of the local populations and the entire Moroccan people who have adhered to it, fully understanding the sacrifice requested. **Conversely, Algeria persists in an anachronistic stance, entrenched in its support for Polisario, which no longer represents more than a shadow of itself. A movement built on lies, fake news, and propaganda worth billions of dollars. It is probably the most costly situation of its kind since humans existed.** No one has ever known how many Sahrawis truly followed Polisario, or how many, with the help of its patrons, it brought from Mauritania, Mali, Nigeria, Chad, and elsewhere to strengthen its ranks. The generosity of Gaddafi having greatly helped, it must not be forgotten! Today, Algeria is cornered into allowing le recensement des populations des camps and census means, in parallel, identification. The fixed discourse of the separatists no longer holds sway over reality: while the Tindouf camps are mired in waiting, the Southern Provinces of Morocco awaken to life, development, and dignity. The contrast is striking: there, immobility; here, construction. There, ideology; here, reality. "La Marche Verte" was never a closed episode; it has become a national doctrine, a founding story, a living myth, the belief of a nation: the oldest nation in the world. It has forged a rare national consciousness, made of loyalty and faith in the continuity of the Kingdom. In a world marked by fragmentation and wounded identities, Morocco has made its unity a compass, not nostalgia. In Laâyoune, Dakhla, Smara, Boujdour, or Bir Guendouz, the fervor of the October 31 celebrations says better than speeches the depth of this bond. These cities, once marginalized, today embody a Morocco on the move, confident, faithful to its roots, and looking to its future. *The South is no longer a remote part of the Kingdom: it is its beating heart.* The Sahara is a promise of the future, a development laboratory, and a strategic hub of the Kingdom. Investments in renewable energy, fishing, infrastructure, tourism, and logistics have transformed the region into an essential crossroads between Africa, the Atlantic, and Europe. Here is being experimented, in open air, the royal vision of a modern, balanced, and inclusive Morocco, a Morocco that leaves no region behind. The "Fête de l’Unité" is not just a tribute to the past: it is a projection into the future. The "Fête de l'Unité" tells Moroccan youth that unity is not a legacy to be admired, but a building to be built, constructed day by day, through work, loyalty, and faith in the nation, with an unyielding respect for the memory of sacrifices and a firm belief in the promise of continuity. On October 31, Morocco celebrates, but remembers: the soldiers fallen on the dunes, the diplomats who have defended the national cause on all the world’s stages, the pioneers who built in the sand the foundations of exemplary development. Through them, it is a whole country that looks at itself in the mirror of its history, not to indulge, but to draw strength to go further. *Because deep down, Morocco’s unity is not a political act; it is a historical truth, a state of mind, a visceral loyalty.* October 31 simply gives it a name, a date, a renewed breath. There is no unity without memory, nor memory without the future. Morocco has never celebrated the past for the past but always as an evocation to project into the future. It has never believed in a fixed memory rent. Strong in its history and regained sovereignty, it now advances with the serenity of those who have nothing to prove, only to pursue. Its DNA is special but never to isolate itself. On the contrary, the Kingdom sees itself as part of a world open to cooperation, freedom, and prosperity. *In the southern wind, in the distance, the same vow always resonates: One Kingdom, one soul, one destiny.*

Complaints to God 1185

Boucharfou, 9 d.
- Politics - Lifestyle - Poetry -
0.5 min read.
​💔 Complaint to God ​O, you who struck me with arrows of betrayal And want me to understand the cause of the harm You think the wound has been bandaged And that I have moved past the injustice And forgotten that its puncture is still bleeding? The heart still weeps from its burning pain Despite the passing of years and seasons. How astonishing she is, and her audacity, How she narrates delusions, And how life increases its smiles for her, And how her eye finds comfort in sleep, And enjoys dreams, And thinks she is receiving blessings, While she is the one who humbled stature and nations. So, to the Lord of the Kaaba, I pray and complain of injustice, For her injustice was a bad omen, Not blameworthy, For she is an ill omen that does not deserve a word from me, Not even a greeting, nor peace. So, to God I complain and plead for a judgment, For Glorified is He, He is Wise and All-Knowing. ​Dr. Fouad Bouchareb All rights reserved October 28, 2025

