The Regional Movement

I burst into laughter today as I was reading the ministerial note recently launched about the 'regional movement' of the teaching staff. The word ' transparency' is what made some of my wrinkles form in scorn and contempt. Transparency is not a favor to be done to or to be bestowed on the teaching staff so that it can be talked over in these notes. Rather, it needs to be applied, not talked over. We already know that some ghosts always break the rule of transparency. The ministerial note touches on transparency as though it were something commonplace. That is simply why they focus on it in these notes. Instead of penalizing those who have broken its rule many years now, those in charge state that it must not be broken at all costs. They preach, but they don't practise. Frankly, this reminds me of a grammar teacher telling his students that he doesn't make grammar mistakes, a writing teacher telling his pupils that he doesn't write badly or a judge telling the accused that he doesn't do his convicts an injustice .These teachers and the judge aren't supposed to tell their students they don't have these defects simply because they are not expected to have them. So, why should they tell their students and convicts these things? The same thing applies to transparency on the part of those in charge of the 'regional movement

I Wish I could Take some University Teachers to Court

I wish I could take several university teachers that I know to court. They have been behind both the despair of many hard-working students and the undeserved success of many poor students, particularly female ones. I am not talking out of the spread rumour. As an ex-university student and a friend of several university teachers, I am once more stressing that they need to get their just deserts for their injustices. Among the latter is the fact that many of them do not assess effectively, do not correct exam papers, and do not treat girls and boys impartially. Also, some others correct faces, not levels, stress on attendance, not participation, and appreciate students who are good at flattery, not those who challenge. You may say that not all university teachers behave so. But what does this have to do with what I am hinting at? Can't you see that only two unfair university teachers would suffice to lead a student astray? Can't you see that only one teacher can negatively impact on the whole university as a rotten fish does to the fresh ones in a basket? What I can't understand is why some university teachers fall prey to a crying female student. What I can't understand either is why some university teachers are more lenient with those they know or sit with at cafes than with those they see only in class. I will not forget the university teacher who once gave a good mark to a girl sitting in front of me. The girl was a nuisance to many nearby testees, including me that day. She submitted her exam paper blank. Still, she ranked first at the subject we were tested on. The teacher in question has been a deadly virus to many strong spirits. We need to keep our university immune from such sorts of teachers. Rising up against them would be the last straw.

Dowry

Dowry as a step towards marriage is the issue some friends raised to me recently. In all sincerity, I have always held a certain attitude towards how much a dowry costs. That is, I simply consider it as a formality that is not worth all the fuss we make of it. Some rich suitors give it so much importance in that they are ready to give five millions. Others, especially those belonging to the middle class, give the bride around six thousand dirhams. Poor suitors, like me, can afford to give the bride one thousand dirhams or so. Whatever the amount of money one gives, it is married life that will matter in the long run. In fact, those suitors that I usually pity are the ones who give a dowry they can not afford. And no sooner does the wedding come to an end than this sort of men begin to make both ends meet. That is why frankness is always appreciated from the very start of any married life. If misery then crops up, at least, there will be no one to blame. The little dowry has made it clearer that what will follow must either be little or much. The ample dowry makes it clearer from the start that what will follow must always be much. Additionally, there is another problem which is that the bride's family usually appreciate the suitor who can afford the largest dowry. For instance, a poor suitor, like me, can't afford to marry the daughter of a businessman for the reason that the dowry I am able to give her is equal to the amount of money she spends when she goes shopping at the weekend. As for a girl who has despaired of marriage because of old age, a dowry no longer matters to her as much as getting married does. That is why I would appreciate it if a girl of beauty and wealth would not deem a dowry as necessary. If you find this sort of girl, it must mean that not giving much significance to the dowry can only be ascribed to its being a principle for her. In earnest, the poor should give a little dowry, and the rich should give a large dowry. Hearing of a poor man giving a large dowry is queer to me in that there will come a time when he will think back to the amount it costs and regret being showy.

The Kissed Frog

One of my friends once asked for a very beautiful girl's hand in my village, but she refused his proposal. When he related the event to me, I told him that he instantly reminded me of the cartoon of a fairy tale I used to watch on TV as a child. I am sure you all know the tale of the frog that turned into a prince the moment it was kissed by a princess. It is this fairy tale I am talking about. I am comparing this friend's story with the tale of the frog, for they have a lot in common. I very well know this friend; he has almost all good qualities, including wealth. The only defect he has got is that he is remarkably short. The frog was in dire need of being kissed so as to turn into a handsome prince, and my friend was in dire need of getting married to the beautiful girl so as to show her that he was the most well-mannered and kindest man she could ever encounter in her life. Happily, the frog was kissed. Sadly, my friend was turned down.

Newly-appointed Teachers

At the start of each school year, a number of new teachers are appointed to different places of work in different regions all over Morocco. Normally, the procedure of appointment abides by several criteria. One of the latter is that compared to male teachers, female teachers must stand more chances of being appointed to their preferred areas of work. Frankly, I support this criterion provided that it is respected to the letter and without exceptions. What I can not understand, however, is that some female teachers are appointed to remote places of work. And when we delve into the reasons behind this sort of appointment, we are told that the female teachers appointed to remote areas did not get as good a grade as the ones appointed in the vicinity of their homes. On the other hand, the male teachers who rank first and who are appointed in remote areas complain about the good appointments of the female teachers with an average grade. The male teachers who outshine female ones are given more remote areas, while the latter are given near places. What I am aiming at is that as long as female teachers are prioritized irrespective of the grade criterion, they must all be appointed to good working places. How would we account for the fact that some male teachers with a high grade and female teachers with an average grade being appointed to the same remote area? If there were a difference of sex as some say, why are female teachers treated equally with male teachers in this case? Why are female teachers treated unequally among themselves, especially that the excuse we give to male teachers is that female ones must not be appointed too far? If they must not be appointed far, how can we explain the fact that many of them work in very far places? If the grade they get is the reason you are going to provide me with, how do you explain that female teachers must not be appointed too far from their homes irrespective of the grade they get? By the way, I still vividly remember the flimsy and silly excuse a female teacher gave me about her resorting to nepotism to change her original place of work, Zagora to Inzegan. She said to me that unlike we male teachers, she must be appointed so near by reason of the hard conditions girls alone suffer from. In response, I said that I wished all girls had been treated in the same manner. " What about all other female teachers in remote areas? Aren't they girls too?" I asked myself. Now, I feel as though I were in front of a labyrinth, not knowing where to point my finger.

The Last Visit

I paid the land an inexorable visit
To teach a pupil and to learn a lesson;
It isn't a thing to regret, is it?
I paid the dunes the last visit to lessen
My hardships and to make my new life exquisite;
Even a cheetah hastens
Its pace to pounce on the prey so as to stay fit;
Why should I not leave the land since
I, like a cheetah, need to run fast to remain alive

A Mere Traveler

Yesterday, as I was about to lay my head on the pillow, a queer feeling permeated every vein of mine. I immediately racked my brain to find out what the feeling said. A few moments later, I inferred that it was only telling me that I had been a mere traveler up to now. I was born in Tangiers towards the end of November of 1986. I lived in this city for six years until I turned six. In 1993, I moved to Azerouadou, a southern village, the place where my father was born. It was there where I entered my primary school. I was seven then. As soon as my primary schooling was over, I moved to Tafraout where I began my schooling as both a middle school student and a high school student. When I got my Baccalaureate in 2006, I moved to El Jadida, a city in the middle. It was there where I entered university. I spent two years studying there and in 2008, I moved to the south again, for I had to receive my training in Agadir teacher training center. I graduated there in 2009, and three months later, I was appointed to a remote place next to the sand dunes. It was Zagora city. After spending two years in Zagora as a teacher, I moved to Sidi Ifni city, a new place of work for me though it is nearer to my hometown compared to Zagora. I may account for the queer feeling that I have been a mere traveler by comparing and contrasting Tangiers, Zagora, El Jadida, Sidi Ifni, Agadir, Tafraout, Azerouado. No way to compare, but only to contrast! I am sure many of you have gone through the same experience.

