Casablanca, Morocco (Part 3)

With Saturday and Sunday all but in the rear-view mirror, it was now Monday and with it, our last day of Moroccan-based programming. Today’s class came with a debriefing and with that debriefing, not a cause for concern but perhaps a cause for caution. The day’s session was set up with Ibno Hanbal, an IDMAJ program working with the reintegration of grade school and high school dropouts back into the educational system. The program had been dubbed “a second chance” because it was effectively that – a second chance.

Now, these kids came from a wide range of circumstances. There had been run-ins with drugs, violence, and juvenile crime, while some of the students were going through life without parents, dealing with poverty, and experiencing other challenges – some more extreme than others. Despite it all, though, they had expressed a desire to return to school and if ever that was all it was – it certainly deserved commending. Now, students could transition back into the educational environment – enrolling in English classes, life skills, math, etc. Today was a special day though, because the class would be about sport.

Knocking on the school’s front gate, we were met by an administrator as well as a friendly, familiar face in Leo. I laughed to her that despite today being our shortest (and easiest) commute, we still showed up late. “We’re on Moroccan time now,” I chuckled – giving an explanation where none was needed.

I met up with Coach “Almohtarame” Mohammad, who so graciously came to help run the session despite all of zero hours of sleep in the two days prior. Shades on his face and a hat on his head, he gave me a smile – since with the late morning start time he had managed a well-deserved 7 hours the night before. Coach led me through our plan for the day as Leo worked on getting us our two groups of young athletes. He also gave me a debriefing – which was ever-so-helpful. He had run programs at Ibno Hanbal in the past and had a much better idea of the day’s participants.

“First, we will gather them all here… just to have a chat,” he said.

This came with reason, as he said it would calm things down and diffuse any tension. This way… the kids would be informed, they would know the plan – including what was asked of them and what we were looking for as well in terms of respect, energy, fair play and more. I gotta commend Almohtarame on this one because it really did help and it truly did matter. Once we split from our big group into two small ones – the kids were extremely well-behaved. Of course, they were excited, but they were respectful in their excitement. Much like us, they simply just couldn’t wait to play.

This program had been reserved for 40 participants, but numbers are constantly changing in this field so at first we were looking at about 27 young athletes across the two programs. It was a tough number because 27 was too many for one session, but not quite enough for two. Alas, we split things somewhat in half and moved from there. After some other classes were dismissed, we would end up with about 36 participants total – which was fantastic. No one was to be turned away. The way I looked at it, these kids had already made a big step in returning to school – the least we could do on our side was keep them happy, keep them engaged, and keep them well… playful. As all kids need and deserve to be.

I was particularly excited because we had a couple high school aged girls lined up to participate too in the second of the two sessions. I hadn’t been able to field a single girl in our first two days of programs so I certainly was excited for that. As I watched the girls pass the ball around off to the side, it was clear that there was a lot of natural skill there and I couldn’t wait to see it translate onto the field of play.

First group in play, we jumped straight into groups of 2 for our listening exercise. I discussed expectations with the all-boy crowd, some even taller than I, and hit them with a last second surprise that piqued their interest. Almohtarame helped me with the translation – “Okay boys, you see those shiny white and black balls over there? I have three of those to give away in this class. So we will be doing a game later and you can win one if you concentrate.” The boys high-fived and smiled, they couldn’t wait to see what was in store.

I think even Coach was surprised – “Bro! Really? The white ones?” His eyes got big. “Those are like professional level footballs!”

“I know bro, I know,” I said with a smile.

I ran a few short rounds of the listening drill before Coach took over to give me time to set up the second drill.

We were moving at a fast pace today in order to save some leftover time at the end of both sessions for a ‘petit match.’ Kids being kids, they were incessant on asking when we would play a real game – and we wanted to hold up our end of the bargain on that. Moving quickly between drills, we split our 16 participants into 3 teams and killed off a few movement drills – stepovers, zig-zag dribbles, lateral jumps, and sole-of-the-foot control. Afterwards, we broke into the marquee event – R’as or Yed. We would be running two rounds with a short practice session beforehand. Our first circle, run by myself, would grab one single winner. The next, run by Almohtarame, would snag two more. Down to the second of two rounds, the bargaining began – especially from those already eliminated.

