7
boss had assigned him the task of sweeping the factory. He usually
used his break times to prepare tea for his companions who labored
before the cocking ovens that seemed an exhalation from Hell. He
used to talk to them too. His favorite words were “Allah is great!"
And he would always add for himself: "Allah is great -- He spared
me from this terrible work and from depraving me from my health!”
Ibrâhim explains: "My father was a faithful man. He applied to the
letter the verses in the Qur'an that say "The best of almsgiving is that
which springeth from the heart, and is uttered by the lips to soften the
wounds of the injured.""
Despite being illiterate, he learned in the Mosques by memory, and
did not miss any lecture given there.
He then learned how charity was important and he was well known
for his activity of street lawyer and realtor for the benefice of the
poorest. Even though poor himself, he worked almost for free.
People respected his self-denial and honesty.
"Who nowadays pays heed to honesty in Casa?" said Ibrâhim,
"people who lose their faith lose it all. A person like my father is
something that became rare in Darbeda. The corruption is the
general climate of the country."
Ibrâhim, who never learned how to drive in his all life is
taking today a driving lesson. He must know right away how to start
the car, how to drive around the block and how to park before a huge
brand new Mercedes. The sweat runs down his back. The lesson
lasted a quarter of an hour, but Ibrâhim will still be choked for many
days, disgusted by the idea of a driving license. The instructor
exclaims,
“Go and fetch me some packs of cigarettes!”
Ibrâhim has a quick temper, so he confronts the so-called driving
instructor, then pulls himself together: it is not worth wasting time in
discussion. Actually, the baksheesh, the illegal tax deducted in every
place became a general phenomenon this last decade in Morocco.
Ibrâhim sadly affirms:
“In the 60’s, none of this existed. This wave came from the
desert...,” but he prefers not to mention anything more.
It is in this wild context that Ibrâhim remembers his golden childhood
when poverty was not real poverty as it stands for today. Among the
fifty percent of people who regularly stand and kneel down to offer
prayers, he learned the beauty of life. He also learned how to forget
among the other fifty percent, the people misguided by the traditions,
8
by the fluctuant Moroccan culture as well as the ignorance that
undermines the image of the country.
"There was a time, "he explains "where children knew to lighten
the burden of their parents. We would write letters for our parents
because they were illiterate. We did this with patience and pride. We
went outside to do our homework because the lights of the street
lamps were better than our candles. We would change cloths before
going out to play soccer so that our mothers would not have to mend
them afterwards. Mine were already full of patches. See, "there is
no child, a doer of good to his parents who looketh on them with
kindness and affection, but Allah will grant for every look the reward
of an approved pilgrimage.""
Ibrâhim remembers his mother with love and tenderness.
2000-2001 ww.arttoday.com
He was born in the society of these clean and meticulous
women, women jet and fresh-complexioned, whose hands appeared
soft and bony. These women spun wool during the day and they
were often seen pulling the threads into their mouths in order to take
off the superfluous fluff. These women, his aunts, his mother, had
incredible water bills, and although some of them lived in the
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