The Lost Necklace 1222

Boucharfou, 10 d.
- Lifestyle - Poetry - Romance -
0.5 min read.
The Lost Necklace ​How beautiful is your dentition Which sparkles like a necklace of diamonds ​So Desirable and appetizing ​When I kiss you and embrace you ​With fervor and grace ​I savor your saliva like such fine milk ​Where musk and wine mingle ​O apple of my eye O gift from the heavens ​It is you I love and desire ​Your presence is a true pleasure ​What must I do to attract you and please you? ​When you fled My insomnia deprived me of your smile ​Suddenly the gleam of the necklace eclipsed ​And I found myself sick and lost ​To the great dismay of my messenger ​Will you return one day? ​Will you keep your promise? ​Who will transmit my poetry? ​Perhaps one evening the South wind ​Will bring you my message ​Which confesses my feelings and my pledges ​My sorrows and my misfortunes ​And the slender hope ​Of seeing the gleam of your dentition in the dark one day ​Dr Fouad Bouchareb Inspired by an Andalusian music poem Quoddam El Hgaz El Kebir November 8, 2025

Ahmed Attaf and the Thousand-Time Waltz... 1401

Aziz Daouda, 10 d.
The latest appearance of the valiant Ahmed Attaf is strikingly different from what we have come to expect from him. Still hiding behind his habitual composure, he nonetheless lets a certain unease seep through this time. The man is embarrassed. He is at once a juggler, a tightrope walker, an acrobat, a dancer, and the regime’s fireman. He searches for his words, his sentences seem to cut his breath short. At times, he gasps. His statements are full of contradictions and twisted contortion, the very archetype of a diplomat out of breath, yet still skillful. In his role as firefighter, he tries to reassure domestically, even to timidly proclaim, yet proclaim nonetheless, a great victory. Algeria, he insists, has made the entire world, the USA first among them, bend to its will. As a juggler, he seeks to reassure the great powers, pretending modestly that his country holds no grudges, thus avoiding any offense to their sensibilities. A perilous exercise indeed, for soon he will be summoned to the negotiating table as a direct stakeholder. There, he will need all his ingenuity to escape the dictates of peace that the international community seeks to impose, a peace to be built with Morocco. He now perfectly understands that he can no longer sail under disguise: his country is directly involved. Behind his measured tone and carefully chosen words, his media appearance follows a precise logic built around three goals: calming the domestic front, preparing public opinion for a return to negotiations on the Sahara issue, and reaffirming Algeria’s red line: no normalization with Rabat. Like a skilled tightrope walker, he subtly boasts that the divergence with Washington and Brussels is “under control.” Indeed, the U.S. can very well understand the first two points—internal appeasement and preparation for talks, but fundamentally differs from Algiers on the question of rapprochement with Morocco. For Washington, this normalization is a cornerstone of its Atlantic-African strategy surrounding critical minerals, a key front in its rivalry with China. The European Union shares this view: it sees Moroccan-Algerian reconciliation as a prerequisite to reviving the Euro-Mediterranean project, which has been paralyzed for years by the rivalry between the two neighbors. Brussels and Washington may both believe that this strategic disagreement can be managed in the short term, since their common priority remains the resumption of negotiations on the Sahara, a stabilizing priority for the region. But everyone understands that the Algerian military regime sent Attaf to absorb the shock of the New York earthquake. His first mission, then, was to calm