Think Forward.

Short Stories

Jamal Berraoui has gone... to his resting place and the earth trembled.

Aziz Daouda, 16 d.
Si Jamal Berraoui, you are no longer with us in this world, and country that you loved so much and for which you fought all your life. You fought for justice, progress, fairness, dignity and so many other values to which you gave your own meaning. Sometimes a philosopher, sometimes a philanthropist, you navigated between common sense and loyalty to an ideology that seized you at a young age but which you managed to tame in your own way. Your loyalty to your party did not blind you, and your selflessness gave you freedom of tone and time. You managed to tame time. Sometimes a writer, sometimes a columnist, sometimes a journalist, but never silent. Disappointment, discouragement and nihilism never got the better of you. Life was hard for you, but you loved it with tenderness. You were a renowned journalist and an outstanding political analyst. Your significant contributions to Moroccan journalism and your incisive analyses of the country's political, economic, social and sporting issues made you an influential voice on behalf of the silent majority. Your critical and informed perspective on current events has been passed on to everyone in an ‘Ach Waqe3’ that you have shaped in your own way. In this way, you brought politics back to its rightful place, within everyone's reach. In your own darija, you gave many people a taste for debate, a willingness to think and a desire to participate in politics. On your own, you did more than all the parties put together, more than all the media, more than all of us. Your weekly appearances on the Décryptage programme, every Sunday morning in the studios, from your hospital bed or simply from your home by telephone, were key moments, sublime moments of intelligence and humanism. I'll confide in you, my dear: even though I won't be seeing you again because God has decided it's best, How proud I was each time you quoted my name, one of my words or one of my positions! Sidi Jamal, how many journalists have you educated and trained? How many citizens have you made happy with your words? In your own safiote way, you have contributed to the evolution of the Moroccan media landscape. Your public appearances have always been closely followed, tackling complex subjects with simplicity, clarity and rigor. The large audience that Moroccans have reserved for you speaks volumes is telling more about the great respect they have for you among your peers. They saw themselves in you. You have always defended press freedom and your desire to see independent and rigorous journalism develop. You made a major contribution to ‘tamaghrabiyt’ in your own way, subtly referring to your hometown, your neighborhood in Casablanca, your neighbors, music, history, , the Raja, everything that links us to our rich culture, our largely ignored or despoiled history, our roots, our continent and the world. Rest in peace, my friend, after so many years of winning battles, of self-sacrifice and courage. You have finally beaten the disease. Your doctors, your family, your friends, your readers and listeners know it very well. It wasn't the disease that finally got you, it was you who decided to put an end to the disease and to your mission. I know you let out a long sigh and a charming little smile as you left us, because it's in your nature to always smile. In the end you decided to rest. We miss you already, Sidi Jamal. Si Abdelaziz Erromani will never again have to ask at the start of a show ‘Qi Bqat Shiha Si Jamal? No more of the ‘ana matafeqch m3a si Hadad’ that punctuated your contributions to Décryptage from time to time. Mission accomplished! You were a real treasure. And what a coincidence, even the earth shook that day... (On this sad occasion, let's listen to the song linked below, which I'm sure will please Si Jamal)
youtu.be/fbH7VJz2F2o?si=9MErGVWO...

God surely forgives lies for a good cause Part 1

Aziz Daouda, 5 mon.
His mother had been suffering from a very serious illness for months. Everyone around her knew that her life was going to be shorter and shorter and that it was only a matter of time before she left them forever. The mother was the only one who didn't know it and who had the hope of an almost certain recovery. At the first diagnosis, the doctors thought they could work some miracle. He was happy about it, convinced that a surgical intervention, the work of a great specialist, would restart the machine. It was just an optical illusion one would say. To his great dismay, the same afternoon, he was told that the operation was not possible. It was too late. The disease had spread like a constellation of hundreds of stars. Poor mother's entire body was riddled with small, seemingly quiet particles, so dangerous, so uncontrollable. No medicine could dislodge them from this body so pale, so frail. Total impotence. With his sisters Aoula and Tania present with him at the mother's bedside, they decided not to say anything to either the mother or the 80-age father who naively trusted them a lot and believed everything they told him as a version of things. Perhaps he was also pretending so as not to contradict them. He had to be taken care of too, they thought. On the contrary, they told him that the doctors had seen that it was not necessary to operate on his wife of half a century or more and that with light radiotherapy and appropriate medication, everything would return to normal. Today he still remembers the big smile of relief from his mother who told those who visited her, with a beaming face, that thank God she was going to make it through without surgery. She experienced it as a moment of triumph against illness, a moment of glory, a moment of rediscovered youth. Her face lit up and regained color...These were the last moments of joy and happiness for the poor mother.

