Archive for January, 2012

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It’s Not Your Business If We Kiss His Ass

January 12, 2012

In Egypt and Sudan female circumcision is still widely practised, in Tibet they still cut in pieces the death and throw them to the birds, in east Africa some tribes slice their phallus, in India they still burn widows alive, and in Kuwait men shake noses instead of shaking hands… Yet, no one finds it chocking and everyone says ‘’it’s cultural!’’ to stay politically correct! But when it comes to some Moroccan stupid old fashion general kissing the hand of the crowned prince, no one thinks it’s cultural and many Arabs start criticizing Moroccan internal affairs!

If I’ll meet the crowned prince Moulay El Hassan or even his father Mohamed VI, I don’t think I will kiss their hands, because I only postern to God who created me, but no one will cut my head or put me in prison for that! What other Arabs don’t understand or refuse to admit is that we are different and we have different traditions and histories, even if they cross so often. Therefore, it’s no one’s business what we do with our 12 centuries monarchy, and if some traditional or old school servants of the throne still want to show their allegiance to the royal family by kissing their hands, because they think it’s the way to show respect to the offsprings of prophet Mohamed, it’s up to us to judge them and not to you!

We have a proverb in Morocco that says ‘’wait until you have crossed the river and dried your feet to give advices’’. I will say the same proverb for my Arab readers, who just got out of their revolution and who still have wet feet in the mud of years and years of oppression, but who already became specialists in Arab world’s politics and start giving advices and exporting their experiences to countries which live in an entirely different context. Some of these people come from countries that didn’t exist on the map 50 years ago, others from places where my father is older than their monarchies, and most from countries to which Nasser exported his military socialist model 60 years ago. No need to say that it’s Nasser’s legacy hires who the people are revolting against today in Iraq, Syria, Libya, Yemen, Tunisia etc because apparently the citizens of these countries realised that they prefer a civilian liberal rule rather than a pan-Arabist military one.

Now let’s take the Moroccan example. While Nasser and his clan were mocking our monarchy 60 years ago, we chose another path, a path of gradual democratic transitions, a liberal economy, structural adjustments, strategic partnerships with the West, and a reconciliation process which started long enough to start giving its fruits. Yes Hassan II was a hard father on us. Yes you can call him a dictator in regards to certain decisions he took. But, that clever king saved us historically from 60 years of ‘’ideological adolescence’’ if we had taken the Nasser path like everyone else in the region. And now in less than 15 years we had voted for a leftist government, a right wing government and now we are trying the Islamist model, all without any complex and in a mature transitional democratic process that we are internally very critical about!

I don’t pretend my country is perfect. I know better than anyone that it has its strengths and weaknesses. We have a young movement which is militating for constitutional and economic reforms called the 20th of February, which recently made things advance to the better and created a fresh dynamism in the relations between the castle and the elites. However, I don’t tolerate lesson givers who know nothing about our culture, politics and traditions except from Samira Said and the footballer Hadji, and I have one thing to tell them ‘’None of your business if we want to kiss our monarchy’s hands or asses!’’.

P.S: the video everyone is talking about http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kZ2pn8_XT2M

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A Letter to My Belly

January 6, 2012

Only one week before your birth, only 7 days before you become an autonomous human being. I am feeling insomniac and stressed like never before. It’s worse than waiting for an exam results, a feedback on an interview or a message from a loved one. This is the countdown for LIFE. So I decided to do what I do best: writing therapy. Yet, it feels much more difficult and serious than writing an article for a newspaper or a note for my blog. This is writing a letter for an unknown being inside my belly, my son.

I remember the day your father proposed to me. I was in Morocco and he was in Egypt in the middle of an apocalyptic demonstration where he was seeing people being shot around him, furious youth chanting, and a smell of spring and hope in the air. No romantic speech, no diamond ring, no leaning on his knees, just a ‘’If I die tonight, the only thing I will regret is not marrying you and if I survive and Mubarak’s regime collapses it will be a sign that everything is possible and that we are meant to be together’’… and I said Yes!

I remember how I felt when one morning one month after our big fat Moroccan wedding; I woke up feeling dizzy and strange as if I sensed an unusual presence in my body. Your father and I went to the doctor all confused, and in the echography screen there was a cell and inside the cell a tiny white blinking spot, ‘’it’s the heart of your baby!’’ said the doctor. From that moment I fell in love with you even before you becoming a proper human being!