The Candle that Burns itself

During my discussion with some of my colleagues, particularly teachers of English, one of the questions they pose to me is whether or not I engage my students in extra-curricular activities, like setting up an English club in which students explore and show their talents. My answer to this question is always NO. This doesn't in the least mean that I am against going beyond the classroom. On the contrary, I encourage this, but personally, I have got no time for that for the time being. What I can't make out is why the ministry of education encourages me to work a lot with students both inside the classroom and outside it, while it doesn't encourage me to pursue my own studies. I do not think there is something wrong with sacrificing the time devoted to these extra-activities for the time I need to read, write, and continue my studies at university. Some of you may say that I simply need to organize my time and strike a balance between my teaching career and my personal studies. In response, I am already striking a balance as long as I have got a part-time job. Is there any more balance to strike? I don't think so. Many teachers, especially those of English, who have spent a large amount of their time preparing for the activities outside their usual working hours haven't pursued their studies. They are merely candles that burn themselves day in and day out until they are extinguished altogether. It is heartening they have so much benefited their students, but it is disheartening that they have unconsciously put an end to their academic life. Why do you think of becoming a candle that burns itself as much as it gains the wax it needs to light the way for a longer time? Frankly, the more I burn myself, the more inclined I become to gain more wax.

The Contradictory Educational System

Here is why I personally think our deteriorating educational system is full of contradictions.

1- Baccalaureate plus two university years with distinction plus a training year equal scale 09.
2- Baccalaureate plus three university years with an average grade minus a training year equal scale 10.

3- Baccalaureate plus three university years with an average grade plus two post-graduate years with an average grade minus a training year equal scale 11. The conclusion I may draw here is that the better our grades are, the more we descend the scale, and the worse our grades are, the more we ascend the scale. Also, the more training we get, the more we descend the scale; the less training we get, the more we ascend the scale; the more failing years we spend at university, the more we ascend the scale; the more quickly we succeed at university, the more we descend the scale. Anyway, nothing ventured, nothing gained as the proverb goes. I advise you to venture to fail so that you will gain a lot.

The Ceiling

How many times do I have to raise my eyes
To clearly see where on the ceiling the light lies?
I even put on my eye-glasses, but in vain;
Only a spider web stuck with many flies slain.

A socket I turn to, and a torch I light;
Maybe, it is a ladder I need to right
To find out what is wrong with the bleak ceiling;
As I touch it, I find it has been leaking.

Now, I see why all my blankets are soaked,
and why the light I have looked forward to is blocked;
The drops leaking,
My pores, they are penetrating;

The Girl Seeking Help

Every time I log into my Facebook account, I feel so curious to read and know about the latest, ranging from the comments posted in response to my pieces to the private messages sent to me. There is only one thing I strongly dislike to read. The latter is a private message from a girl seeking help with English. I can not even stand responding to this kind of messages, for when I do, I say the wrong thing. Normally, this kind of messages roughly goes thus:

" Dear brother,
I know that you're a teacher of English. Please, can you write me an essay about clandestine emigration," a girl sends me.

The conversation between these girls and me usually goes like this:

"Me: Who are you in the first place? I can't help someone I don't know.
She: No need to know who I am; do it for Allah's sake.
Me: Do you have a boyfriend?
She: Respect yourself; this is none of your business.
Me: I am sorry I need the answers to these questions so that I can help you.
She: Yes, I do. So what?
Me: Nothing!
She: Tell me! Are you going to help me. Yes or No?
Me: Yes, I will help you on condition you help me answer the questions I have in mind. Okay? Do you know me?
She: Yes, I do. I know your sister very well. She has told me you're so kind and helpful.
Me: Do you love your boyfriend?
She: Yes, so much! This is so personal.
Me: Why don't you ask him to help since you deeply love him?
She: He is not good at English!
Me: So he is good at what, then?
She: Stop it, please. Help me; I need to have the essay by Monday.
Me: As long as you know me, what do you think of having me as your lover?
She: I am sorry I have already fallen in love. Plus, I respect you so much, for I heard that you're well-mannered.
Me: Which one do you respect most: your lover or me?
She: you! For you're a teacher and you don't accompany girls.
Me: Which one do you love: me or your lover?
She: my lover! I can't live without him.
Me: Has he ever helped you with something?
She: never! plus, he left school at an early age.
Me: Why do you love him then?
She: He is handsome and romantic.
Me: Since you haven't got married yet, what do you think of my proposing to you?
She: I am sorry I treat as my brother. I can never get married to someone like my brother.
Me: What in me makes me a brother to you? And what in your lover makes him a lover to you?
She: Frankly, your readiness to help; as for my lover, his readiness to make romance.
Me: Okay, thanks a lot. Goodbye?
She: Wait! you promised to help me!
Me: I suggest you interview your lover instead about clandestine emigration because I am afraid that while I am brainstorming, and racking my brains, making a painful effort to come up with ideas to put down on paper, you will be having an enjoyable and romantic time with your lover."

Here, I end the conversation and block them. Dear readers, I am sorry for being 'hard'.

The Story of my Registration File

Yesterday, I was on my way to Cady Ayad university, at last making my mind to withdraw my file from it once and for all. I was very angry then, and as I arrived at the university, I hurriedly headed for the department of English where I deposited my registration file last year. You may all wonder why I decided to do so. You may also wonder why the young female official in the department burst into laughter the moment I told her about my decision. Through the following conversation that went between her and me yesterday afternoon, you will all know about my story with my file of registration.

Me: Hi. Excuse me, I want to withdraw my file from the department once and for all.
She: Hahaha...Ok, as you like. But why?
Me: For the simple reason that last year I registered at your department, but my name wasn't on the list.
She: Oh, it's a common problem. But you should have asked to rectify the problem.
Me: I did three times, but in vain. Plus, I was in Zagora, and wasn't able to come every now and then just to rectify the problem.
She: Hahaha; but is the withdrawal the last resort to you?
Me: Please, give me back my own file!
She: Hahah Okay, okay!
" Hahaha, this man wants to withdraw his file just because of this little problem, "she said to the colleague sitting next to her.
Me: What is the use of my file being in that room the whole year if my name didn't appear neither on the computer, nor on the exam lists?
She: Fill in this withdrawal document! And give me your identity card!
Me: Here it is!
She: Here is your file.

I left the university without thanking her because there was no reason why I should do. On my way back to Agadir, I wondered about what made the little female official burst into laughter every now and then. She even grimaced out of surprise. But, personally, I did not find it surprising to claim my registration file at a time when I was not registered officially. That is, my name must have been listed on both the computer and the computerized lists. For God's sake, what is the use of my file being kept there? I just have no idea what it was there for the whole year? If registering means keeping the file inside the department? What does NOT REGISTERING mean? Keeping it too? She burst into laughter perhaps because she was addressing a mere S5 student. When she asked me about my level, I said I was an S5 student.

Is there a Starless Night

Is there a starless night?
For I can not see the stars people tell me about.
All l can see is a starless night and no light;
Maybe, it is my vision I instead have to doubt.

I still trust the woman who once told me that stars fight,
But it is something I have no idea about.
How can someone who has never seen a starry night
Stand experiencing more of the bout?

Please, is there a starless night?
I am tired of being a down-and-out;
Through the desert looking for stars that are in sight.
My eyesight fails to see them just as we fail to see clouds during a drought.

A Strange Message

Yesterday, late in the night, I received a strange message via my mobile phone from a girl I do not know. In fact, she had intended to send it to a female friend of hers, but she dialed the wrong number which turned out to be mine. This was how she explained her mistake when I wrote back to her, asking for a clarification. However, the content of the message was a real mystery to me in that I contemplated it for long before answering her for the second time. The message goes thus: " Hi, my sweetie! I hope you're great. I've been busy these days. The guests haven't left yet. You know what? May Allah grant me the right man to marry! Please, pray for me, " she wrote. To test her whether she was true to her own words or not, I sent her back, saying that I was the right man, but that I had a few conditions to impose, the two of which were that I had already decided to give only a 500-DH dowry to the one I would propose to and that I would not celebrate the wedding whatsoever. To my amazement, in her response, she said that she was ready to accept only ONE DIRHAM as a dowry and that she deemed celebrating marriage as superficial. I was so glad about this news. Reading her ensuing messages made me feel as though the girl had read every single piece I wrote about the issue of marriage, for she instantly agreed to whatever I imposed on her. I had no condition to impose anymore. Afterwards, I set to ask her a few more questions to find out whether she really meant her promises. Here is my question-and-answer conversation with her.

Me: Are you sure you will accept ONE dirham? Are you serious?
She: For sure, I will do. I can even accept less than one dirham.
Me: I'm simply honest with you from the very start.
She: What matters to me most are my husband's manners and his devotion to Allah. By the way, I'm now twenty-four.
Me: Alright! That's truly great.
She: You know I have never turned down a man's proposal, due to his poverty.

