About my Father

A Photograph of Martin Luther King Jr with Martin Luther King III by James H. Karales, 1962

Society does not understand Individuality. Take this as a beginning to tell you about a father. He was an ideal man that I myself adore. he is a mason. He works very hard to feed his sons. He has three sons. He lived in one of the most dangerous neighbourhoods in the capital Rabat for twenty-seven years.

He is my father. I remember when I was a child. My brother and I were playing with our friends. We were playing football on a sloping pitch in the middle of the alley. People pass through the pitch. We consider them players. We play for half a day daily. When I see him coming from work. I do not think about some new wounds he got or the trouble he had. I always run to him in order to know what he brings. something like food or toys for us. He usually buys a new tool for his work, we use them as toys too.

When I was seven years old, I broke my leg during a football match. He carried me to the hospital in his arms fearing I to be hurt if he carries me on his back. I spent three months recovering. When he comes back home every single evening, he checks on me and asks me if I am fine.

I love many things about him. My father is totally spontaneous. He does not grasp the notion of prestige. He does what he wants and says what he thinks. I do not like how my mother and two youngest brothers treat him; they always blame him and sometimes tell him off about some of his actions or words he initiates.

I thoroughly understand how he thinks and I love his way of thinking. Unlike most of us, he does not bother himself with political news, complex topics, global warming, technology, or philosophical thoughts. I mostly see him happy especially, with people he really knows. He always says: “I do not want to worry about a thing. I just want to live the rest of my life doing what I love; drinking tea, relaxing under a shade of a eucalyptus tree in the countryside, with a green landscape, and talking about something funny…and doing my garden.”

Whenever he says that I recall Voltaire’s words:“ WE MUST CULTIVATE OUR GARDEN.”

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Omar Bajja

Omar Bajja

Omar Bajja, 23 years old, Rabat, Morocco. Email: fkafka131@gmail.com