There are many things I need to apologize to you for. First for dragging you around in 4 continents for the last 9 months on planes, trains, cars, boats, buses and microbuses. If you choose later to become a hard rock musicians I won’t blame you because I will be responsible for that one! However, you can consider yourself a lucky child who has lots of experience even from within, and you can put on your CV that you met Sheikha Mozah, Ban Ki-Moon, and Erdogan, visited the State Department, the Council of Europe and the NATO, had dinner with Marzouky, Hermes and tata Corinne, smelled Musk, Hash and Tear Gas, and tasted Caviar, Foul, and Couscous…

I also need to apologize to you for violating your intimacy, exposing you on social media and nicknaming you Sardina. Forgive me baby, but my friends and family are all around the globe and the joy of having you is so big that I needed to share it with the world. For the Sardina part, I think no matter what we will name you on formal papers by now everyone know you with your nickname. I even surprised your father one Ramadan night praying God and saying ‘’Please God bless and protect my son Sardina’’, so even up there they know Mr. Sardina Mohamed Awad!

Furthermore, I need to apologize for bring you to the world in such a date, where our region is living a turmoil and everything is uncertain. I know the earth is overcrowded and over polluted with toxic wastes and hatred speech and maybe the fruits won’t taste the same as when I was a kid myself, nor the landscapes will be as green. Yet, I can promise you that there will still be flowers to smell, seashells to collect, books to read and animals to play with.

I will not impose on you my taste, my choices, my religion, nor my political views, because I believe that the clever baby you are already have inside of him the light of the truth. Therefore I will do my best to help you keep that flame alive. In addition, I don’t want to impose on you my Moroccan culture or your father’s Egyptian culture, with all our heritage of chauvinism, guilt, schizophrenia and frustrations. Even if I had the chance and the strong temptation, I didn’t want to give birth to you in the US or Europe for offering you a blue passport, as I don’t want to doom you to a history, an anthropology or a geography. I would like you to be proud of being a fruit of a multicultural love, to have access not only to our two cultures but to all cultures and to choose by your own where your heart belongs to.

Finally baby I am asking you to give me a chance to learn how to be your mother. I confess having no previous experience for this risky job. I have tried my best reading books, singing songs and caressing you while inside my belly, but I know that it takes more than that to be a good mother. You didn’t choose to be my son, while I chose to be your parent. That’s why I am sorry if I don’t meet your expectations, if I am chaotic, idealistic and badly prepared for the adventure of motherhood. All I have to offer for sure in my unconditional and infinite Love. Would you accept it?

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منبت الأحرار، مشرق الأنوار”: رسالة شابة إلى ملكها”

January 3, 2012

 

ملكي العزيز محمد السادس،

أما بعد،

منبت الأحرار، مشرق الأنوار“، هكذا قيل لنا عن وطننا الحبيب المغرب ونحن أطفال. أنا لست من الحمر الباحثين من الربيع في فبراير، ولا من ذوي العمامات الخضر الذين يحجون إلى قبة البرلمان في محرم. أنا الثلاثون مليون الذين يعشقون بلد يتماها فيه الأحمر والأخضر في علم واحد. أنا جيل ولد في السنوات العجاف، سنوات الرصاص والجفاف وإعادة الهيكلة القحطاء الذي يرنو لنسيانها في ربيع يزهر في ظل حكمك.

“بالروح، بالجسد، هب فتاك، لبى نداك” من شباب لا يرضى أن يكون مجرد رقم في مؤشرات التنمية البشرية. أنا شاب لا آبه بقشور الحياة من توظيف مباشر في مسالك الدولة، أو بتطبيب مترف في أحد مستشفياتها، ولا حتى بسكن كريم في مدنها الجديدة. قد أكون قد تماديت في رفع الكلفة بيني وبين جلالتك. أعذر طمعي في عطفك، وقد رأيت من طلقهن الشعب من جنان السياسة قد قصدن بلاطك كحواريين. كيف لا وقد اعتاد الأنذال دق باب الأشراف بحثا عن خرقة تستر عورتهم الوجودية. وكيف لا تنصفني أيها الشريف أنا شعبك وقد قصدتك طالبا القصاص منهم . أنا “في فمي وفي دمي ثار نور ونار” سعيا وراء حقي الدستوري الوحيد الذي لست مستعدا للتخلي عنه: الكرامة.

ملكي، “هيا للعلى سعيا”ǃ لقد دقت درعا بالألاعيب السياسية الخارقة، والنخب المارقة، والصحافة المسيئة، والأحزاب الرديئة. قد أكون أخرقا حينا وعاطفيا أحيانا، لكن “ذكرى كل لسان” لست أنا من خان أباك الذي كان يسير بيني في الأسواق، ولن أخونك أنت الذي ينحني لأراملي ويقبل مشلولي. بل هي الضباع التي استأسدت في عهدك والتي تحوم حول صولجانك مدعية الشباب الأبدي التي من شأنها أن تعض يدا جادت عليها يوما.

نحن شباب نريد أن نمضي بين الشعوب رافعين رؤوسنا نشهد الدنيا، أن هنا نحيا بشعار: الله، الوطن، الملك”.

“عشت في الأوطان، للعلى عنوان”.

شابة مغربية