This must mean that no one had proposed to her yet, I said to myself. How come she made the latter claim without even putting it into practice in the first place, I wondered to myself. The truth being told, I am more than certain that the girl in question is among the ugliest. If she weren't ugly, she would not have had enough time looking for the right man via her phone. Suitors would have quickened their pace to ask for her hand before she even turned twenty-four. If she were beautiful, she would not even have proceeded to waste her valuable time the moment she knew that the number she was sending messages to was wrong. It was her extenuating circumstances, such her ugliness and absence of suitors, that in one way or another forced her to adopt the principle of frugality. If she weren't ugly, she would have demanded a large dowry for the reason that the majority if not all of beautiful girls enjoy dressing well. If she were beautiful, she wouldn't have racked her brains to talk to a cart drawer, the job I told her I had. If she weren't ugly, she would have imposed on me her own conditions. Couldn't you say that she said YES to everything I told her? The idea that came to my mind before falling fast asleep was that the end justified the means. The means was her ugliness and absence of suitors; the end was all that she said to me, ranging from a one-dirham dowry to one's manners being better than money.

I Once Followed a Shadow

One day sitting in the shade,
A shadow passed by me hurriedly;
I stood to follow the trace before it might fade.
Tree by tree, I ran curiously
Please, I need some aid,
I uttered loudly;
It stepped aside
To let me pass freely
And to point a finger to a maid
Who herself of a shadow was made.

The Leaflet

One day, by coincidence, I came across a leaflet stuck on the wall next to the Culture Complex in Agadir that said that a university student was going to deliver a presentation about the importance of competences on the part of middle school students. It was the name of the presenter that attracted my attention and made me stop to peruse the leaflet. His name instantly brought me back to my high school days when he was my classmate for five years. We used to sit at the same table, and we immensely enjoyed our company. However, the thing that enraged me was the topic he was going to present. This friend of mine used to be an inveterate cheater at high school, and during exams, he used to catch glimpses of my own exam paper for answers. He was a real nuisance to me; he used to do all his utmost to get an above-average mark by asking me for answers to the questions. Frankly, I did not attend his presentation though he himself invited me to. I wish his topic would instead be how to combat cheating on the part of middle school students. If he had chosen this topic, I would have undoubtedly attended it.

I am Fond of ELT, Though.

I must admit that I am fond of ELT; it is normal, for as a teacher, I usually need to improve my teaching skills. However, this doesn't in the least mean that I should spend my quality time on reading about the latest teaching methods and approaches. I have tried reading all these things, and they have been good to me in class, but only recently have I discovered that I have wasted much time on nothing. Now, I have started on production, not consumption. Like George Bernard Shaw, I believe that those, who can, really do, and those who, can not, really resort to teaching. Why should I read about all the approaches to teaching vocabulary, grammar and pronunciation? Suppose I did? So what, then? Knowing how to put into practice one or two would suffice for me. The same, for me, applies to all other language aspects, be they spoken or written. For instance, a poetry teacher doesn't necessarily write good poetry no matter how great his or her teaching skills are. I may agree with those who are studying ELT day in and day out only if they intend to become an authority on the field one day. Personally, I would rather be a master user of English than a master teacher of the same language. Be careful! There is a marked difference between a master user and a master teacher. Both are great. But, for me, the former is more victorious than the latter.

Even Mosques

Even mosques are sometimes full of contradictions. One of the lessons the sermoner taught us today is that we prayers must not hasten to have our seats at the first rows if we happen to come late. For this might cause other prayers inconvenience. Islam, the preacher stressed, has taught us this as part of our behaviour as muslims, particularly inside the mosque. This may remind us of the common saying that goes thus: First come, first served. I frankly appreciated this particular act and have found it logical. Whoever comes late must not take the places of his fellow prayers, causing disturbance. Instead, they have to sit at the back. Surprisingly enough, towards the end of the sermon, I spotted some empty places at the very front that appeared very much like a patch. And I did not understand for whom they were left. On the spur of the moment, several senior officials dressed in white and a red fez appeared and entered the door next to the place where the sermoner was preaching. They immediately sat down and listened to the five minutes left of the sermon. I then knew that the very front was reserved for them. I did not know before that corners inside a mosque could be reserved. Contrary to what the preacher said, the late comers were the ones who sat at the very front. Still worse was the fact that the sermoner saw them. To be frank, the sermon should have been directed towards the senior officials, not the common people. In short, no one can deny that those who live in the ivory tower are usually the first ones to break not only the rules of citizenship and humanity, but also those of religion.

On Teachers

If we should teach as we test and test we as we teach, we should also teach as we get paid. If you are against this, think of yourself as a mere candle burning itself for the sake of lightening the way for students and darkening yours, especially when you will soon discover the bitter truth that you haven't yet put up a nest for your little birds.

I personally find it a mystery how some teachers who can't afford to buy a two-room house of their own talk about competency-based approach. Dear teachers, I'm sure you know about Maslow's theory. How can the ministry expect a teacher to teach well if he or she still worries about paying the rent?

The Eagle

Blessed with sharp eyesight,
And from a distance, it spots a rabbit;
I, scratching a mosquito's bite:
For years, I haven't found it;
It is somewhere in the blanket lying white
The eagle spotting me fight
Comes to my rescue only to emit
A saddening sound for my plight.

Born or Made?

Writers and poets are born, some people think. Others go on to believe that they are rather made. From what I have experienced, I agree with those who think they are made. I think that everyone is born with an ability to write, but not everyone makes of themselves writers in the long term. It is at this stage where we are different from one another. Some have decided to become writers shortly after discovering the pleasure of putting their own life experiences on paper. Others have made up their mind to become writers soon after reading a number of novels that touch on a sensitive part of their lives. Whatever the reasons behind deciding to become a writer, the idea of making yourself a writer is there. Just do your best to discover that inside you. Personally, there were several times when I felt the intention to write poetry as distinct from other genres of writings. It is not long ago when I started to write poems. I still vividly remember the day I decided to become a writer and a poet. That day was the turning point for me in that I didn't feel in any way that I was born a writer. I felt I was made instead. On the contrary, I decided to read widely so that like any other poet or writer, I would write genuinely. I have made a conscious effort, but I have never felt at any point in my life that I am born with readiness to write. Rather, I have laboriously developed my writing skill for years now. And I still need to polish my writing style more. In other words, I feel I am a writer who is made, not born. Besides, I do not think other writers or poets are born. One is not a born a writer; one becomes a writer. Our life experiences spur us to become writers. But few decide to sit at a table, take a pen, and write a few lines.

The Brightest Students

If any one of you happens to look for the brightest and most hard-working students who got their Baccalaureate with distinction, I advise you to pay the remotest areas a visit, somewhere in the mountains. There you will find the students in question working as primary school teachers. They have spent years working there, for the horizons have usually been open to those who got their Baccalaureate with an average grade. If you happen to look for the latter, pay high schools a visit.

As new university students, you have to make two great efforts: one is to study your modules hard; two is to do your best to convince your professors that you are industrious. If you fail to do the latter, you will have to make a new different effort; you need to get excellent grades at almost all subjects so as to make up for the lost effort.

I have been advised to set up an English club and to engage students in extra-curricular activities. Surely, all this benefits students; they learn English more communicatively this way. What I can't understand, however, is that those who have advised me to do so forgot to encourage me to pursue my own studies, for along with the position of teacher, I am also a student.

Gaddafi

Every tyrant is mortal;
Gaddafi is a tyrant;
Gaddafi is mortal.

Of course, there are some poor exceptions who pity the death of Gaddafi and the way he was killed. I understand their emotions simply because they are not Libyan, no close relative of theirs was killed by this tyrannical leader, and they find it hard to put themselves in the victims' shoes. They have turned a blind eye to the loss of hundreds of lives and have started to pity the loss of only one life. Hats off to them!

To my dismay, some have deemed Gaddafi brave and great. I don't know why. Is it because thousands of Libyans have been wrong and only one man, Gaddafi, was right? Or maybe because the innocent Libyans that have been killed deserved that killing? I can't see where bravery is. Isn't humanity a sign of greatness? Gaddafi lacked it during his lifetime. Some say he defied the west. But is it at the expense of the lives of Libyans could he defy the west best?
The death of Gaddafi has confirmed the universal thought that life remains nothing at the end of the day no matter what it offers humankind.

I Never Sing

By day, I never sing;
But, by night, it turns out I do.
Asleep, I hear a ring;
Awake, I never do.
Dreaming, I feel I sing,
Here lies the clue.
For waking up, I never touch a string
Of a guitar, blue and new.
I never sing;
I am sure I never do.
Sadly, only a few
Believe I never sing.
Only a bee that once flew
Left a tune and a sting
And to figure out the clue,
I reiterate I never sing.

