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.