By Yousse Laaraj
Fez- Is there a place where you can live more happily than your home? Why can’t some people bear the idea of life in their homeland- Morocco?
A couple of weeks ago, I met with an old school friend of mine with great pleasure and excitement, because our friendship has been unbreakable by both the years and the distance.
He told me that he is preparing to leave the country once and for all to settle with his brother in the US, because there is nothing left for him in Morocco after his parents both passed away some years ago and his siblings have all settled down with their families.
As my dear friend was talking excitedly, I read his face in bewilderment while thinking of my long and tedious journey to find a happy life in this country. Admittedly, he revived my latent desire to leave for a foreign country where my rights will be at least respected as a human, irrespective of any material motivation.
Years ago, I rejected offers to pursue my career in Europe and the United States after graduating with a BA in English. “An opposite stance would have made my life very comfortable at present”, I said to myself in a repentant tone.
To be a teacher is a great feeling and an amazing experience if the teacher loves what he does despite all the adverse circumstances. I have always been proud of and have never regretted my decision to live and die on the Moroccan soil. That is, until I was hit twice on my head by so called ‘riot forces’, taking me down in bloody scene while I was peacefully demanding my simple right to a promotion.
These snapshots all slithered through my mind when I was chatting with my friend, speaking about the wonderful old days at school and the dreams we had. We spoke of how we used to sit together, and when I was appointed by the teacher to collect charity from classmates for the Alhoceima earthquake casualties.
The traces of old days never leave one’s memory, especially when recalling times of distress and dilemma. Among the many classmates I had at school, a considerable number have emigrated, and few frequently return to see their relatives and pay visits to their home country.
As we were both in hurry, we didn’t have ample time to ask for details of each other’s life. Yet, my meditation rested on the question: are we right to leave our country and ignore all the tight bonds that tie us together? It is understandable to leave one’s country for study, business, tourism, and the like. However, the firm decision to detach physically and emotionally from one’s home country is hard to grasp, at least for me.
Are we so unfortunate to be born Moroccan? To be cast away and embrace a drastically different identity can only be brought about by a dark conception about what homeland, religion, family, and culture mean.
Emotional denial is a severe product of discontent with the circumstances in which one lives. It urges one to turn the table on all immaterial principles and creeds that used to attach them to his or her birthplace and live with one motto: Me and only Me!
While countries fight to protect their citizens and make deals with the devil to bring back kidnapped nationals, some countries are turning their backs to the screams of their people being sunk, jailed, or even slaughtered.
Are we heartless to deny our motherland and attempt to escape its desperate, lethal jaws?
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