A New Kid in Rabat Noureddine Boutahar

I moved to Rabat in September 1979, hoping to resolve the residency issues that had plagued me in Meknes. However, I quickly realized I had only exchanged one set of problems for another -- Out of the frying pan into the fire. My early days in Rabat were fraught with emotional, social, and financial hardships that persisted, albeit diminished, over time.

My early days in Rabat were marked by a profound sense of isolation, stress, and anxiety. The entire life I had painstakingly built in the Ismaili City— the memories I had cherished, the friendships I had nurtured, and the adjustments I had made transitioning from rural to urban living— soon fell apart. Suddenly, I was starting over from scratch. Without friends, unfamiliar with Rabat's layout, and unaccustomed to the fast-paced rhythm of a metropolis, I felt lost and adrift. The city's towering buildings and bustling streets were intimidating, and the cold, hurried glances of strangers chipped away at my confidence, deepening my sense of isolation. It took me a long time to find my footing.

My new school, Yacoub Elmansour, one of the most illustrious establishments in the very heart of the city, attracted children from middle-class Rbati families who were strangers to rural life, let alone to country kids like myself. I often found myself a solitary island at the back of the classroom, feeling isolated and avoided like The Ugly Duckling. For weeks, some kids observed me with the wary eyes of explorers encountering an uncharted land. Others seemed like timid deer, unsure of how to approach that new kid in town. I was not sure how to approach them like a hesitant traveler at a crossroads, unsure of whether to befriend or avoid them.

However, my diligence and active participation in classes, particularly in English and French, eventually became a beacon, drawing the attention of some classmates. A few, notably Ahmed and Khalil, began to approach me. As the baccalaureate exam loomed closer on the horizon, they invited me into their study circle. We occasionally met at Jardin d’Essai Park, and I assisted them with English and French, especially in summarizing French texts—a daunting challenge that many students dreaded and often failed, yet one at which I consistently excelled. In return, they supported me in Arabic grammar, which was my biggest pet peeve.

Initially, I made pilgrimages to Meknes almost every other weekend to visit friends and family. However, this routine strained my finances and wasted precious time needed to prepare for the demanding baccalaureate exams. Eventually, I stopped these journeys and tried to cope with my solitude. This isolation, however, became fertile ground for my reading habits. I started borrowing books from the library and the few acquaintances I had, spending my free time in parks, by the seaside, and in green spaces, devouring pages with a hunger for every word.

I had a friend from Meknes who had moved to Salé, and on weekends, I would walk from Rabat to Salé, across the Bouregreg River, to visit him. However, Thami lacked the aptitude for academics and had little inclination for studies and reading. Consequently, I began to withdraw, limiting our interactions to the bare minimum. When he failed to obtain his baccalaureate, he decided to emigrate to France, which deepened my loneliness like a shadow at dusk.

To escape the hardships of life in Rabat, I joined the Académie Royale Militaire (ARM) of Meknes after earning my baccalaureate and passing the entrance exam. However, I soon realized that military life was not for me and quit after almost a month, returning to Rabat and enrolled in the English department at Mohamed V University.

After leaving the ARM, I found myself in a tough spot: the university enrollment deadline had already passed. Desperate to find a way in, I went from office to office, knocking on doors, trying to find someone who could help me. For more than a month, I was consumed by anxiety, sadness, and disappointment, fearing I would lose an entire year and struggle even more without a scholarship, especially given the daily expenses of student life in the costly city of Rabat. I filed a complaint with the student unions and even sought assistance from a government minister. My persistence paid off when one day, Mr. Bakkari, a student union official and later a parliamentarian, asked me to hand over my enrollment documents. I breathed a sigh of relief.

University life was a vibrant mosaic, a stark contrast to high school, with its diversity making it fantastic. Students came from various villages and towns around Rabat, and I felt that we were all sailors navigating the same uncharted waters, sharing the anxiety of starting a new chapter in life.

I quickly forged strong bonds with new friends, with whom I co-prepared for exams and quizzes. Most of our work was collaborative, carried out beyond the confines of lectures and seminars. We learned to strike a balance between our studies and other activities, like sports and trips to the beach. However, despite my modest scholarship and occasional financial help from my brother, I struggled to cover the expenses of a young student in a bustling metropolis. The city demanded more than I could afford, with costs for books, clothing, travel, excursions, and the occasional lunch with friends. Among my Rbati friends, most of whom came from well-off families, I was the least financially secure.