Mere Dreams

I have a childish dream
To live on a planet with no loneliness complex
With no time-consciousness like days and weeks.

I have a naive dream
To trust any man I befriend,
To let others stand as I bend
And to serve the broken pencils I mend.

I have an idealistic dream
To love a boastful and gorgeous girl,
To reclaim the insults I hurl
And to feed an early bird on a late worm.

I have a blurred dream
To regain my sight,
To pursue the track of light
And to clearly see the titles at night.

I have a queer dream
To let everyone know I merely dream fake dreams,
To expose my imbecile whims
And to do away with aimless aims.

I have a mature dream
To meet those in the ivory tower,
To let them know that though I seem lower,
Their own dreams are still fewer.

By Omar BIHMIDINE

Preys Among Foxes

" Preys among Foxes" is the article I recently read about new girls entering a boarding school when they come to study at university. It is written by a female university student in Agadir. In her article, she describes boys as foxes and girls as preys. The bottom line of her article is that many girls fall prey to boys during their university days in that these girls lose their dignity as a consequence of boys' 'foxy' advances. Many girls, she writes, experience kissing, touching of all sorts, dating, etc. For her, boys are harshly to blame because of their attracting, exploiting and lying to these girls. Some other girls, she adds, even go on to lose their virginity for the reason that boys have seduced them into this immoral result. All this boils down to the fact that the writer of this article, a female university student, defends girls and does her best to exonerate them of almost all immoral incidents befalling girls. Frankly, I felt bitter hatred and repulsion reading her article. In response, I would say that no matter what the excuses girls come up with to blame men and to exonerate themselves, girls alone at boarding school and university are to blame. I am not convinced by any excuses the writer has provided except one which she did not mention at all in her piece. It is raping. Raping is the only vulgar thing for which boys are harshly to blame. Apart from it, nothing else is convincing to me, especially that female university students are mature enough to judge what is moral and what is not, to detect who is lying and who is not, and to refuse to accompany boys wherever she goes. As long as girls are not forced by the hand to accompany boys, there will be no use crying over spilt milk if anything happen to them later. Girls falling prey through raping by force are excused and need to be highly defended at all costs. Girls falling prey through raping as a result of sweet-talking and accompaniment are not excused and need not be defended. My last message to this writer is that try to criticize seduction rather than the result of seduction and try to reconsider who is the prey and who is the fox. Personally, I have never seen a prey who enjoys being approached by a fox. On the contrary, the prey normally runs away the fastest possible the minute a fox is in sight.

By Omar BIHMIDINE

A Man with a Big and Long Nose

A couple of days ago, in my neighbourhood, as I was passing by a newly-wed woman with her friends, I couldn't help hearing the complaint that the newly-wed man had a big and long nose. This woman is now very old. She felt desperate many times, for no one proposed to her. But why does this big and long nose really matter to this woman? I do not think it should matter to her for the simple reason that the means justifies the end. The means here is absence of suitors, and the end is getting married to a man with a big and long nose. Anyway, let us simply wish the newly-wed happiness ever after.

And Old Man Sitting on a Bench

While my brother and I were having a walk through a garden in El Jadida today, we spotted an old man sitting on a bench alone. He seemed to indulge in deep meditation. He bowed his head wearily. And he was holding a crutch. As we approached him, my brother told me that he was one of our distant relatives whose wife had recently died. Instantly, I remembered him and talked to him. I reminded him of myself. What took me aback was his dejected face. His face expressed the right sense of bereavement. I could not help gazing at his red nose for so long, for in the latter I was able to feel how devout he had been to his late wife. His difficulty in uttering words clearly is living proof that he had done the best for his wife in her lifetime, that he had offered her all she had needed, and that he had loved her as she had been. The real problem that we face today is that this man's likes are few and far between.

A Thirty-Year-Old Teacher of French

I very well remember when a thirty-six-year-old teacher of French, my colleague in Zagora, told me a lot about his love story with one of his classmates during his university days. As an avid listener to this real story, I did not concern myself with trivial things of any love story, such as the places they used to go together, what they used to tell each other when night fell, the sort of their relationship, or all the things they exchanged as lovers. But I still carried on listening until the thing that would draw my attention was raised. It was the promise they made to get married once they landed a job. As this friend of mine told me, they loved each other so vehemently during the four years they spent at university to the extent that even some passers-by thought that they would make a successful couple. He added that they revised their lessons so diligently and did a good job at their studies. This was why, he said, they were optimistic about their future. As their studies came to an end, and they all graduated with success, they went to sit for the entrance exam to the teacher training center. To their utter dismay, she succeeded, while he failed. Still worse was the fact that he failed all the following entrance exams of the four years that ensued. His would-be wife kept her promise during the first two years, but as the third year was about to end, she began to get bored. My friend told me that he felt so through her new behavior and lifestyle. She no longer phoned him, and she did not ask after him anymore. When he asked her why, she made up some flimsy excuses, like that of having to care for her parents or that of busying herself with her teaching career. This would-be wife, my friend believed, did not do so out of innocence, but rather out of apathy and selfishness, particularly that she was now a teacher, while he was still jobless and penniless. A few years later, she turned a deaf ear to all his approaches. She even changed her phone number and made it impossible for him to even stay in contact with her. Only then did he understand that this girl was no longer going to be his other half. He became dejected and hopeless on the spot, he said to me. One day, he heard that she got married to someone else, but he did not know anything about his occupation. With time, this friend of mine at last succeeded and became a high school teacher of French. And he was appointed in Zagora, and I had the chance to live with him in the same house. He lived upstairs, and I lived downstairs. And we sometimes met and talked. One day, I raised this love story of his to him once more, and he said that he had some advice for me. I then had to listen with awe. Never put all your eggs in one basket, he said to me.

Tahar Ben Jelloun

In 1987, during an interview, Tahar Ben Jelloun, a Moroccan writer and poet, was asked about the great people he admired. He started with his mother, the thing I appreciate so much. Then, he moved on to talk about King Hassan the second, and began to whitewash him, saying that he was someone he highly held in estimation and someone he respected so much. Notwithstanding, during a recent interview with Ben Jelloun about the current Arab revolutions, he intervened to say that for him King Hassan the second was like Mubarak, the toppled Egyptian president, and that torture and social injustice were what characterized Hassan's regime too. The conclusion I have come to here is that Tahar Ben Jelloun and his likes are hypocrites just like those who are whitewashing Mohamed the sixth at present. I only hope other hypocrites of today will not make the same mistake with our current king.

Fake Faces

I love the face of this emaciated Somali baby. I frankly prefer it to the face of a beautiful girl while she is smiling. I love his eyes too. You know why? It is because the suffering his face expresses is true. He does not sham it. He does not feign any pain. He instead feels it. It is tearing his limbs apart. Unlike his face, that of a beautiful girl is full of fake smiles, fake interest, fake grimaces, fake loving eyes and fake winks. I love this Somali baby because he is telling the truth, the thing we lack in many beautiful faces of girls.

Marriage

I have heard many people discussing marriage. One of the issues they raise is whether women get married for the position the man has got or the good qualities that he possesses. If you pose this question to women, they will tell you that they marry a man for good qualities. For me, however, this is not the case at all. Women usually marry because of the position. They are not to blame whatsoever as they are not conscious of the fact they have married due to this. Let us take one simple example. Here, I would like you to be honest. I know a rich company manager with very good qualities who got married to a rich woman. Now what you're going to do is divest this man of all his wealth and position. Make him a poor man with no stable home. Just keep his good qualities. This is all before he goes to propose. For God's sake, do you think this rich woman and her parents will still appreciate this man? Alternately, imagine two men that have the same personality and the same good qualities. One of them has got only good qualities. The other has got the position. Both go to propose to the same girl on the same day. Who is going to be chosen?

Girls are like Shadow

Girls are like shadow. If you try to catch shadow, you will miss the light. If you walk towards the light, then the shadow follows, many say. I definitely agree. In reality, this is what is happening to many young men who have recently fallen in love or who have had a crush on some beautiful girls. Facebook as a current means of chatting is where the shadow either follows or is followed. Most of the time, young men follow it. Being one of them, I feel so sorry for them, particularly when a girl does not answer them back or goes offline the minute they send her a message. If a young man exaggerates by asking after his beloved now and then, she will get bored by nature. And she will answer him as his question requires, nothing more. On the other hand, if a young man ignores a girl and rarely answers her questions, she will begin to wonder why this happens to her and will not feel at ease until she poses numerous questions to her beloved. What still breaks my heart is when one is deeply in love and can not help being far from his or her beloved. In this case, when one ignores the other, it is as though their heart palpitation made a sound that anybody can distinctly hear. We might conclude that to win a girl's heart and snatch it firmly in your hands, turn a blind eye to her maudlin messages.

