Ahmed Boukmakh, a Pioneer in Planting the Seeds of Enlightened Education Noureddine Boutahar

Given the current attacks on teachers, and at this critical moment for education, I have chosen to pause and reflect on a cornerstone of Moroccan heritage that has stood the test of time: the iconic Iqra’ schoolbook series, crafted by the esteemed educator Ahmed Boukmakh. I will begin by offering a glimpse into the historical backdrop of this remarkable series—one that weathered the tides of commercial textbook publishing—and then share brief summaries of a few of its enduring tales, along with the timeless moral lessons they impart.

Although many of today’s younger generations may not recognize his name, Ahmed Boukmakh remains a familiar figure to most Moroccans who attended public school in the early years following independence or during the 1970s. His journey led him from the worlds of theatre to the primary school classroom. There, he made lasting contributions, having laid some of the foundational stones of Morocco’s post-independence educational system.

Ahmed Boukmakh was born in Tangier in the 1920s, during the tumultuous period of the Rif War. His mother passed away when he was just eight years old—a tragedy that marked a difficult childhood. From a young age, he worked in his father’s store, which sold both groceries and consumer goods on one side, and books and novels on the other. It was in that unique space, balanced between labor and literature, that Boukmakh’s character was forged.

At the age of eighteen, he became an active member of the Shoura wa Listiqlal (Consultation and Independence) Party. His political involvement had unfortunate consequences: his father was later imprisoned in Rabat after colonial authorities found pro-independence banners in the family’s store. During that difficult time, young Ahmed found himself the de facto head of the household, tasked with caring for his younger siblings and managing the store.

His creative spark was lit even before the Iqra’ series, as he began writing plays in the 1940s. These early works are still referenced in the literary collections of the renowned scholar Abdullah Gannoun, who was Boukmakh’s mentor, teacher, and spiritual guide. Boukmakh’s plays, often performed at the historic Cervantes Theatre in Tangier—a beacon of translated works by Shakespeare and Molière—sought to instill patriotism and civic values in the youth and theatregoers.

After one of his friends was abducted, and as political tensions plagued the party he had joined, Boukmakh eventually chose to withdraw from political activism. His marriage around the same time gave him reason and space to focus on a new mission: writing and publishing educational books. With the invaluable guidance of the eminent Abdullah Gannoun, he embarked on a creative journey that culminated in the legendary Iqra’ series, skillfully weaving together narratives adapted or translated from the works of great international novelists from both East and West.

The idea was born out of a desire to provide Arabic-language textbooks that could be easily taught in primary school classrooms. At that time, nearly all available educational materials were in French—the language of the colonialist. The first edition of Iqra’, printed in 1954, became one of the earliest foundational texts for the primary education system in Tangier—and later across Morocco.

The Iqra’ series comprised five textbooks designed to be taught over five academic years. Upon completing the final volume, students would earn the highly regarded Shahada—a "Certificate Diploma" that often brought honor to families and even access to civil service jobs. Boukmakh later expanded the collection to include Fus’ha (Classical Arabic) in five volumes, as well as Arriyadiat (Mathematics) and Al-Qiraa Liljami’ (Reading for All), a literacy education series. These books combined captivating stories with vivid illustrations and images to stimulate student curiosity and strengthen their visual memory. He collaborated with leading Moroccan artists such as painter Ahmed Chabaa and caricaturist Ahmed Chentouf.

Boukmakh's writing was defined by short, impactful sentences and a concise style. This directness made his schoolbooks perfect for young learners. He knew that to speak to a child’s mind, you don’t knock on the door—you slip in through the window. His language was simple but never shallow. With a few well-chosen words, he managed to light up young imaginations while slipping in a moral or two when no one was looking.

Although his textbooks were gradually phased out in the early 1980s and replaced with newer materials, editions of Iqra’ continued to be reprinted until 2013—and perhaps even today—for use in literacy programs.