tempers after the blow dealt by the latest UN Security Council resolution, which reaffirmed the Moroccan autonomy plan as a serious and credible basis, indeed, the very outcome of the negotiation process. Morocco’s diplomatic success triggered a real shockwave in Algiers, where the regime fears that diplomatic defeat could turn into internal strife between different factions of power, particularly between the military hierarchy and the political front. To prevent such implosion, Attaf tried to rewrite the official narrative: the resolution, he claimed, was not a Moroccan triumph but an Algerian victory—Algeria had “prevented the imposition of the Moroccan agenda.” This interpretation blatantly contradicts the statements of Algeria’s own representative at the UN, who justified the country’s abstention by the central role given to the autonomy plan. Yet, in the media sphere, the maneuver worked. Attaf’s discourse found favorable echoes, even among certain critical circles within the regime. In truth, this appeasement operation also suits Washington and Rabat: it guarantees the stability of the Algerian regime and maintains domestic calm, conditions necessary to pave the way for future discussions without internal interference. Everyone is now working to prepare the ground for negotiations. Attaf’s second objective was to prepare national and international public opinion for the idea of returning to the negotiating table, in line with U.S. pressure to revive a concrete political process. The minister thus sought to present the UN resolution in a positive light, even calling it “a victory for the principles of the Sahrawi cause,” while claiming that Algeria would have voted in favor if not for a phrase mentioning “Moroccan sovereignty.” A clever balancing act, meant to narrow the gap between official discourse and diplomatic reality, and to justify a possible Algerian participation in new talks without appearing weak. This tactical repositioning remains fragile. If U.S. pressure were to ease, Algiers might once again resort to delaying tactics to stall or hollow out the process. But the Americans are not fooled, and they are in a hurry. From Morocco’s perspective, this evolution is far from unfavorable: Rabat favors a negotiated settlement, with no victor or vanquished, as long as autonomy remains the end goal. Algiers, for its part, seeks to preserve its red line, no normalization with Rabat. The third axis of Attaf’s communication was to avoid an existential danger for the regime: being perceived as yielding to normalization with Rabat under Washington’s pressure. In a scenario of heightened constraint, Algeria might accept a political solution on the Sahara issue, but without taking the diplomatic rapprochement step. To consolidate this stance, Attaf deliberately rewrote the lexicon of the UN text. Where the resolution speaks of “parties,” “political settlement,” and “autonomy,” he preferred “decolonization,” “referendum,” and “Sahrawi people.” This deliberate semantic shift aims to sustain the illusion that Algeria remains faithful to its doctrinal logic, even though the referendum scenario was abandoned by the United Nations nearly two decades ago. His media appearance was therefore not merely a diplomatic reaction to a UN resolution, but a carefully orchestrated communication operation. It pursued three objectives: to calm the domestic front, prepare public opinion for future talks, and reaffirm the refusal of any normalization with Rabat. Ironically, these very three lines of communication, meant to defend Algeria’s position, end up reinforcing the UN framework for resolution—the very framework that enshrines Morocco’s autonomy plan as the main reference, redrawing regional balances to the benefit of Morocco and its Western allies.