Linguistics and Literature

Personally, I disagree with those who are studying literature in isolation from linguistics, or the other way around. We all know that they are different fields that B.A. holders have to major in in their post-graduate studies, but nobody can deny that they are interrelated and that they overlap. And it is true that one can not do without the other. As a writer of many pieces, if it weren't for what I have studied in linguistics, I wouldn't be able to put pen to paper confidently. Linguistics has been of great note to me with regard to the language and grammaticality of my pieces. And literature has helped me broaden my mind and write about many different issues. It has also helped me write poems, articles and short stories. Literature enriches one's style. Linguistics polishes one's writing quality. I deeply and equally owe a great debt to these two fields.

A Program on 2M about Reading

Today, I watched on 2M channel a program about how often Moroccans read. As I watching, I was shocked to hear an interviewed newsagent saying that Moroccans read a lot and that they always buy new books. What even astounded me more were a few interviewed children saying that they read around six short books a day. An interviewed girl sitting on a bench in a park said that she read wherever she went, even in the bathroom. Two other interviewees said they were once reading in the same garden and one of them came to see the other's title of the book and it was there where they made each other's acquaintance, and now they plan to get married. They added that it was reading which made them meet each other by coincidence and they, therefore, owe a great debt to it. Another interviewee was a taxi driver who said that he read everywhere he went, especially while waiting for the green light at the junction. In response to all these responses by the interviewees and 2M channel, I would say: Enough is enough to hypocrisy! These interviewees do not represent Moroccans, and they are not the ones to ask to see whether reading in Morocco is on the increase or not. I am certain that reading in Morocco is still in drastic decline, and very few people read. The elite few!

Certain Readers

Recently, I have begun to take into account certain readers more seriously whenever I put pen to paper. I did not use to do so, but the number of comments and remarks that I have received on my articles has persuaded me to re-visit my articles. Some readers note that I have to improve my writing style by avoiding sloppy sentences. Some others remark that I need to avoid using simple words and therefore opt for more sophisticated ones. The role of some other readers merely lies in detecting grammar mistakes, nothing more. Others go on to say that I need to focus more on the content than on the quantity. In fact, I would ascribe all this to sour grapes on the part of some readers. I am neither surprised not affected by this advice for the reason that it has come from readers who preach what they do not practise. Their job is to prescribe what to do and how to do it. At first, I thought they had gone through all these steps as novice writers, but they fact that they don't even put pen to paper makes me burst into laughter. How come someone who has never written one coherent paragraph can preach all this! The advice that I shouldn't write simply as prescribed might well be directed to Ernest Hemingway. It was the one who taught us to write simply. Frankly speaking, I wholeheartedly accept readers' remarks and comments on condition that they show me what they have written so that I will learn more efficiently.

A New Syllogism

All humans are mortal. Socrates is human. Socrates is mortal. I am certain you are all acquainted with this syllogism. And you all like it. What I am not sure of, however, is whether this new syllogism interests, and appeals to, you or not. It runs thus: Handsomeness is lovable and Ugliness is unlovable. Ali is handsome; he is lovable. Saadia is ugly; she is unlovable. Through these two conclusive sentences, I have come to know that those men who are ugly are seldom loved by beautiful women, and those women who are ugly are rarely loved by handsome men. Exceptions exist of course, but they don't mean anything to us as long as the majority follow this rule to the letter. As for exceptions, there are certain motives behind breaking the rule. For instance, a beautiful woman who is on the verge of her forties and who has already felt desperate about marriage may say yes to any suitor, be he handsome or ugly. The same thing is true of handsome men who are financially poor and can not afford the necessities of married life. The latter have no other choice but to propose to an ugly woman who does not usually demand a lot from the suitor. Once again, exceptions exist, but they add nothing to our subject matter. Frankly, I wish the newly-wed everlasting happiness.

Public School Students

It breaks my heart when somebody mentions public school students to me. I feel so sorry for these students. I used to be one of them. And I very well know how negatively they feel towards some subjects, particularly French and Mathematics. Lately, I have met some private school mature students, and I am unable to draw an adequate analogy between them and others from the public sector. They speak French fluently, and when I saw their grades sheets, I was stunned to find that they did an equally excellent job at all the subjects they studied. The only thing I did when I heard many good things that characterize their education was that I began to pity public sector students. I even indulged in self-pity as I still consider myself as one of these students. At times, I feel that many of these students are lying on deathbed. At other times, I believe that even public students students can make a huge difference. We simply need to impress on them that what does not kill us makes us stronger and that willingness makes miracles. As a lame victim of public education, I would still remain so if I had not put into practice these two adages.

Lies

As I implicitly mentioned earlier in some of my pieces, besides absence, there are many other things that make the heart grow fonder. One of these things are the lies that lovers tell each other before they get married. No matter how frank they try to be to each other, they can not help telling lies, especially that the latter too makes the heart grow fonder. The crux of the matter is that it makes the heart fonder for short time. Wrong are those who try to elude themselves by saying that they have never lied to their lovers. Lovers have to lie so as to gain the opposite sex' heart as firmly as possible. " You are the first one I have ever loved, " lovers say to each other. But this is not true all the time. It is so rare to find someone who dares to say to his or her lover that they have once loved. Personally, I burst into laughter when I read what a girlfriend sends her boyfriend. Boyfriends do their best to show off, thus gaining girls' hearts. Girls do their best to show that they are pure, strict and lovable, thus convincing boys of their purity. However, with time and as marriage is pronounced, married life start to lack vitality and freshness, and each one's defects begin to crop up. Each one lays his or her previous lies on the table. No one is feigning any false feelings anymore. Some promises are broken. Anyway, this is normal in any married life. And it isn't necessarily a sign that married life is unstable . Even successful couples go through these experiences. To avoid this problem, I have told the truth to some girls. But what I have done has got me nowhere, for the truth does not make the heart grow fonder. On the contrary, unlike truth, flattery or lies make the heart easily grow fonder. Telling the truth all the time, however, doesn't get one anywhere. This is mainly why I have not won the heart of the beautiful yet. I bait with sheer truth, not lies.

Mastering a Language

The mystery that comes to me now and then is that many Moroccans write and speak French, Arabic, English, and other languages, but so few of them really master these languages. We have to bear in mind that there is a marked difference between knowing a language and mastering it. Knowing it merely lies in writing and speaking the basics; in other words, conveying a message at all costs is what matters to most. Mastering a language mainly lies in speaking and writing it as perfectly as possible. That is, one has to write grammatically and semantically correct paragraphs in the language he or she think they master. Also, they have to speak the newly-learnt language authentically and with intelligible pronunciation. Personally, accuracy and fluency are what guarantees real mastery. Without these two criteria, we are eluding ourselves. Recently, I began to learn French, and when I informed some people of this, they were surprised to death. " How come you haven't learnt French yet, " they wondered. Here, it is a pity that they mistake learning a language for conveying 'silly' and 'basic' messages in the same language via SMS. In response, I said that I began to learn French so that I would write in it and speak it as accurately and fluently as possible. Also, I set out to learn it so as to read some of French literature. This misconception of a mastery of a language has led some learners astray; now they are master at none; in other words, they are jack of all trades.

Unrequited Love

Many people have suffered from unrequited love at one point in their lives. Still worse is the fact they aggravate their suffering by clinging to this nonreciprocal love for so long even though they have been convinced that the one they love will never be theirs. Though I do not often practise what I preach, I have got some advice for the victims of the predicament. Normally, people suffering from unrequited people love someone of a higher position than theirs, of exceptional beauty, and of excessive pride and established reputation. The only advice I can give them here is that they should go for those with a lower position and less beauty. I am sure that the majority will reciprocate your feelings, for you must be a model for them. However, the problem that you might face is that this sort will love you unrequitedly. That is, they can love you passionately, but you won't be able to love them with the same passion. To do away with pain as some women call it, all we need is to ignore over and over again and never have more consideration than is normal.