“Stephen! Teacher! Let’s do one more round please.”

We polled the audience quickly before realizing it would be unfair to have promised two winners this round and cut it down to one abruptly in true Hunger Games fashion. Plus, we were pressed for time anyway. Luckily, the kids understood and winners were still celebrated as such. I smiled as I watched one winner be hugged and thrusted up into the air by his teammates. He was smiling. They were smiling. We were smiling. It was perfect. Some days, competition trumps joy – but luckily, this day was not one of those.

Knowing I only brought eight footballs with me, I asked the winners to sign their new prizes so I could use them for the second session and return them afterwards. They all knew they would be leaving with a new ball, so they could hardly be bothered parting with it only for an hour – especially knowing it would soon be theirs forever. I thanked them for sharing and we cycled group two in from a nearby classroom where they had changed into football clothes. Our second session started off a bit small with around a dozen participants but soon grew from there. We followed much of the same curriculum from the earlier class, only swapping out ball control lines for a tic-tac-toe variant – which was well-enjoyed by the kids.

“Wait… do they even know how to play this game?” I asked Coach Almohtarame.

“Maybe yes, maybe no,” he said.

“Do you?” I asked him. “Not really,” he said with a chuckle and a smirk.

I decided we would try our best and swap something out if we had to.

I was determined to make it work and our set-up itself made that pretty clear – a makeshift hashtag grid made out of tiny cones, two lines of players, to one side of the grid – a pile of green SoccerPlus tee-shirts, on the other side – a pile of white British Soccer Camps tees.

The setup was there, all that was to be determined now was whether the kids would 1) play and 2) enjoy. Luckily, they did both. We started with a simple task of running between line and grid. Then, to introduce football back into it, dribbling to the grid, depositing a ball, then dribbling back to the next player in line. Hardly any time left, we broke into R’as or Yed and I quickly grabbed a winner in my first round. It was a girl! I was thrilled. Coach Almohtarame once again ran the second round and kept me updated throughout.

“Stephen! We have two girls left and two boys, just two winners and two balls in this one!” he reminded the group.

I thought maybe, just maybe we’d be having all three prizewinners be girls in this one, but the boys managed to outlast them in Coach’s round and that was it – six total victors. Our first group emerged from their classroom and both groups lined up patiently to receive this session’s giveaway – new tee-shirts and jerseys from Challenger Sports. They excitedly threw on the new orange, white, green, and neon kits – knowing they weren’t fully ready to wear without one special addition, a signature.

“Stephen – please sign my jersey!” they said, approaching me in droves.

“After the match bro apres le match!” I said with a smile, knowing that our time was dwindling and I’d have plenty of time to sign autographs while on the sidelines today.

I was blown away by how thankful the kids were. They wore their new shirts with pride, and almost all of them approached me to express their gratitude. “Thank you so so much, Stephen!” they’d say, clutching their new kits with both hands.

Much like before the day even started, Coach Almohtarame ran through the scrimmage details. We would be doing five per side with tiny goals at each end – sans goalkeepers. If no goals were scored after four minutes, both teams would rotate. If a goal was scored, that team would stay on. Street rules, basically. The kids were down and the teams were set.

Leo had made herself comfortable by our other teams sitting off to the side, and armed with a Bose speaker in hand – she really set the mood. Bass thumping and Bad Bunny’s Monaco playing in the background, the ball was rolling and the party had started. I’m not even gonna lie, the vibes were immaculate. Despite playing my legs nearly off for the past two days, I was somehow still itching to play! Can you believe that?

The boys were fully going at it and our teams were cycling out quickly. We knew that the girls wanted to play too, but didn’t want to play with their physical and aggressive male counterparts. We picked two boys who promised to play calmly and mixed in myself and Coach Almohtarame with the girls to complete a ten-minute final match. Afterwards, when the final goal was scored, one of the girls came running up to me and the coach. They had managed to improvise during the scrimmage – with one girl wearing a sandal on her left foot and a shoe on the other, and another girl wearing the exact opposite.

“Coach!” she yelled, or rather, groaned.

