Far childhood dreams

                    MY village where i lived  my childhood 

I remember that when I was a little boy I had dreams that looked great, like becoming a pilot, being a teacher, or a policeman. But as I get older, dreams change and some seem naive to me, so I laugh a lot when I remember.

At some stage in my life I wanted to become a journalist but later found out that the press is a tired profession in many Arab countries, including Morocco. The press may cause you to be imprisoned and become like a vicious circle.


In my press coverage over the years, I have been subjected to a lot of harassment, especially when it comes to field coverage such as February 20, for example, where some demonstrations in the city of Casablanca have been marked by violent security intervention. Or when I was covering the demonstrations of the unemployed of the certificate holders in the capital. I had already been beaten by a security man seven years ago when he found out that I was shooting a demonstrator with my phone, leaving him behind and began chasing me.

But the homeland is beautiful despite all the negatives that we encounter, so there is a warm lap that does not match the lap of the mother's last lap, and my mother died before March 15 and I will devote an article tomorrow for the memories of bad March.