Samia Belhamra

Samia Belhamra

The Start

As I got out of the train station, I felt energy like never before. The voices of the taxi drivers looking for some clients to pick up, the choking heat, and the unstoppable klakson of cars and taxis left me speechless, yet willing to start discovering another city: Fes.

As the cab drove towards Narjiss neighborhood, my eyes could not stop shifting from one building to the other. In comparison to El-Jadida, Fes was a dashing city, with cars and cabs waiting for the green light to turn on. What charm, making me almost stop the driver, was the enchanting arrangement of old and new buildings? The Moroccan traditional villas and houses with their sandy ocher colors stood harmoniously next to the tall grey and black buildings.

Once I reached my new room, I took a breath of relief for two reasons: First, I reached a place where my new life would start and, second, I escaped from what has been, for the last month, a quasi-impossible cell to leave: my parent‘s house.

With me laying in my bed, refraining myself from shouting and my tears from flowing, and my mother on the other side of the room, two sentences were enough to make me realize my worth, as a young woman in the Moroccan society: ― Are books going to feed you and your family one day? . You‘re not going to Fes, forget about it‖. This question triggered all my indignation and deception I had towards my mother, exploding in a river of tears and a desperate squawk. I was left with no support for my dearest dream: pursuing a Master‘s Degree.

Broken and without any hopes, all I could think of was packing my bag and fleeing from there. And that was what I did. At 10 p.m., when the streets were half empty, I was waiting frightened and desperately for a cab to take me to my friend, Sarah. That night was sleepless, with me pondering how my life would take another turn, far away from the academic milieu I always dreamed of.

As the sunny light made its way to my room, Sarah opened wide the door, running to me with her mobile in her hand: ―Listen, do you want to go Fes? My aunt who lives there can host you by the time you find a job and proper rent! Come on, stand up! You want to go right?!‖ The realization that I could finally live away from my parents, in one of the greatest cities in

Morocco, made me jump out of bed and throw myself over Sarah ― I just don‘t know how to thank you! You will help me achieve my dream!‖

With some savings in my bank account and my little East pack bag, the following day I was sitting on the train going to Fes, excited for a new beginning but in the meanwhile cast down because of the dear childhood friends I would leave in El-Jadida. After one week as a resident

at Sarah‘s aunt‘s kind hospitality, I was able to find a good room and a job to support myself, in the city that would have been my second home. And here I am today, 30 years old, an Assistant Professor and happier than ever. What would have happened if I just followed the orderings of this traditional society?