“Look!” she said, gesturing below to the sandal on her left foot, which was now falling off her ankle having lost a buckle.

“Coach it’s so unfair, she won a ball and I won a broken sandal,” she said, with a playful frown – laughing it off because what other choice did she have.

As our day with Ibno Hanbal drew to a close, the smile on my face would not be fading because we had planned the night before to do a lunch with Leo afterwards – a way to thank her for doing such an incredible job in coordinating sessions, even working off the clock to set up an arts program for ma the Tuesday before our Wednesday flights. As we left Ibno Hanbal, she asked if it would be okay if we invited Almohtarame, which of course I obliged – because I wanted to also thank him for helping me so graciously over three straight days of programming. We had been given a recommendation for a restaurant nearby Leo’s spot, a place specializing in their “tajine” – a Moroccan must-have which we hadn’t yet had the time to properly try. As expected, I couldn’t wait to indulge – and after nearly 3 hours of sessions my stomach could hardly wait too.

Ma ordered couscous, Leo a tajine dish with plums – making for a sweet sauce, while I opted for a tajine with onions. It was served with lamb and when I tell you that lamb fell right off the bone! Tajine sometimes features vegetables and potatoes but ours was no-nonsense, filled to the brim with protein – which I certainly couldn’t complain about after a week chock-full of soccer. We ate it with fresh bread and added a tasteful amount of spice just to keep things interesting. To wash it down? Atay – a traditional Moroccan tea consisting of simple green tea and fresh peppermint. Now, I’m not a tea guy AT ALL, but I put that atay down I swear.

Stomachs full of tajine, mouths tired from smiling, and hearts full – I closed the door on my last day of Moroccan programs and looked towards Tuesday and ma’s art program – scheduled for 3 p.m. I was excited for her, but to tell you the truth – I was even more excited for our plans afterwards… that scheduled dinner with Doha and her family. I had no idea what was on the menu, but there’s an unwritten rule stating that in most countries, the absolute best food is homemade, so I knew whatever we’d be eating that night would be incredible. As I sat back and relaxed, merely a spectator for ma’s arts sessions much like the kids, I couldn’t help but smile. Later on, many of the same kids would be dropping by Ain Sebaa to say hi and show off the same Nike kits they had won only days before. Coach Almohtarame even stopped by too!

“I have something for you and mom,” he said, with a slick grin – as him, me, Doha, and some other staff members stuffed ourselves with Moroccan doughnuts, flatbreads, and more atay.

He pulled out a box and handed it to mom. Inside it, a beautiful, sparkling new kettle – so we could have our own at home! What a freaking guy man. His smile widened, “just remember Stephen, everytime you pour that tea you have to say ‘up, up, up!’” I laughed heartily and packaged the kettle up. A gift like this was gold to me and mom and the fact that it came from such an amazing person as Almohtarame was simply the cherry on top. Unsurprisingly, we would later find out the translation of Coach’s name to English was literally “a respectful man.” Now, his real name was Mohammad, and Almohtarame was his musician name – but the point still stood and it sure rang true.

“Coach Stephen! I gotta go,” he said, as the boys over at BMCC had a training session from 7-9 PM, just like they had thrice weekly, with matches on the weekend.

“Can you come? I’ll drive you,” he said. I couldn’t say no! “Of course bro, just get me back here for dinner with Doha, I absolutely cannot miss that,” I shared.

As we headed towards BMCC, we chopped it up even more about football and his coaching work. He mentioned how so many academies are impossible for the kids to attend because of finances and a high-cost to participate. BMCC offers training for only 50 dirhams per month, or $5, and some children from extreme circumstances (like growing up without parents) are even on scholarship and don’t need to pay, he had told me with pride. He told me more about Coach Yasyn, how he was one of his students and athletes years ago when he first started coaching – same with another coach I hadn’t had the chance to meet, a young man named Youssef.

“He was one of mine, too,” said Almohtarame… speaking of them as if they were his own sons and honestly, as a coach, at times I’m sure they might as well have been.

As I returned to our familiar cement court from Sunday, the boys slowly trickled in – “Stephen look!” They pointed down, showing off their new Nike jerseys much like our participants over at Ain Sebaa.

