It had been several months since I last visited my hometown, the place of my childhood dreams. In the past, I often found excuses: work obligations, the relentless pressures of daily life, and the hardship of long journeys.

Now, after retiring and with the highway connecting Oujda and Fez, most of those obstacles have disappeared. Yet another reason took over: the “temptation of the children,” which kept me postponing my trips, week after week, month after month. Until the tragic news arrived — the death of my younger brother, Mustafa. At that moment, I rushed to travel, abandoning everything that tied me to Kenitra, my place of residence.

I managed to reach Ahfir before noon, attended the prayer, and joined the funeral procession and burial.

From the moment I received the news around 3 p.m. on Sunday, and throughout the journey from Kenitra to Ahfir, I struggled to remain patient and composed, despite the overwhelming shock that shook my entire being.

But when I arrived at the late brother’s house, I found my elder brother, Haj Mohammed, sitting in a corner of “Mohammed Meskine” street in the Zitoune neighborhood. I embraced him so tightly that I could not let go, bursting into tears in a hysterical fit of sobbing, nearly suffocating him without realizing it. That emotional outburst perhaps helped ease the immense burden I had been carrying for hours, the deep sorrow flowing through my veins like blood.

During the burial, we could hardly reach the grave due to the crowd and the many kind people surrounding us, sincerely expressing their condolences and sharing our grief.

 

(To be continued)

Amar Bellahcen, Kénitra – 13/01/2012