We owe a great deal to the stories from these books—stories that students from the ’60s, ’70s, and ’80s still remember as though they learned them just yesterday. Boukmakh’s work helped shape what many now nostalgically call the "golden generation" of Moroccan education. The writings of the late teacher Ahmed Boukmakh emerged at a significant turning point in Morocco’s history: the transition from colonial rule to national independence. His texts consistently promoted values of citizenship, patriotism, respect, and ethical living. His stories were both moving and timeless.

Who among us doesn’t remember the cumulative tale of Uklat Albatatis (A Potato Dish)? It's a shining example of how the author understood the value of this storytelling form—a genre built on repetition that not only makes understanding and memorization easier, but also sharpens memory and encourages children to anticipate what comes next. Echoing classics like This Is the House That Jack Built and The Gingerbread Man, the rhythm of Boukmakh’s cumulative tales makes young readers or listeners feel clever and confident, as if they’re reading the storyteller’s mind.

Who among us can forget Hikmat Bustani (The Gardener’s Wisdom)—the tale of the elderly man, eighty years old, still planting date palms beneath the fiery sun? When the king, astonished, asked him, “Do you expect to eat from their fruits?” the gardener responded with the quiet conviction of a man committed to sustainability: “Others planted, and we ate; now we plant, so others may eat.”

Is there a more profound metaphor for generational honesty and responsibility? Have we ever truly stopped to think with such long-sightedness? To safeguard our nation’s treasures—its fertile land, its abundant seas, its vast and infinite skies—not just for today, but for generations to come? To sow trees in the earth, fish in the waters, and dreams in the heavens—dreams powered by science, technology, and innovation?

And who could forget Allah Yarana (God Is Watching Us)—the story of the thief who, under the cloak of night, climbs into a vineyard with his young son to steal grapes? “If you see anyone,” the father warns, “whistle, so I can hide.” As he begins picking the fruit, the boy lets out a piercing whistle. Alarmed, the man jumps down, only to find no one in sight. “Why did you whistle?” he demands. “Did someone see me?” The boy answers, simply and succinctly: “Yes—God, who sees everything.” A heavy quiet descends upon the father, then repentance.

A story as clear as a whistle, sounding through time—a reminder, then and now, to those entrusted with public duty: serve with integrity. Do not loot the nation’s coffers; do not squirrel away fortunes in local and faraway banks. For even in the depths of our withdrawal, God sees all.

Assarrar wa Namla (“The Cricket and the Ant”) is the kind of story that cannot fade into the mist of forgetfulness. In this parable, a carefree cricket fritters away the golden days of summer, strumming his tune and dancing in the sun, while the diligent ant toils from dawn to dusk, stockpiling grain for the lean months ahead. When winter's chill finally bites, the ant sits snug in her burrow with a full larder, while the cricket, cold and famished, comes knocking. But the ant, unmoved by his plight, reminds him that he sang through the harvest—so now, perhaps, he should dance to keep warm. The story delivers its lesson with a sting in the tail: that hard work and foresight are the keys to weathering life's inevitable storms.

And more and more stories of this kind—those that teach and enlighten without preaching—are urgently needed today. They etch values and morals into young minds, gently but firmly. As the old saying goes, “Youthful learning is etched in the mind like stone.” These stories do more than entertain; they shape character, cultivate empathy, and sow the seeds of wisdom early—and etch them deep within young hearts.

Today’s Iqra’ generation—once the rightful heirs of a golden age of learning—now looks with a lump in its throat at what so often passes for education. What was once a sumptuous banquet of stories, rich in meaning and morals, has dwindled into bland fare: lessons stripped of depth, starved of spirit. In days gone by, it was those stories—and the steady, watchful presence of conscientious parents—that shaped young minds. They raised us with the wisdom of old and guided us onto the straight and narrow from our earliest days. So much so that, at the mere sight of a teacher approaching from afar, we would instinctively snap to attention, stifle our laughter behind cupped hands, and freeze mid-play—as though time itself held its breath in their presence. Yes, we feared them—but not with dread. It was a reverent awe, the kind that made our hearts swell when a teacher gently patted our heads, whether in praise or quiet affection. It was both a crown and a blessing.