Violence against women

The number of women victims of violence around the world is always in raise. And as a complex phenomenon, violence has not only a reason. And here in Morocco, where violence against women is incredibly in increase, I see that among the reasons that help in the spread of violence against women is the bad education children may receive. For me, I see that, at least in popular neighborhoods, man is given some superiority since he’s a child and this pushes him to abuse woman when he becomes adult. In these popular neighborhoods, where women are victims of violence more than other places, and even if this is the effect of different social, cultural reasons…etc; it’s also because of that superiority that masculine has always felt over feminine. This superiority turns to be violence either when a woman wants to show resistance against that man’s patriarchy, or even when she is subjective to his abuses and shows no refusal. And that man who felt always superior over his sister, the daughter of neighbors, and sometimes even over his mother, won’t show any respect to his counterpart in society, woman.

Violence against woman is a complex social problem, but I think, such education has a hand in the production of such man who practices violence and show less respect for woman. But, what’s more dangerous is when those women who are victims of violence rarely find someone to fight on their behalf. And this situation helps in the endurance of their sufferings. And, I think that there is not enough associations in this domain, and those who exist do not work effectively especially in popular neighborhoods and rural towns.

Le nombre de femmes victimes de violence dans le monde est toujours en augmentation. Et comme un phénomène complexe, la violence n'a pas seulement une raison. Et ici, au Maroc, où la violence contre les femmes est incroyablement en hausse, je vois que parmi les raisons qui participent à l’augmentation de ce probleme est la mauvaise éducation que les enfants peuvent recevoir. Pour moi, je vois que, au moins dans les quartiers populaires, l'homme a certaine supériorité depuis qu’il est enfant, et cela le pousse à l'abus de femme quand il devient adulte. Dans ces quartiers populaires, où les femmes sont victimes de violence plus que d'autres endroits, et même ç’est l'effet de différentes raisons sociales, culturelles ... etc; c'est aussi à cause de cette supériorité que le masculin a toujours senti. Cette supériorité va se transformer et devenir violence, soit quand une femme montre sa résistance contre le patriarcat de cet homme, ou même quand elle est subjective à ses abus et ne montre aucun refus. Et cet homme qui se sentait toujours supérieur à sa sœur, à la fille des voisins, et parfois même à sa mère, ne va montrer aucun respect à son homologue dans la société, la femme.

La violence contre la femme est un problème social complexe, mais je pense que cette éducation de la supériorité pour le masculin a une part dans la production d’un homme qui va pratiquer de violence et montre moins de respect pour la femme. Mais, ce qui est plus dangereux, est que ces femmes, victimes de violence, rarement trouvent quelqu’un qui va combattre à leur part. Et cette situation contribue à l'endurance de leurs souffrances. Et, je pense qu'il n'y a pas assez d'associations dans ce domaine, et ceux qui existent ne fonctionnent pas efficacement en particulier dans certains quartiers populaires ou dans les milieux ruraux.

To my mother

You bore me when I was in your womb. You bore hurt I caused you when I just wanted to come out to this world. You bore the stinky smell of my excrement. I pissed on your back hundreds of time and you never complained. You passed nights awake near my head whenever got ill. You bore hunger and you let me eat your part. You bore cold and pay more attention to make me warm. You bore my father’s disputes for my faults. You disputed with the older boys who wanted to hit me. You did everything for me! When I became older, the first thing I did to repay your sacrifices is to sometimes refuse some small requests you were asking me. I might passed hours with friends blathering, and meanly leave you talk and went out for an appointment. When away from home, I may call friends many times and call you few. And again, you never showed your anger not to make this selfish person angry. I’m sure that it’s impossible to repay all favors you did for me, that’s why I ask you to forgive me for any hurt I may caused for you inattentively. You sacrificed your life to make mine and, in turn, I feel that I didn’t and don’t do well for you mother.

I know that you could not read what I wrote because you are illiterate, and since you did the best to let me know these few words so let me show my grateful. I bend my head respectfully for you. You do have a big place in my heart, big kisses!!

To my grandfather’s soul

My grandfather died this is some six years, but his image still comes to me from time to other and I still clearly remember his face. He was an old man in his nineties. An illiterate man who passed all his life in the mountains with a nomadic life style, and if he visited a city in his lifetime it would be for few times just for some administrative matters and his visit wouldn’t last more than few hours. When he calmly left us, he was in good health but as death don’t make any difference between healthy or not, he was taken suddenly. Unfortunately, I was not able to attend his funeral because I was not home when he deceased.

He was a 20th century man from Atlas Mountains. He lived time before the colonization in the “lawless era”, a time of division, instability and insecurity in Morocco. A time when thieves and bandits was roaming all around. He also witnessed the hard times of colonization, when people’s dignity was taken and they were obliged, under force, to do all menial and hard work. A time when a human could be tortured and easily killed with less mercy. He lived times of malnutrition and starvations, and everything was against them including nature that was mean and harsh and was punishing them with less fertility and more disasters.

Before he died, when conditions allow it, I was asking him to tell me some stories about his youth. And even he usually refuses, I sometimes succeed to spur his memory and take him back to the past. He was going back to recollect some parts of his bitter experiences with profound moans and deep sigh. His stories was attractive and when he went on telling, my curiosity was preventing me from listening quietly and I was trying to make some comments or asking some questions for more details. He was, like other people who lived such harsh life and left this world in silence, an example of patience and big pride.

As we were living in one house, I grew up seeing him everyday, and his tenderness could not give me more than a strong love. My grandfather, I love you, peace upon your soul!