A Warning to the Reader and the First Scar
Dear Reader,
I must begin by warning you that sharing this message—even years from now—with those involved may carry risks. What I recount here is not mere storytelling. These are real events, involving people who are still alive. I believe that these words, written with honesty and burdened with memory, may one day reach the hands of those who committed crimes that remain etched in my mind, even though I have lived more than half a century.
I chose to write this in order to unburden my heart. Words are weapons, and the pen is a voice for those who have none. I hope that someday a proper investigation will be opened into the actions of the auxiliary forces who operated out of the forest outpost in the city of Khouribga at that time—if they are still alive—as well as the Air Force soldiers stationed in Hay Salam, Salé, who used to patrol the perimeter of Rabat-Salé Airport before sunset, accompanied by trained police dogs.
And I pray that the victims are still alive, although what was done to them would shake the conscience of any human being. These crimes were committed against mothers, sisters, and Moroccan women from all walks of life.
Rape of Women by Members of the Auxiliary Forces
In the heart of Khouribga, deep within a forest that was dense and wild at the time, there stood an outpost of the auxiliary forces. This place, which was meant to be a sanctuary of protection, had instead become a stage for unspeakable crimes committed by some of those who worked there.
I was a first-year middle school student at Ibn Khaldoun Middle School, and I walked past that outpost every day. The sight was always unsettling. Some officers would hide among the trees, watching passersby—especially women—like predators waiting for the perfect moment to strike. At first, I didn’t pay them much attention. But one school day, our math teacher was absent, and I went home early. To save time, I entered through the gate of the old public park midway along the wall. There, I saw something I will never forget.
One of the soldiers was crouched, stalking a woman who was relieving herself in a secluded corner. Suddenly, he pounced. He covered her mouth and raped her brutally. She ran off in terror when he was done, while he stood there as if nothing horrific had just happened. He then calmly walked back toward the outpost.
From that day forward, I couldn’t look away. Every time I passed by, I watched them. Over time, I witnessed other similar scenes. And each time, I would ask myself: How could a place meant to preserve safety become a source of fear?