2024-03-30 03:06:00
When the King “descends” to Casablanca, the city changes, mutates, gains points in terms of security, order, cleanliness. And good citizenship, please. A forced citizenship, you would say to me. But it’s still better than nothing.
For many Casablancans, the presence of the King is a blessing, a relief. She brings hope. That of a better city, better ordered, channeled, more compact. But a furtive hope, the time of a parenthesis which opens and closes each Ramadan.
Because the miracle, the magic, does not affect the whole city. Casablanca is too big, vast, scattered. The change affects the royal circuits, these arteries and boulevards used by the Sovereign. Or not.
Let’s imagine the stress of the city’s elected officials a few days before. They are not stressed, but paralyzed. To the point where they overdo it. Or how to wash whiter than white.
“So,” asks the division head, “are the sidewalks on route A refurbished?
– Yes, yes, exclaims the choir of stewards in unison. Even those on route B, which our Sovereign should probably not take.
– And route C, which is behind it?
– Chief, the sidewalks on route C have just been redone.
– Break them and make them once more!”
Okay, I’m exaggerating a bit. But I take one of these routes every day. And I observe what changes. It’s spectacular, sometimes bordering on the plausible. There is a before and an following. The same scenario repeats itself every year.
The most fascinating thing is to observe how, following the passage of the Sovereign, the blocked holes are dug once more, the arranged sidewalks are broken, the plants quickly fall into decay, the pruned shrubs regain their “ghoufala” (bushy hairstyle). ), the renovated facades lose their shine, and everything returns to the way it was before. An eternal beginning once more.
So, are they doing it on purpose? Aren’t they capable of doing everything well, once and for all? Is it the fault of the sidewalk or the person who laid it?
I traveled to a distant country and saw how, a few hours before the president’s visit, rugs and carpets, perfect replicas of green lawns, were stuck to the ground. Before being taken off the next day.
Casablanca does not add any more at this point. And fortunately. But we are therefore in a bubble, a parenthesis. Both are magical. A friend told me: “When the King is there, Casablanca thinks it’s Rabat.” The reflection is correct, his cynicism goes straight to the point.
Casablanca will never have the coherence of Rabat, its coquetry, this air which seems to tell you that nothing serious will happen to you, that here everything is in order and safe.
But it’s not a big deal. During this little parenthesis, the people of Casablanca can always dream and believe themselves to be better… Before quickly returning to the chaos that so well defines the personality of their city!
1711798522
#King