​The Ultimate Dance 💃 ​ 1363

Boucharfou, 11 d.
- Lifestyle - Poetry - Romance -
0.6 min read.
​The Ultimate Dance 💃 ​He whispers to me during our waltz Words and beautiful phrases He holds me tight in his arms And takes me into extraordinary dreams ​And the tears from my eyes... As if by magic, illuminate earth and sky ​He carries me to all corners of the dance floor In this sweet evening between music and choristers ​And I, like a child in his hands Like a feather in a trance to the rhythm of the refrains ​He offers me the stars and the moon and his hand He hums hymns for better tomorrows ​He offers me the sun He offers me summer and its warmth He promises me years of happiness ​He tells me that I am unique And that I am worth more than all the stars and Sputniks That I am a treasure The best picture on board ​His words intoxicate me To the point of making me lose the rhythm of my steps Words of love that I don't know ​Which restore my implacable femininity He builds me a sandcastle That I inhabit for a few unforgettable seconds ​Then I return... I return to my table Just with memorable words ​Dr Bouchareb Fouad All rights reserved November the 6th, 2025

When Morocco’s Greatest Match Becomes Its Worst Mirror… 1564

Aziz Daouda, 13 d.
- Politics - Society - Sports -
2.9 min read.
The Casablanca derby, the supreme celebration of Moroccan football, meant to take place at least twice each season, has turned into a sad reflection of our collective failings. What should have been a hymn to the passion of football has become a march toward shame: the shame of not respecting the most basic alphabet of the game, of civility, of respect for others, and of the rules of the Federation and FIFA. The latest edition, in particular, offered yet another all-too-familiar scene: flares, clashes, the throwing of incendiary objects, destruction of public and private property, and a match repeatedly interrupted. The green rectangle, once a sanctuary for the game and the players’ sporting performance, is now held hostage by the pyromania of the stands and the forced complacency toward behavior that is beyond disturbing. This time, the sheer number of flares was so staggering that it raises countless questions: Who sells them? Who ignites them? And how are they so regularly smuggled into stadiums? Who benefits from turning the Casablanca derby into a footballing wasteland? It is no longer a football match, it is a war zone, a scene of spectacular movie-like special effects imported into the terraces. In the name of the club’s flag, common sense has been cast aside. Raja and Wydad, two monuments of our sport, are being manipulated, overtaken, hijacked, and exploited by crowds who confuse fervor with fury, believing they defend their colors while trampling the honor of the beautiful game. In the name of the club’s supposed love, we end up defending obscure causes far removed from the essence of the clubs themselves — if such an essence still exists. It has become a kind of grandstand ultra-nationalism. Some groups have set themselves up as militias of the stadiums. They control the stands, impose their laws, and enforce their violence. They now even dictate the rhythm of the matches, play begins when they allow it and stops when they decree it. Their tifos are glorified, but few dare name their excesses for what they are. Yet behind the choreographies, sometimes splendid, sometimes tasteless, lie preparations worthy of a battlefield: sharp objects, stones, illegally imported flares and explosives, coded mobilization calls, and incitements to confront all that represents order. Insults to institutions, fake news, subversive slogans, everything mixes together with no restraint or shame: a volatile cocktail of social grievances and barely veiled political activism. Even foreign policy and the country’s international positions are dragged into it. So much for the common good, the good of the entire nation. Club officials feign surprise or hide away, waiting for the storm to pass, as if smashed buses, bent gates, and toxic smoke were accidents of fate. The authorities design strategies and take precautions, yet repeatedly face dangerous overflows. Their stance is paternalistic at best: as if dealing only with unruly children. The ringleaders, meanwhile, stay safely out of reach, though some are visible, even stepping onto the pitch to stir up and inflame the crowds. As for the Federation, it responds with fines and closed-door matches, the same administrative ritual that no longer frightens anyone. Has football been taken hostage? The consequences are disastrous: interrupted matches, financial sanctions, and a tarnished international image. Morocco, once celebrated for its popular fervor, now offers the image of a sick football, where passion blurs into madness. These outbursts kill the game, stifle talent, and drive away families who once dared to attend matches. In a country where football is almost a religion, it is heartbreaking to see the temples of sport turned into lawless zones. Children who once dreamed of the derby as a founding myth now see only ritualized chaos, a folklore of wreckage. Some may even join in, believing this is simply “how it is.” But should we resign ourselves and admit a failure of courage? It is not club rivalry that is to blame, but our collective inability to civilize it. It was not always like this. The problem does not lie in the chants, but in what we tolerate in the name of passion. Stadium violence is, above all, born of silence: the silence of clubs unwilling to alienate their supporters; the silence of media that prefer to glorify the atmosphere rather than denounce its excesses; and the silence of authorities forced to maintain order alone before a crowd they were never meant to manage, unlike elsewhere. By failing to choose and only punishing after the fact, we have allowed *charhabe* to settle in as a tolerated subculture, a norm, a distorted identity. The derby should not be a test of strength but a celebration of the city, of talent, and of the players’ pursuit of excellence on the field. Yet the myth of the derby must survive, because beneath the rage lies a truth: the Wydad–Raja rivalry is one of the most beautiful stories in African, perhaps even world football. It has inspired generations, forged careers, and given birth to songs and dreams. But this tradition will not survive if it continues to sink into hatred and absurdity. The derby deserves better. Casablanca deserves better. Morocco deserves a football where passion does not mean madness, where the color of a jersey does not justify brutality and violence. If nothing changes, the kingdom’s greatest match may soon become its greatest scandal: **the Derby of Smoke.**