1983 – The First Steps at the Agricultural Center
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Part 1
In 1983, I left school in the fourth year of middle school and joined the Agricultural Rehabilitation Center in Bir Mzoui near Oued Zem. I was a resident there, sleeping and eating at the center from Monday to Thursday, then returning home. On my first day, the lights went out, and we were about to sleep when someone started laughing, then a second and a third joined in. I began laughing too. There was also the construction teacher sleeping in the administration building. A tall, one-eyed student would report everything that happened to the person in charge, Mr. Hassan, the teacher. The student turned on the lights, and no one was laughing except me, though he heard their voices. He went to the administration and told the teacher, who called me in. I acted in front of him; he shouted and hit me four times with an iron ruler. I told him, “If I had known I would be beaten in this center, I would never have come here.” He replied, “If you don’t like it, go back home and sleep beside your mother.” I said, “That’s exactly what I’m going to do now.” It was eleven at night. He ignored my words, but I gathered my things and left at night. It was pitch dark; it was spring and cold. I headed toward Khouribga and walked my path until I heard voices calling my name, carrying glowing lamps. I realized it was the teacher, an accomplice, with the one-eyed student and other students. I returned with them to the center, but before entering the dormitory, I went into the administration and warned the teacher not to hit me or anyone else in the school again. Then I went to sleep. We woke up at 5:30 AM and started digging up tree roots and uprooting them.
The land was barren; everything you see in the picture, we were the first group to begin repairing the land, planting, building, painting, and digging a 1000-meter canal to bring water from the tank in the old market of Bir Mzoui. The director, Mr. Dali Mohamed, was responsible for the center. He used to bring food and a water tanker, which we emptied daily into the center’s reservoir. Sometimes, we had no water even for drinking, and often we were hungry because of the hard work. Thirteen students escaped from the group of forty, leaving us twenty-seven. We always ate cow peas, which remained hard even after cooking, lentils, and beans full of insects. The director was involved in bribing officials to recruit forty students, including Binshlih, the chief official.
Days passed, and the time for the final oral exam came. A mixed committee from Khouribga and Rabat, appointed by the Ministry of Agriculture, was sent to oversee the task. We had a student who had neither attended school nor middle school; he bought a school certificate from a private source to present for acceptance into the center. He was accepted without the first exam. His father worked as a janitor for the regional director of agriculture in Khouribga. They called me to enter the committee. I answered their questions, sensing that the student was a relative of someone important, smiling. When I was about to leave, they ordered me to call him. He entered, and I saw him near the window. They asked him many questions, but he stumbled. They then asked easy questions so he could pass and avoid embarrassment before the committee. One asked, “What do cows give us?” He answered, “Horns, skin, milk, and…” Another asked, “On which day do we celebrate Independence Day?” He looked at me, and I laughed. After a long silence, the questioner said, “Last year we celebrated Independence Day.” He replied, “Yes.” The questioner asked again, “On which day?” He answered, “I was not in Khouribga last year.” They all laughed and told him to leave. He got a final score of 03/20 for three years of study, while I scored 11/20. Yet, he worked directly in the Agriculture Directorate in Khouribga. To this day, I bet my life that if I asked him to make a complete sentence, he would not be able to. I walked on foot from Bir Mzoui to Khouribga for three years. In the end, that one-eyed student who reported everything to the officials also got a job. That’s the state of our country. And in 1987, I started.