God certainly forgives lying for a good cause. Part 2

Aziz Daouda, 5 mon.
God certainly forgives lying for a good cause. Hazard doing things well, sometimes, this period coincided exactly with the end that he had decided for his long and trying career. He had thought about it for a long time and had resigned himself to a break that he intended to be definitive. This made him available to stand by the mother he loved so much. He thus spent most of his time at her bedside, as did his sisters who were present at the family home permanently to take care of the one who had made eight litters, appreciated academics, citizens devoted to their country. It couldn't be otherwise. The example was a mother who had attended the first classes of the modern school in Fez and a father who was more than devoted to his profession. The frequent trips to the clinic for check-ups or perhaps to leave some amount of money there again and again, were for the mother synonymous with hope and for them with repeated ordeal; renewed moments of confirmation of despair; Things were getting worse every day, exponentially... He wondered all the time if this medical relentlessness was wise or if he was just speeding things up. He will never have an answer to his questions. At every moment he wished for good not to relive this decline, if he himself were to be affected one day. Suspecting something, one day the mother asked sister Tania to explain to her why he was still there and why he no longer worked. She wanted to know if it had any relation to her health. He then felt that perhaps he should disappear for a few days. Just to reassure the poor mother, even paler, even more frail. He then decided to travel to Brazzaville where for several years already, he had been organizing, on behalf of the Town Hall, at the time one of the best sports festivals on the continent. For this reason, Congolese President Sassou Nguessou made him an Officer of the National Order. A decoration which tickled his pride and which he often talks about. He was convinced that such a trip for few days would reassure the mother about her state of health and reassure her. He read that in her eyes and heard it in the tone of her hesitant voice when he told her that he was going to the Congo for work. Two days later he arrived in Brazzaville around 2 a.m.… Barely in his room with his suitcase still unpacked, he receives a call from his sister Tania, overcome by an astonishing panic: “She died”, he asked without even thinking? Tania reassures him that no, but that the poor mother had fallen into a deep coma. The Casablanca-Brazzaville and return connection was daily. So, he only had to wait until the next night to return. He took the trouble to apologize to thz host Mayor Alfonse L, then director of the festival, and set off on his way back. He reached his mother's bedside in an irreversible sleep on March 14. In the evening around 8 or 9 p.m., while he was holding her hand, his brother M was reciting Surah Yacine to him out loud, and all his children: J, A, El, F his wife, were around the medical bed where the mother had spent a few weeks, in the room that had been specially designed for her; she gave up the ghost. One last deep breath, one last long and soft sigh which spoke volumes about the suffering endured for months. His right hand, which he was holding tenderly, relaxed and began to cool. The dad who was there of course, couldn't believe it. While he announced to everyone that she was gone, the father shouted at him that no and that he just had to resuscitate her, addressing with authority his son M, a doctor of proven competence. It took a few long minutes for the dad to come to his senses and accept that he had just lost his soul mate at that precise moment. The one who brilliantly gave him 8 children and educated them all in the best possible way. This is how the late mother left, 17 years ago to the day. The same day his younger sister S gave birth to Z who today we call the bogoss at the age of 17. Like life goes on. The day after the death, while her sister S was returning home with her baby in hand, the others were preparing to put the inert body of the mother in the ground, peacefully lying there, meticulously washed and wrapped in the traditional white shroud. Before she was completely enclosed in this sheet; they had all leaned over to place a last kiss on the deceased's face but do she felt it, do she felt such pain that tore their insides. Sadness, pain, support from close friends, solidarity from the extended family, incense and the Koran, a few cries, intertwined in an unforgettable moment, with indelible traces. Every year on the eve of this sad anniversary, his daughter calls him to support him because she knows the pain that the mother's disappearance had instilled in him. She then asks him to make an offering in her name. A symbolic sum that he gives to the first needy person who crosses his path that day. Her daughter and her grandmother were very close. She often tells him: “It was Lalla who taught us to be the men and women we are today, each of us bears the trace of her example and her teaching. »

Beyond Good and Evil

EL MONO MAS GRANDE, 6 mon.
He smelled it before he could see it. A beast so ugly it only vaguely resembled a man. Hairy, disproportionate, caked with dirt and angry. In everything following it's emotions. In everything following it's passion. Never as second thought. The beast was strong physically and yet so weak. In it's eyes, the ape saw fear. A fear so deep it drowns worlds. A deep seated anxiety shaking the roots of being. -"Confusion", said the biggest ape. -"That one knows not good'", answered the crow. Wisest among the birds. -"Take me to the second one", said the biggest ape. Now before him stood the most beautiful man. He was perfect in every way, perfect in proportions, perfect in intellect, perfect in movement. He was surrounded by beauty. Around him beauty blossomed. Everything was made perfect by his hands, and yet it decays. Around him everything was dying. Oh so slowly, but oh so certainly. At his feet, blood. -"That one knows good", said the crow. -"Take me to the third one", said the biggest ape. There sat a man, eyes closed with a faint smile on his lips. As hard as he looked, the ape couldn't make up the limits of his body. His body was translucent light, filled with every changing colors. In him he saw the beast, in him he saw the most perfect man. And all the intermediary steps. There he sits for ever, and ever. Eternal. -"That one knows no good nor evil", said the crow. -"Yes" Thus spake Apathustra.

Life is in the blood.