Some New Learners of English

Every time I meet some new learners of English and talk to them, I stare at they way they dress and listen to the way they speak English. Some of them choose to dress outlandishly and fashionably, emulating Americans' lifestyles. They are free to do so, and I respect their new lifestyle. Still, what I can't make out is why they hold the misconception that learning and mastering a new language necessarily mean adopting the lifestyle of its native speakers. Some other new learners think that by imitating American or British people in every single life aspect, they are doing a good job. It is important to learn a lot about the British culture, but it is trivial to renounce our own lifestyle we are born with so as to adopt a new different one. I pity those who dress, talk, walk, and behave the same way as Americans do, for these sorts of men are no longer themselves. I am for learning any language and knowing everything about any culture and lifestyle. But I can not disown my origin. Most importantly, I am an English-language practitioner, writing in English, speaking to English native speakers, making them read what I write, letting them know that I am myself, a purely Moroccan Amazigh man in every aspect of my life.

I Kept my Lips Sealed

This summer, I have had the chance to attend an affluent wedding in my village. What characterized the wedding is that the invited sat at many tables no matter how polarizedly different their social classes are. I appreciated this comportment so much. But the discussion that some attendees were involved in did not live up to my expectations. As one of the attendees, I too sat a table with so many wealthy people beside me. As a native ex-villager, I know every single one of them very well. As usual, at weddings, one of the pleasures I take in attending is to make my belly full. As we ate, we soon began to talk. I too involved myself. Suddenly, I felt that I had only been talking at cross purposes; instantly, I kept my lips sealed. I had to do so, for the young boys sitting opposite me told me that they were studying at Al Akhayayn University. When I asked about how much it cost them to study there, I was told ten thousand dirhams a year per each student. I was surprised to death because I as a practicing teacher do not earn this amount during three working years. And these students pay this amount only to study in one single year. That is why I kept my lips sealed until my belly got full and I ran home.

The Pen and the Keyboard

I haven't held a pen for so long. More precisely, I have rarely clutched it to a write a few lines on paper. Instead, the keyboard has replaced this medium whereby we write. Most of the time, I use the keyboard. That is why my handwriting has begun to lose beauty. Whatever the means, my ultimate purpose behind the pen and the keyboard still remains the same: to impart my ideas through my pieces. The only difference I have recently felt there is between the pen and the keyboard is the ebb and flow of inspiration. To my amazement, I find it easier to write with the keyboard as I am so often inspired then, and the ideas in my mind flow smoothly. Unlike the latter medium, the pen pains my mind, and makes my ideas turn around the bush for a long time. They take much time to hit the bush. When the pen is in my hand, I tremble with fear, for I can not stand spotting something crossed out or amiss on paper.

During the Deliberation

Towards the end of a school year, I usually hear some teachers discussing their students' levels and grades during the deliberation. Whenever I attend the latter, I always feel I can not stand the manner some teachers describe the level of some poor students. What I can not accept is when a teacher says that some of his students are stupid, communicatively handicapped, and slow on the uptake. Therefore, they add that the students in question do not deserve success at all and that what they deserve is dropping out of school. This is not mature and professional of this sort of teachers, I complain. Some others go on to burst into laughter when they hear names of their students. Here, they start to reveal the defects of some of their students. To my dismay, some others describe students as mere donkeys and good for nothing, for the latter have never raised their hands in class. As I hear all these so-called complaints and many more from teachers, I wonder whether or not these teacher have inevitably gone through the same experiences during their school days. Even if not all of them have, they must experience the same outside the class. They must be understanding and they have to bear in mind that they were once students. On the contrary, they should provide remedies instead of uttering silly complaints. My message to these teachers is that they must take enough precautions when they dare to speak ill of their students, particularly that many of the greatest of geniuses of the whole world too were once 'stupid', 'communicatively handicapped', and 'slow on the uptake'.

Unemployment

Unemployment has become a rampant phenomenon in Morocco. I strongly condemn it, and I strongly demand that all unemployed people, especially diploma holders, should be hired in different sectors. When it comes to the sector of education, I have got some second thoughts to mention. All unemployed B.A., M.A. and PhD holders are calling for joining the teaching profession. But, the question we have to pose here is whether they are competent enough to land this job or not. I strongly believe that we must not sacrifice competence for the sake of recruiting the unemployed. If we do so, expect that a large number of students will fall prey to the teaching of incompetent teachers. In this way, these students will in turn be negatively affected in that they will not receive good education as they should. Many of us are victims of this calamity. Enough is enough to badly-educated graduates if we really care about the education of our students! Personally, I would rather stay unemployed, trying to find another job than teach improperly. Many unemployed graduates have been recruited to teach, not because they passed the necessary written and oral exam, but because they took to the street calling for employment. I stand by them just the same way as I stand by the students whom they are going to teach. The fact that many ex-university students in Islamic studies have been recruited to teach Mathematics and French in primary schools breaks my heart, particularly that we are worsening the quality of our education by providing a bread-and-butter job to the unemployed calling for the teaching profession.

A Candle that Flickers

I light it every night,
But whenever it flickers, I begin to lose my sight.
A long time ago, I thought I used this flickering candle only to read;
Now it turns out that I have been using it to lead
A group of readers to my world of both tension and relief;
Oh, drops of my tears are still like a falling barren leaf.

Life Told by an Idiot

" Life is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing, " wrote Shakespeare in Macbeth. Quoting this distinguished playwright has come from the possibility that some readers may shy away when we begin to look up on life as a journey that is not worth living, particularly that it signifies nothing at the end of the day. Numerous are the incidents in life that prove what Shakespeare wrote. During our childhood, we make a fuss and cry for hours for the simple reason that our toys or plastic cars break into pieces. We go furious and complain for days until we procure a new toy. We never take into account how the toy comes to us. All that matters is that we must have a toy or a plaything to play with to fill in the gap. The same thing is true of our choice of clothes, food, drinks, games, etc. Notwithstanding, the moment our childhood comes to an end, we give up all those toys, not because they are damaged, but because they no longer mean anything to us. In others words, they signify nothing anymore. Back to my childhood days, the only game I enjoyed so much was marbles. I couldn't do without it in that that I one day went on foot to a town at a distance of ten five miles to buy marbles. Now, the game has lost its value and means nothing to me. But it still means a lot to children. Similarly, the latter will in turn give it up as soon as they become adults. In our adulthood, we start to value invaluable life aspects, especially love, marriage, wealth, fame, enjoyment of all sorts, etc. Nobody can deny that we are constantly looking for true love. We all aspire to become famous no matter what it will take us to do so. We all run after all forms of entertainment, such as cinema, theater, basking by the seaside, visiting a tourist resort or a foreign country. We all hanker after some money and getting married to an ideal half. Some of us make noise and get furious on their way to attaining all these life pursuits. Some others daydream about a perfect married life, uttering some sounds helplessly during their sleep. Some sleep a wink on the night of a special day. Some do their best to seek fame wherever it is. Similar to what occurred to us as children, as the elderly, we soon give up everything we have attained the moment we observe that senility and old age are pervading every limb of our body. We begin to walk unsteadily; hence, basking by the seaside is no longer a dream. We begin to find some food tasteless. We begin to see our married life losing vitality after we have discovered the ins and outs of our imperfection. We begin to see money as useless as the latter does not guarantee health and return to adulthood. We begin to see love as a trick played on us soon after we find out many lies and defects. Most importantly, we begin to see life as futile, particularly that we have taken it seriously at every stage and now that we have found that we needn't have done so. Let us just breathe a deep sigh of relief now that a simple idiot has narrated our life. We are these simple idiots, anyway. We have made our life fraught with sound, noise, tumult, fury, anger, stress, etc. for the sake of ephemeral life stages. Only late in our life do we discover that life signifies nothing. Idiots can not discover this at an early age. That is why are are all simply idiots who have made our lives what they are at present.

Beauty is not in the Eye of the Beholder

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, some say. Others refer to it to excuse their ugliness. Some others believe in it, but when the proposal day approaches, they give it up. Many others go on to mention it as a consequence of auto-suggestion, trying to calm down themselves. For sure, this adage exists in reality, but beholders who feel so are so few and far between. It is so mainly because nearly ninety people lean towards real beauty, while the same percentage of people lean towards real ugliness. The ten per cent left make up men and women with certain complexes. For instance, a young, ugly girl surely quotes this saying the day a man proposes to her. An old, beautiful woman does the same when she finds that she is ageing day after day with no suitor in sight. However, a really beautiful girl quoting it is almost non-existent. Anyway, it is something normal. I am not saying that the quote above doesn't exist. It exists, but the motives behind its coming into existence are not based on honesty and frankness. What I am alluding to is that beauty isn't in the eye of the beholder, but rather beauty should be in the eye of the beholder. Let us be a bit honest with each other. Let us be a bit realistic. As for me, if I believe in the quote, I must do so all my life, not just when I am going to propose to a beautiful girl or when I am not handsome enough to do so. It is simply because I very well know that it will be so hypocritical of me to do so. Beauty should be in the eye of the beholder! Don't you think so?