“And where’s your ball? I want to play!” I responded – “dans la maison,” they responded – assuring that the footballs were all safe and cared for.

I wasn’t planning on playing and instead just chatted with the boys, who were somehow more curious now than the days prior. “Stephen! Do you have tattoos?”

“No bro, that’s haram!” I responded.

“Yes!” the boys whooped almost in a “he’s one of us” fashion.

Familiar faces came back up to me asking to sign their jerseys they were wearing from years’ past. In the distance, I saw another familiar face – Coach Yasyn! He again greeted me with a big hug and two big kisses on the cheek, “bro I didn’t think I’d see you again!” he yelled out.

“Me neither!” I responded.

“You are a very good person, please take care of your mom always and I see your Instagram of the charity and I so love what you do, Stephen, keep going,” he said with a smile as we shot around as the boys warmed up with some laps around the court.

I didn’t want to leave but I knew Doha would not be happy if I missed dinner, so I bid farewell with one last group hug with the coach and the boys, making my way back to Ain Sebaa.

Now… where can I begin with our dinner at Doha’s house. Spending her mornings studying at the university, followed by long nights running the Ain Sebaa center all the way until closing hours at 9 – every single day is a full one for Doha. I watched as she hustled around, making sure all the lights were off and waiting by each kid until they were picked up by their parents. Finally, when it was time to go, we locked up and made the short eight minute walk to her house.

“Well, this is my neighborhood,” she said with a smile. “And this is my home – I hope you like it.”

Walking in, we were greeted super warmly by her family. Her mother had been hard at work whipping up dinner but still made her way to the entrance to say hello, while Doha’s sister, though shy, made some small talk in French with me. Later on, Doha’s father came back from work and introduced himself warmly. We started with a round of sodas and then the main course came out – a dish I had been curious about since I had arrived in Morocco, one by the name of Rfissa.

I had seen it on some restaurant menus, but like couscous, it was served only once a week – on Wednesdays. Prepared with chicken, turmeric, lentils, and flatbread shaped into noodles – it was a dish bursting with flavor and I won’t lie I couldn’t wait to dig in. All of us sat around a big metal bowl and just a couple spoonfuls in, Doha’s father turned to me saying “it’s good with silverware, but it tastes even better with your hands.”

Not wanting to stray from tradition I quickly abandoned my fork and got to eating with my hands, right back in touch with my Filipino roots. Much like I’d experienced in other countries, Doha’s parents would take pieces of chicken and move it around in the bowl, in front of our places, just to make sure we had enough protein. It was a gesture I always found to be incredibly sweet, and one that always made my heart soften.

Our stomachs were more than full, and then, we looked at the tram schedule and realized the last one was leaving around 10:30 p.m. Without much time to spare, ma tapped Doha and presented her with a present – a set of earrings she had made. After seeing Doha’s flashy earrings throughout the week, ma had been meaning for a long time to give her another set – and there was no better time than right now.

“Wait!” Doha’s mother Zenib said, quickly disappearing into a nearby bedroom.

Emerging just as quickly, she draped mom in a bunch of jewelry and a Moroccan headdress, even giving ma a wooden traditional Moroccan eyeliner applying tool. Ma was leaving with an abundance of riches, and well me, my heart was full just having seen the exchange with my own two eyes. The whole family threw on their winter jackets and walked us all the way to the station, before our 10:30 ride to Mdakra Station. They waited patiently for us to board and stood there all bundled up waiting for the train to pass – waving from beyond the window as we waved back from inside the tram.

“I hope we see you again,” Doha had said before we parted ways.

“Inshallah!” I responded.

Casablanca not necessarily the smallest city, but certainly one full of surprises, you wouldn’t believe who we ran into on that very tram.

“Hey guys!” we heard from a distance. It was Leo!

She had just gotten out of basketball practice and caught the last tram back. We told her all about our day – about our last programs, meals, conversations, and more. The next day, Leo would be driving us to the airport just to ensure we were safe and cared for – just like she had done throughout the entirety of our trip. As we departed from the airport – my destination set for Tunisia and my mom’s the USA, I couldn’t help but smile reading through a thread of new messages in my inbox.

Messages from contacts who quickly became friends, and friends who had so quickly felt like family.