EL MONO MAS GRANDE, 7 mon.
Dark was the night. **Cold was the ground, and wet.** One stormy night, the biggest ape took refuge from the lashes of the rain beneath a magnificent oak tree. *"Magnificent"* thought the biggest ape as he gazed the upon the branches stretching far and wide. The night was cold, some cold drops still found their way to his back. But right here, sitting on the biggest root, the biggest ape was at peace. All he had to do is wait. Two men appeared from each side of the road. One from the east, the other form the west. "Can I join?", said the main from the east. "May I sit?", said the man from the west. *Yes*, nodded the biggest ape. The men sat. The man from the east opened a small wooden box revealing exquisitely made little figurines. He bowed down an started to pray. The other man took a book out of his bag. A red book with a shining blue sword on the cover. And started to read. When the first man had finished, the second one said: "I see you are religious man." - "I am, I see you do not believe in the gods." Answered he, pointing at the book. - "I do not. I believe in the power of reason. Man has no need for supersistitions." - "Reason is limited. How can you speak thus, have you never made a mistake in your life." - "Have your gods answered all your prayers." Both men remained silent as they looked at each other. - "What say you, ape?" Said the man from the east. Looking at the figurines in the man's box, he answered, his deep voice echoing the rumbles of the skies: *"They have eyes, yet they do not see. They have hands, yet they do not make. They have mouths yet do not speak."* Then turning towards the others man's book, he paused. *"Your sword has two edges, yet it does not cut."* *"Life is the blood"*, said the biggest as he was making his leave. *Life is in the blood.* Thus spake Apathustra.

Awaiting You

Tima EL, 7 mon.
1 min read.
Royal Gambit is an annual event organized by the Cogitaria realm to select its new king. The game involves a chess match between two participants: the candidate and the reigning king. The coveted prize is a tiger mask crown, symbolizing royal authority. The victor ascends to the throne as the new king, while the defeated succumbs to their demise. For over decades, the throne of Cogitaria has remained unchallenged, as fear of the perilous stakes in the Royal Gambit game dissuades potential contenders. Each year, the reigning king eagerly awaits a challenger, yet no brave soul steps forward to partake in the high-stakes game, leaving the kingdom in a prolonged state of suspense. However, amidst this prolonged era of unchallenged rule, an exception emerged during one of the annual Cogitaria festivals dedicated to selecting the new king through the Royal Gambit. A stranger, passing through the realm, caught wind of the festivities that had lingered for more than a week, awaiting a candidate brave enough to face the reigning monarch. Intrigued by the mysterious allure of the event, the stranger decided to step into the fray. As the chessboard opened after decades of dormancy, each piece took its rightful place, setting the stage for the Royal Gambit to commence. The chess pieces clicked and clacked, echoing the strategic dance that would ultimately decide the kingdom's destiny. With a masterful stroke, the stranger executed a climactic checkmate, the chess pieces freezing in place as the kingdom held its breath. Victory was claimed, and the once-elusive tiger mask crown now adorned the head of the triumphant stranger. *“Every narrative in life has its genesis and conclusion. Time is the only constant, and no one is immortal within their kingdom. The realm awaits the stranger's next move, recognizing that even in victory, the cycle of change and challenge remains an inevitable force.”* Inspired by this image :
drive.google.com/file/d/1Bvk_tj9...

The Sun.

EL MONO MAS GRANDE, 8 mon.
Let me tell you about the Sun. Which nurtures life in everything through its shining radiance. Whose golden light encourages growth and whose warmth mends the deepest rashes and wounds of the soul. Yet there is another sun, a darker sun, whose shining brightness shines brighter than any sun. That sun never sets and never rises for it is always there. The sun of creation, the sun that was there before the golden sun. The sun that nurtured the seed deep underground before any leaf pierced the wind, reaching for the sky. For every tree needs two suns, one that nourishes its leaves and one that nourishes its roots. The tree on Man is the same, for all men are born of the same tree. Roots must go into the deepest depths just as leaves and branches reach for the highest skies. Thus is the will to life, and thus spoke Apathustra.

The Conqueror of Worlds

EL MONO MAS GRANDE, 8 mon.
Years ago, the biggest ape heard of a conqueror who carved a great empire out of an entire planet. - "It's only a legend" some people would say, "no such man could ever exist". Others would believe in his existence but not in his deeds: - "No such man could ever exist", they would also say. - "A blood-thirsty, thug" said one intellectual. "It's a good thing we no longer have to deal with such people." - "When he died", he continued, "His last command was to be buried at a secret place, and anyone who buried him murdered." -"Any indications as to that place?", asked the biggest ape. -"Nothing making sense.", said the intellectual. "He is said to be buried at the threshold. Where the mountain, meets the sea. Halfway between man and beast. Only where the eternal sun shines. To get there you would have to close your eyes and follow a narrow path by the moonlight. When the sun rises, you would see if you followed the right path. Then with everything revealed, you would face your Judgment". -"Hum.", grunted the biggest ape. Weeks later, the biggest ape was sitting at the burial place. Staring at the ancient tombstone in deep contemplation. *"May they doubt my deeds and that I ever walked amongst men, so only the worthy may believe"* Putting the dirt back on the stone, the biggest ape arose. "Rest, wise one." Thus spake Apathustra.