From Fields to Classrooms: Lessons in Hard Work and Perseverance Noureddine Boutahar

 I owe a tremendous debt to my parents for providing me with the early foundation of discipline and mindset crucial for success in life. Their guidance instilled in me the enduring values of fortitude, perseverance, hard work, and consistency. While my peers spent their summer holidays at sea or traveling the world, mine were dedicated to toiling alongside my father and uncle in the fields. Instead of modern distractions, my days were immersed in the timeless rhythms of hard labor from sunup to sundown, interspersed with the occasional simple pleasures of traditional games under the stars.

Summer in the countryside was synonymous with the arduous yet fulfilling tasks of harvesting, threshing, winnowing, and storing crops, particularly the golden grains of wheat and barley. Each morning started with delivering breakfast to the harvesters we hired at the local market (Souk) — fragrant mint tea brewed in a large kettle, accompanied by freshly baked bread and creamy butter churned from the milk of our own cows. Later, lunch was transported on muleback, featuring steaming couscous and the refreshing buttermilk, known as Ahlab in our Amazigh tongue. Served in a sturdy large juniper dish, Ahlab was shared amongst the harvesters with wooden spoons. Occasionally, an unexpected grasshopper would leap into the couscous, prompting someone to playfully but mischievously retrieve and consume it, eliciting laughter from some and disgust from others.

Yet, it was the threshing season that held the fondest memories in my heart. The threshing floor, where we worked, was a flat, outdoor surface—usually circular and coated with cow dung. Once the coating dried, we would arrange the stalks of grain on it and employ up to six animals, such as mules, mares, or horses, to tread in circles, separating the ears of grain from the stalks and loosening the grain from the husks. Typically, it was the younger ones, myself included, who were tasked with guiding these equines. This conductor would usually sing soothing occupational traditional songs while walking behind the animals. These work songs served various purposes, such as maintaining morale and keeping both the animals and ourselves engaged.

Following the threshing process, winnowing began. Broken stalks and grain were gathered and tossed into the air using pitchforks. The wind carried away the lighter chaff, while the shorter straw fell a bit farther away, and the heavier grain settled nearby. The grain could then undergo further cleaning by passing through a sieve.

Days were long and scorching, starting early and sometimes lasting late into the night. Yet amidst the toil, I cherished the rituals and etiquette. No one dared enter the threshing floor with shoes on or unwashed. Even visitors removed their footwear before stepping inside, a testament to the respect we held for our labor and the land.

Among the regular visitors were the peddlers who arrived to barter their goods for handfuls of wheat or barley. Watermelon, prickly pear, and exotic fruits not native to our region were a tantalizing sight. My mouth watered at the sight, though I frowned upon the deceptive beggars who roamed in groups, hailing from distant lands. Still, my father never turned them away empty-handed.

The blisteringly hot days seemed endless, prompting us to drink copious amounts of water from a clay pot wrapped in a damp cloth to keep it and the water inside cool, which we kept in the shade of a large nearby tree. In contrast to the usual breakfast of harcha, butter, and mint tea, my mother's lunch offerings changed daily and ran the gamut from Couscous, Tagine, Bissara, curdled milk, Moroccan Rfissa, and more.

Sometimes we worked late into the night, especially on days when the still air offered no help in winnowing the grains from the chaff and stalks. We filled sacks of grain and transported them by mule from the threshing floor to our granary. Then, we would head to the well for a refreshing cold shower, rinsing off the grain dust and sweat from a long, sweltering summer day.

At the start of the school year, I often noticed how my city classmates had smooth, callus-free hands. In contrast, mine were rough with hard calluses from heavy manual labor, along with scars and bruises. However, I was never ashamed of my workman's hands, which were a badge of my farmer's origin. Also I had been taught that people with calloused hands do not have calloused hearts.

Today, as an educator, I often share these stories with my students, admonishing them to treat school with the utmost respect, like a sacred threshing floor. I tell them that school is not merely a place you attend; within these classroom walls, generations hone essential skills such as literacy, numeracy, and critical thinking, paving the way for employment opportunities that sustain their livelihoods. I also remind them of the Roman philosopher Seneca, who wisely remarked, "Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity." That is to say, achievements are not handed out freely; they demand dedication and hard work.