University's faculty of the English department was a melting pot of nationalities, with teachers from Morocco, Britain, America, Iraq, and more. Each had their unique teaching style, but they all fostered positive relationships with students, respected diverse talents and learning methods, encouraged active learning, and emphasized the importance of time management. I particularly admired and learned a lot from Mr. Ezzroura, Mr. Jamari, Mrs Boutaleb, Mr Sanders, Mr Iraqi, Mr Gravel and others.

University taught me more than just academic lessons. I gained valuable life skills, practical experience, and interpersonal relationships that contributed to my personal development. I also became more aware of the political atmosphere in the country, with students affiliating with various political ideologies, from leftists to right-wing Istiqlal party members, and emerging Islamists.

Frequent strikes over issues such as delayed scholarships, poor campus food, and political decisions led to the creation of the university police, mockingly dubbed AWACS by students. This sardonic nickname referenced the American surveillance aircraft renowned for its all-seeing, all-weather capabilities. These planes were the talk of the town in early October 1980 when Washington dispatched four AWACS to Saudi Arabia in response to Iraq's invasion of Iran, followed by the Reagan administration's controversial proposal in April 1981 to sell five AWACS to the Saudis—a deal that narrowly escaped Congressional rejection the following October.

Among the events that rekindled university strikes were two significant hunger strikes in the 1980s. The first, known as the Casablanca Bread Riots or 'The Bread Martyrs'—a term coined by Driss Basri, one of the most powerful Ministers of the Interior—erupted on May 29, 1981, in Casablanca. This uprising was fueled by sharp increases in food prices. The economic strain from the ongoing Moroccan Sahara War and the severe drought of 1981 led to soaring costs, prompting a widespread general strike. Thousands from the shantytowns surrounding Casablanca took to the streets, targeting symbols of wealth in their outrage. The government's response was brutal, with official reports citing 66 deaths, while opposition figures claimed the toll was as high as 637. The second uprising occurred in 1984, echoing the unrest of the earlier revolt and further highlighting the ongoing discontent and hardship faced by the populace.

It is worth mentioning that the early 1980s ushered in a transformative period for Morocco, marking a division into two distinct eras. Before 1981, Morocco thrived with prosperity, abundant goodness, and lavish rainfall. After 1981, however, the country faced a stark contrast: soaring prices, widespread unemployment, burdensome inflation, and numerous other challenges, all exacerbated by the severe drought of that year and the Sahara conflict. The vibrancy of Morocco in the 1970s filled me with hope and inspired me to stay, complete my education, and pursue a teaching career in Morocco. Despite the allure of relocating to France or the United States, which attracted many of my peers, I chose to remain in Morocco, drawn by its dynamic spirit and opportunities.

During my university years, reading every day became my go-to activity, providing solace and an escape from the challenges of daily life. I read voraciously, both for university and personal interest. For pleasure, I devoured magazines from the UAE, Egypt, and especially Iraq, where publications were abundant and very affordable. Occasionally, I splurged on expensive English papers and magazines like The International Herald Tribune and The Sun. My French reading included both Moroccan and French publications. The radio also played a crucial role in honing my linguistic skills, with the BBC English being my favorite channel, followed by France Inter and the French-speaking Moroccan RTM. These experiences ignited my passion for writing, leading me to contribute to various newspapers and magazines in Arabic and French.

Despite the strikes and disruptions in university life, and despite my financial constraints, my unwavering dedication to reading and hard work paid off. By studying diligently with friends in libraries, parks, and coffee shops, I excelled academically, never failing a test, and graduated with distinction. I maintained this level of excellence at the teacher training school, where I also graduated with distinction. This achievement led to the honor of being received by the late King Hassan II among the laureates of 1986.

I believe that people mature through a combination of small traumas, hard work, and the diverse experiences they encounter. Childhood traumas, in particular, can accelerate this process, compelling individuals to develop a maturity beyond their years. This journey often involves self-reliance, trial and error, suffering, and finding one's own solutions. This resonates deeply with my own life. On my path to achieving success, I relied heavily on myself. My hard work and the lessons learned from my sufferings have significantly increased my wisdom, compassion, and resilience. I have always depended on and trusted myself. My parents were often unaware of my academic progress, only inquiring at the end of each school year whether I had passed and how close I was to finding a job.