Uncle Boujemaa’s Souk Treats Noureddine Boutahar

 The spirit of the 1960s and 1970s Moroccan countryside was epitomized by a culture of selfless sharing and collective caring. Within this close-knit community, characterized by a profound sense of unity, cooperation, and genuine humanity, the prevailing sentiment was that someone else's children were, in essence, everyone's children—a sentiment vividly illustrated by the memories that follow.

Much like the typical experiences of youngsters in the Moroccan countryside, my days revolved around both school and the responsibility of tending to the family livestock, comprising sheep, goats, and cows. During our leisure hours, my siblings, cousins, and I reveled in the expansive grazing pastures, where abundant grass served as the backdrop for a plethora of traditional games. From tag and hide-and-seek to catch, five stones, skipping-rope, hopscotch, blind man’s bluff, racing, leapfrog, wrestling, tug of war, sack race, sling games, congkak with sheep pellets and beyond, our days were filled with joyous camaraderie.

The highlight of our week undoubtedly was Souk (open-air marketplace) day. When the sun reached its zenith, we would herd our livestock toward the main road leading to the Souk. This strategic and intentional move allowed us to intercept the returning Souk-goers and partake in the distribution of their delightful treats. These treats ranged from sweets, raisins, dry figs, dates, and roasted chickpeas to an orange that we ceremoniously peeled and portioned out among us segment by segment. Occasionally, those without such treats to offer would present us with turnips, carrots, or other vegetables. In return, we would express our gratitude with kisses on the hands of the generous givers, acknowledging the sweetness of their offerings. Their blessings and words of advice on good behavior and kindness echoed in our hearts.

Among the cherished treat-givers, Uncle Boujemaa held a special place in every child's heart. Despite not enjoying economic prosperity, Uncle Boujemaa unfailingly ensured that no child left empty-handed. His arrival from the market, side-saddled on his big brown donkey, was a sight that filled us with excitement. The donkey, accustomed to our greetings, would pause without needing a command from Uncle Boujemaa. With a warm smile, he retrieved a treasure trove of treats that he had already placed on the surface of his panniers, ready to gift us with. We graciously accepted his treats before politely requesting to express our gratitude by kissing his hand, as was the custom with the elderly in our village at that time.

Uncle Boujemaa was familiar with the names of every child in the village, both young and old. His knowledge extended to various aspects of our lives - from those who had experienced illness to those boys who had undergone circumcision, and even those who had just begun school or Quranic School. He would playfully tease us about these details, but his advice was always delivered in a more fatherly earnest tone.

Uncle Boujemaa's kindness was akin to the sweetness and delight of the goodies he generously bestowed upon us. The warmth of his gentle demeanor and the simple joy of those shared moments have left a lasting impression in the memories of every child in the countryside.

The loss of Uncle Boujemaa cast a shadow of sadness that resonated deeply with us during our idyllic childhood days. I vividly recall the day when the echo of someone's voice, calling from the summit of a distant mountain a couple of miles away, reached our ears, carrying the weight of heart-rending news. It was as if the very earth beneath us hesitated to accept such an unpleasant reality.

I stood frozen, unable to fully understand the depth of the loss we had just encountered. How could the Souk days ever be the same without Uncle Boujemaa's presence? The memories of his benevolence lingered like a comforting embrace, but his departure left a void that seemed impossible to fill. In those moments, disbelief gripped my senses, refusing to let go.

Uncle Boujemaa was more than a family friend; he was every child's second father. His generosity knew no bounds, his kindness a guiding light, and his unassuming personality a source of comfort for all who knew him. May this man, whose influence surpassed the confines of time and touched the very core of our collective childhood, find eternal peace.