Boycotting the new Constitution

Personally, there are many reasons why I have boycotted the new constitution. First, since I am certain more than one hundred percent that the new constitution will be approved and validated, I see no point in going to vote in the negative. Normally, one votes in the negative or in the affirmative if there is an almost equal possibility and competition of the success of one side and the failure of another. Second, since the king himself says YES to the new constitution, I can see that from time immemorial, so few would say NO to the new constitution. Third, the government has spent great amounts of money to make people vote in the affirmative. Here, I see no point in saying NO, for the government has made it clearer for me the new constitution is already approved. Fourth, the majority of voters do not know what are the real changes in the new constitution and whether the latter will surely bring Morocco any positive change. Fifth, illiterate people's voices mustn't be counted as they do not anything about the speech delivered. All they know is that it is delivered by the king of Morocco, the one whom they love so passionately. This love is passed on from generation to generation amongst them. No matter what the speech is about, I am more than certain that they will keep saying " Long live the king! and Long live the new constitution. These reasons are simply just to name but a few.

Extra-curricular Activities

Good teachers that I know are divided into two main categories: those who do extra-curricular work with their students at school and those who do their own 'extra-curricular' work outside the school. The former train their students on their basic skills for joining the outside world. The latter are teachers who train themselves to become greater in that they carry on reading a lot, writing every now and then, pursuing their studies, doing more research and learning new things about their subject matter. The students of the former do a very good job with the same extent as the students of the latter do. What only differs in the end is that we conclude that the former teachers die prematurely the minute they light the way for their students. With respect to the latter teachers, they still survive until they light the way, not only for their current students, but also for numerous coming generations.

I too Have Tasted Life

Like many of you, I too have tasted life. But I feel that the difference between many of you and a few people like me is that I describe many things in life as they are, not as I wish them to be. Of course, I wish many things were the other way around. But I will not lead my life based on my wishful thinking. Frankly speaking, I have been criticized for doing so, for reality astonish those who do not live it. It only relieves the tension of those who really live it. Reality, for many, is always to be avoided. I am also among those many people, but I want to write reality rather than speak it. Speaking it is another thorny issue. Talking about poverty doesn't necessarily mean that I have gone through it. The same is true of failure, pessimism, hopelessness, ugliness, etc. What I write therefore does not always address my own personality. Let us take the example of beauty of the soul as some say. Personally, I do not believe in it at all. It is true that beauty of the soul exists, but people do not marry for the sake of it. Beauty of the soul is just a result of auto-suggestion which ugly men and women can't help feeling. And I hate people who find this an excuse on the day of the proposal. Let ugly men get married to ugly women and handsome men to beautiful women. No to idealism when our life is serious! No to auto-suggestion when we ourselves are not convinced! No to shamming appreciation! No to imposing your fake principles on those who find them unnecessary in their lives! No to proposing to a beautiful girl when you yourself aren't handsome enough! No to making a girl fall in love with you unless she herself does! No to social hypocrisy if you really want to live in the fullest sense of the word!

Moroccan Reseach Papers

When I read a certain text and I that instant feel that I want to carry on reading so covetously, I know that the one behind the piece must be a good writer. The minute I taste the flow of the ideas expressed and the smooth structures of a piece, I hungrily go back and begin to read for the second or third time. I once heard that after a certain period of time, some universities frequently set fire to many research papers that B.A. holders conducted. In sincerity, I did not welcome the idea at all, and I even went on to blame these universities for having no consideration for all B.A. holders' efforts and diligence. With time, however, it turns out that I was wrong and that I should not have blamed it on universities for the simple reason that most research papers in question are not well worth preserving for coming generations. Out of curiosity, I have read many, ranging from those conducted at university to the ones conducted at teacher training centers. Most of them have one defect in common: lack of originality. Besides, what also characterizes these research papers is the alarming overuse of sentence fragments, dangling modifiers, badly-punctuated paragraphs, unbearable and meaningless diction, pompous expressions not properly used, etc. I am sorry I would not say no to burning them so as as to shun any possible contagion and also so as to put an end to this calamity.

The Procession in Honour of the Lastest King's Speech

While I was sitting at the cafe that overlooks the main street of Zagora today, on the spur of the moment, I saw a long procession and a well-organized parade with many people celebrating the latest king's speech about the new constitution and promising to vote for it in the affirmative. Many things about this celebration astounded me, actually. One of them is the large number of children who rode bicycles and motorcycles with the flags covering every side of their body. This immediately brought me back to the time when as an innocent child, I went to take part in the celebration of the visit our king was paying us then. I did not know why I was going, nor did I know what was the occasion for. Everyone in my village went to welcome the king. I was wearing some old sandals and a loose pair of jeans. Like the children I saw this afternoon, I too chanted certain instilled expressions, the meaning of which I never took to my heart. Back today's procession, many old men too took to street today, prancing and singing ecstatically. Here, I would excuse the latter for the simple reason that the majority of them did not get what the new constitution is really about and did not fully grasp the implications of it. At the time, I wished one of these aged men had come to me to explain what he had benefited from the new constitution. In the procession, there were also many women who sang and shouted at the top of their voices and in a gleeful manner. Oh, how poor they really are! If only they had instead taken to the street with the same large number to claim some basic rights for their children, like good education and health care. The remainder of the procession makes up many de luxe cars, tooting their horns. Their sides were coloured with the caption of " Yes to the new constitution". I then knew that they were the aristocratic party. Personally, I felt there was no use hearing from them, for they have not tasted the hardship Moroccans are living in day in and day out.

The Latest King's Speech

I am really in a daze. I understood from the speech delivered by the king that Moroccans have the right to vote either in the negative or in the affirmative. Since everything is crystal clear, why does the government insist on campaigning for gathering as many YES voters as possible? Why do they not let Moroccans think at their ease? What I have understood from all these campaigns is that all Moroccans must vote in the affirmative. I now feel that some of what is stated in the new constitution is already breached. The law that is now broken is that not all Moroccans are free to vote for or against the new constitution.

A Special University Teacher

Every Moroccan university is notorious for some hard university teachers who find it abnormal to have mercy on their students. Choaib Eddoukali University is one of them. In it, there is a professor who teaches Drama and who is so mean when it comes to grading. At first, you may think that this professor is doing his job by giving his students only what they deserve. But later on, I discovered that he is not. Also, the professor in question is so special in grading, and the low grades he gives his students are mostly around one, two, or three out of twenty. As for me, happily, I did not have the chance to be taught by this professor. He teaches only S5 and S6 students. Anyway, what characterizes his grading is that he penalizes students so harshly in that he subtracts 5 marks for every single spelling, grammatical and punctuation mistake. It means that if you only make four mistakes in your piece of writing, you automatically get one out of twenty. I have always heard students complaining. One day, out of curiosity, I made up my mind to attend his class for the first time. Before entering, I had already decided to judge his mastery of English. The idea that struck my mind then was that I would count the number of pronunciation mistakes he would make while delivering the lesson. Of course, this was in case he happened to make any. Meanwhile, I vowed never to attend his class if he made more than four mistakes. No longer had the first quarter of the session elapsed than he had made more than four serious pronunciation mistakes. My message to this professor is that bear in mind that real mastery of any language is not only measured by how many mistakes one makes in writing a piece, but also by how many pronunciation mistakes one makes while speaking. Lastly, I would choose to describe this professor as the blind leading the blind, nothing more.

Greed or Need

Earth provides enough to satisfy every man's need, but not every man's greed, said Mahatma Gandhi. Even at first sight, we couldn't agree more. As a child, I was too particular whenever my mother bought me something new. I incessantly complained about the colour of my clothes and that of my toys. I incessantly complained that I should dress more fashionably than my fellow villagers. And when my mother accompanied me to the market, I would hanker after everything that attracted my attention. I never took into account the price. Oh, how I made my mother suffer with my particular wishes and tastes. As an adult now, I have learned that earth, the symbol of my mother, could have provided me with anything that I needed, but not with the greedy desires I had. Now that many officials have demanded a salary rise, I hope it is their need, not their greed, that has made them take to the street. Frankly, I am not sure whether the recent, meager salary rise will solve most of the teaching staff's financial problems. I am not sure whether the rise is what they need to lead a better life or what they will get used to for a period of time and then have greed for more. We really need to satisfy our need, not our greed.

