My Primary School Days: Noureddine Boutahar

The nagging million-dollar question that frequently crosses my mind is whether I was fortunate or unfortunate by not attending a Quranic School. I belong to the select few of my generation who bypassed the traditional route through a Quranic school and dove straight into the realm of government public education.

My primary educational journey in the countryside was both challenging and enriching. The nearest school, which I attended, was situated at a considerable distance from our home. Each morning, I set out alone on a nearly eight-mile trek, and gradually the crowd assembled along the way as other kids joined in. The school day was a lengthy affair, with classes beginning around eight thirty a.m. and concluding at about sixteen hours. To endure these lengthy days, my lunch was a simple yet cherished affair, reflecting the shared experiences of many children in our community. Typically, it consisted of a bottle of fragrant mint tea my mother sealed with a makeshift stopper crafted from a piece of carrot. Accompanying the tea was half a loaf of homemade bread, generously slathered with creamy, hand-churned butter from our own dairy cows. The simple but wholesome flavors of this bread-and-butter combination provided both nourishment and comfort, evoking memories of Audrey Penn's "The Kissing Hand" story, amidst a tiring and lengthy school day.

Occasionally, my mother's resourcefulness shone through, as she would enhance my lunch with the remnants of the previous night's dinner. If there were any stew with vegetable or leftover meat, she would ingeniously transform my meal by filling the bread with these succulent delights, ensuring that every bite was a taste of home and a reminder of the love and care held in her heart for me, even when I was far from the warmth of our family hearth.

Within the school, our revered teacher, Mr. Ourrach, may his soul rest in eternal peace, played a pivotal role in shaping our educational journey. This unforgettable educator, cut a striking figure with his medium height and rectangular physique. Yet, what truly caught the eye was his impeccably sleek, jet-black hair, meticulously styled in a classic side part. He exuded an air of elegance, with his attire consistently immaculate, his garments crisp, and his shoes polished to a brilliant shine. His dedication and passion for teaching left an indelible mark on the minds of all his young students. Mr. Ourrach was not just an instructor, he was a bridge between the classroom and our Moroccan heritage. In his teachings, he used Amazigh language, the native tongue of all the children in our community. Through this linguistic link, Mr. Ourrach made our Arabic and French lessons, and even mathematics, more engaging, connecting these subjects to our cultural heritage in a way that truly resonated with us to the present day.

Another distinctive trait set Mr. Ourrach apart from other educators we had heard of or encountered. He had a cane, a common tool among educators of that era in various Moroccan regions, but it remained unused for its punitive purpose and disciplinary measures. Instead, it served as a symbol of authority and respect; a quality that today's educators would describe as authoritative. It was evident to all that his true passion lay in the nurturing of young minds. He harbored a genuine affection for his students, and his enthusiasm for his profession was tangible in every lesson. This love and dedication did not go unnoticed, or unappreciated. The parents of the students, my own included, held Mr. Ourrach in high regard. Their admiration for his tireless efforts remained unwavering and genuine. He was a remarkable teacher, to say the least, always willing to go the extra mile with his students. His positive attitude to teaching epitomizes everything that a good teacher stands for. If it had not been for him, I would not have gone beyond second or third grade much like many from my generation who fell by the wayside.

Our teacher's home nestled right beside the school, seamlessly integrated into its surroundings. The tantalizing aroma of his wife's culinary creations would frequently waft through the classroom, teasing our senses and stirring our appetites. Being both his favored student and the son of cherished acquaintance, I gratefully received occasional invitations to join him for lunch.

In return for his kindness, it was common for my parents to invite Mr Ourrach and his family, often for dinner or weekend lunches. On these occasions, the dinner table was usually graced with the warmth of hospitality and the enticing aroma of Moroccan Amazigh cuisine. The culinary dishes were skillfully prepared by my mother, my grandmother and my elder sisters. Our family's free-range chickens often took center stage in dishes like Tajine, Couscous, or Marchouch. These gatherings were a testament to the deep sense of community that defined our rural way of life and to the appreciation, respect, and importance attributed to the teacher in the rural society of the sixties and seventies. To put it mildly, these shared meals were a heartfelt gesture of appreciation for the vitally important role Mr Ourrach played in our lives. They also symbolized the intricate connections among education, family, and tradition, aspects that seem to be lacking in today's dwindling culture of teacher appreciation.

The eagerly anticipated afternoon dismissal time from school was a daily highlight, and we, student, would eagerly count down the minutes until we could rush outside and join our peers in various traditional games. These moments were etched into our memories, as the school premises became a playground for our youthful enthusiasm. Whether it was spirited games of tag, stone-throwing, hopscotch, leapfrog, or the ever-thrilling hide and seek, our laughter echoed through the countryside as we embraced the freedom of play. The joy of these games lay not only in the sheer fun they provided but also in the camaraderie and bonds we established with our friends.

These moments not only provided opportunities for play, self-expression, and recreation but also served as a convenient excuse to delay returning home. The impending return home signified the beginning of a list of responsibilities and chores. Getting back early meant embarking on tasks like rounding up stray sheep, trudging to the well to fetch water, leading the horse to its watering spot, cleaning  our dirty clothes, or even collecting dry cow dung for use as fuel in the traditional cooking methods that permeated our daily lives.

Regrettably, during those years, our school had a noticeable absence of female students, a reflection of the prevailing norms and concerns of the time. The limited presence of girls was not solely a matter of choice but a response to the parental apprehensions. Concerns regarding the safety of their daughters, who spent a significant part of the day away from the protective confines of their homes, in the company of boys, were paramount for most parents. Although I have lost count of the precise number of girls within our school, I can affirm with certainty that their number remained notably diminutive, a fact which proved disheartening.

School life is often considered the most memorable phase of our existence. All of us vividly recall both our initial and final days in school, marked by tears of arrival and tears of departure, respectively. Personally, I can distinctly recollect both my first and last days at primary school. Those primary school days were the halcyon days of my life, a treasure trove of boundless joy where each moment brimmed with profound learning experiences and the warmth of cherished friendships. Every moment was embraced as an opportunity to learn, play, and savor the pure delight of childhood. As the eloquent English actress Cara Delevingne once expressed, “I wish my school days could have dragged on a little longer, or that I could go back and do it later in life.”