Talents Show

Last year, I was invited by a colleague of mine to attend a conference organized by MATE ( The Moroccan Association of Teachers of English). With pleasure, I attended it, and the thing that drew my attention most was the talents show that was presented by students. I entered the hall and went to have my seat at the middle row. From a distance, as the talents show began, I looked at the students from right to left and from left to right, but I could not find myself there. I mean by this that I could not find my kindred spirit there because when I was almost their age, I never had the chance to take part in such amazing shows. When I was almost their age, I did not know what a talent show was for, nor did I know how to show my talents to the audience. And it was here where I grew to abhor the stage. The talents show immediately brought me back to my schooldays when we pupils were merely invited to attend some shows and not to participate in them. The primary school I studied in was on the outskirts of Tafraout. And whenever there was a talents show, we had to go to Tafraout just to attend it. My ex-teachers never encouraged us to take the initiative. When I entered high school, I had already grown with a dislike of the stage, and even though we had the chance to participate, I never dared do that. It was only when I entered university did I give up the idea of not liking the stage. And I eventually fell in love with the stage. But it was too late, then. I wish I could have taken part in such shows as a pupil, not as a mature student or as a teacher. Back to last year's talents show, I frankly felt envious of the students' early ability to face the public and to speak their mind uninhibitedly. The ability I am talking about will surely help them confront certain stumbling blocks in life with more ease. Anyway, I would admit that I was amazed by the students' performance, and had I not been a bit older than them, I would have asked for permission to join their talents show.

I can not Love my Paternal Grandfather

I am so sorry I can not love him. You may all wonder what "him" refers to. It simply refers to my paternal grandfather. Whether you like it or not, you must all have close relatives with whom you are not on good terms. Looking back on my past days as an innocent child, I still vividly remember my mother giving my grandfather fifty dirhams every three months so that we could receive water through the taps. We had to do that as we had no other choice. As an innocent child, I condemned the act terribly, while my grandfather, a rich man, appreciated it so much. I am so sorry I can not love him. Islam has taught me to love all people whether they do me good or not. But it has not taught me to love people who have done me an injustice or who have treated me inhumanely. Frankly, I forgive my grandfather, but I am so sorry that I can not love him. I have tried to love him many times, but I failed. And I will no longer try to. Humanity inside me is merely what has made me give it a try. Anyway, he is so senile now. And when he passes away, I will attend his funeral. But I assure you that I will not be able to shed a tear. I am so sorry I can not love him. I am not going to mourn his death. Hatred engulfed my heart from all sides at the time. Since then, I have been unable to love someone like him because to sell water in that manner is deemed inhumane by everyone on earth. As a mere child, I would water the plants and give water to cats and dogs to drink, but I never asked for fifty dirhams, let alone when I would do that to human beings. I have no slightest idea whether fifty dirhams would have made of my grandfather a richer man. I am so sorry I can not love you my grandfather no matter how many times I try.

Diplomas

When I look back on my previous experiences with different sorts of people, I have come to the conclusion that not to have a certain degree and deserve it is much better than to have a degree and not deserve it. At first sight, you might find this contradictory. But, I am talking about how shameful some holders of a certain position feel inside when they have a degree which they do not deserve. It is so hard for them to approve of themselves. And it is only society which approves of them. As you know, society is infested with numerous defects and therefore it is never to be trusted. Mohamed Erraji, a Moroccan blogger and writer, has got a primary school degree. But he deserves all university degrees simply because holders of the latter can not write what he writes, can not produce in the language they major in as he can, can not play with the Arabic language as he can, and can not write on the thorny issues as he can. With respect to Ph.D and M.A. holders, I have had the chance to know a lot about them through the teacher trainers who correct their exam papers. One teacher trainer once told me that the majority of their essays are awkward and full of mistakes of different sorts from all sides. The fact that they resorted to cheating is living proof that their mastery of the subject matter is so low. By the way, I am not addressing exceptions here as my topic does not concern them for the moment. It is a real pity that our society trusts degrees. I am for degrees, but I turn to be against them the moment their holders resort to cheating. Resorting to cheating and not answering well are a sign that they do not deserve the degrees they hold. That a Ph.D holder in Arabic literature still writes an essay full of mistakes is unforgivable, particularly at a time when Mohamed Erraji, a dropout, writes as excellent writers do. All these contradictions, among many others, do not matter to me. What really matters to me and maybe to you too is that those who deserve and not have are much better than those who have and not deserve.

Competency-Based Approach

Competency-based approach described in the two textbooks, Focus and Horizons, has always been a mystery to me. I simply have no idea how some book designers are trying to put this approach into practice inspite of themselves. Whenever I move to a fluency-based activity, I can not help feeling that teachers have to apply the approach at all costs even at the expense of meaning. Some language chunks, phrases and questions make no sense whatsoever. There is no authenticity. And when one reads these books, they must feel they are reading items that have merely been translated from Arabic into English, nothing more. Some of you might react and say that it is up to the teacher to be creative in this respect and bring updated things to class. So, what is the use of textbooks then? And how about students who read those textbooks? What if they knew that their textbooks do not meet their needs or do not tap into their learning styles? Anyway, I have got many questions to pose concerning this, but this is not the opportunity to answer them all. One of the questions that drew my attention is " What are your favourite clothes?". Is this question good to ask and answer? Why don't we ask instead " What clothes do you wear when you attend a wedding, a birthday party, a meeting, etc? The latter is more communicative. You may have different favourite clothes at the same time, but it all depends on your specific favourite ones on a specific occasion. If I could ask this question, I would also pose another one about parts of the body. " What are your favourite parts of the body". This doesn't make any sense. The bottom line of all this is that some of us are endeavoring to put the approach into practice, not for the sake of preparing students for the outside world, but for the sake of practice. Oh, yes. Practice makes perfect, anyway.

Yassmina Badou

I absolutely agree with Helen Keller when she once said that it is hard to interest those who have everything in those who have nothing. When I am hungry, I think of the poor when they are looking for a loaf of bread day and night. But when I eat and get full, I no longer think of them. I find it then so hard to interest myself in their bellies because mine is no longer as empty as theirs. Frankly speaking, this happened before I grew in maturity. Now, many things in me have changed, one of which is that I have chosen to defend neglected people through writing. The topic in question brought me back to the time when I watched a video in which Yassmina Badou, the minister of health, responded to a parliamentarian who complained about the sting of poisonous insects, like scorpions, spiders, etc. The parliamentarian defended the citizens of a certain area where these insects spread, jeopardizing their lives. He called for solutions to this rampant phenomenon. In response to his queries and demands, Badou was not able to answer him, nor was she able to provide any concrete solutions. She did not even take pains to respond calmly, composedly, and confidently simply because she couldn't help bursting into hysterical laughter the moment she heard " insects". The fact that she wasted her time giggling prevented her from responding well. She giggled and laughed hysterically after hearing of people being stung by insects. Mentioning poisonous insects made her laugh. I would attribute all this to one main thing. It is the fact that she has never been stung by an insect in her life. How can we expect her to interest herself in those who are stung day after day? No one can deny that it is so hard to interest those who are not stung in those who are stung. No one can deny that it is so hard to interest those who find poisonous insects funny in those who find them a nightmare. No one can deny that it is so hard to interest those who have never come across a poisonous insect in their lives in those who find them creeping in their underwear every night. How can one expect then any cure from this so-called minister of health?

The Tie

Up to now, I still have no idea whether it is the tie that does not suit me or it is I who do not suit the tie. Or maybe, I simply feel so out of nothing. I have asked myself this question many times whenever I am on my way to a formal meeting. For me, I am not against wearing a tie with a suit. I just want to say that when I try to put it on, I instantly feel that I am no longer myself, the fact that makes me obsessed with this mundane issue. Also, when I am about to put it on, I immediately feel that I have got two personalities. One of them is the real me, and the other one is the serious, officious me. And it is at this point where these two personalities collide, preventing themselves from overlapping and coming together. There are of course times when I believe that I have to give up this silly idea, but recently I have come to the conclusion that when I look at myself in the mirror, it is the tie that does not really suit me. It does not simply because I believe it does not. I do not blame the tie itself for not suiting me. Rather, I blame myself for not suiting it. What I am aiming at here is that we do not have to blame it all the time on objects, clothing, tools, etc. It is we who make the latter appear so just as I have done with the innocent tie.