Sidi Ifni- Morocco
It was in 2012 when I first made her acquaintance on Facebook. Her name is N.A., and she is of Moroccan origin. The woman is married and blessed with two kids, a boy and a girl. She lives in Florida, in the United States, but she hasn’t visited Morocco for a long time. I have always taken great pleasure talking to her in the virtual world. Put simply, she has been one of my best virtual friends and sisters, if not the best. “God sent this angel to us, ” remarked one of the people she helped in Morocco. ” She is such a noble woman, “a woman of three described her.
The common denominator between she and I is that we attempt to give voice to the voiceless.
Yet, we do it in our own ways. Whereas I have written numerous articles and news stories about Moroccans who have got no voice to speak on their behalf, she has taken the initiative to provide financial aid for them so that they can stand on their own and live a dignified life. Since I knew her, much of her conversations revolve around, the poor, the downtrodden, the miserable, the voiceless, thedisabled, and underprivileged children.
This phenomenal woman added me as her friend and brother, for she has read a large number of my articles. She has found herself in them and has identified herself with the social subjects they raise. “You remind me of Morocco, my home country, “she once wrote to me. I am Morocco for her, and she is Morocco for me, too. We discussed nearly everything about our beloved Morocco, ranging from social justice to abject poverty. We empathized with each other, understood each other, and most importantly we trusted each other. I saw in her a reason for a change, and she saw in me a means for change.
Despite the fact that I have never met her in person, she trusted me and considered me as her brother. This is why I made an oath never to let her down, never to break the trust, never to lie to her, never to leave her, and never to disappoint her. Since she lent her ears to our concerns, I began to complain to her about my own problems, especially because a trouble shared is a trouble halved.
I have considered her one of my eldest sisters whom I trust and love deeply to the extent that I shared with her every single detail of my life, including my secrets. She knows that I am an underpaid and overworked teacher and that my mother lives with me. I felt I was part of her life and her family. Knowing her and conversing with her have always been a great source of happiness for me, for my mother and for my neighbors.
“Don’t worry; you’ll be fine, ” she used to tell me. I breathed a deep sigh of relief whenever I received such a consoling message from her. I no longer felt alone. Sometimes, I could not help writing to her every now and then. I have become addicted to chatting with her, for she is the second woman after my mother who understands me, who sympathizes with me, who empathizes with me, who cares for me, who supports me morally and financially, who surprises me all the time, and who sides with me.
Frankly, she is a larger-than-life, phenomenal woman. I have received nearly the same remarks from the people she helped. They prayed for her; they wished to meet her; they wished her well-being and everlasting happiness; they never forget her noble work; they express deep gratitude to her for her support.
She used to send me 250 USD from time to time, both to help me and help others in need. Whenever I received the amount from her, I think about my poor relatives, my poor neighbors, poor children, and also the needy. I send each 50 USD so as to divide it equally among them. I still keep the receipts of the money I sent them. Each time I cast a look at the receipts, I remember the phenomenal woman behind this noble work. As a principled woman, she usually told me that supporting others in any way and serving them in life is out of her conviction.
Even before joining Morocco World News , I used to read her comments with awe, her responses, her reactions, her criticism, and her points of view. She was a caring woman in all respects. Sometimes, I was hard on her by sending her messages upon messages. I knew she was a busy woman, working all the time to support and cater to her own family. I always felt terribly sorry for taking much of her time.
She helped several children at a Quranic school in Sidi Ifni. She bought clothes for some women in some villages on the outskirts of Tafraout. She bought me a motorcycle. She bought some candy and toys for my neighbors’ children. She paid water and electricity bills for several poor women. “I do it for God’s sake. I do not need people to thank me, ” she once wrote to me. Sometimes, I had to make sure that she was not overwhelming herself. Her response always goes: “We’re fine here”.
” I promise I will always be beside you,” she once told me. “Don’t worry; you are no longer alone, ” she added. Upon hearing that, I was very happy. I told my family about her. I never asked her for help. It was she who offered to help me out of the kindness of her heart. It was she who added me to suggest helping those in need and also giving voice to those who have no voice, the common denominator that has characterized many of my writings. She and I have a great deal in common, and I believe this is why our friendship has always remained strong, innocent, and real for two years now.
Yet, to my neighbors’, my family’s, the poor’s and my dismay, the phenomenal woman left and disappeared into the distance. She left without bidding them goodbye. She left for no obvious reason. I am at a loss for words whenever people who know her ask me about where, why and how she left. Other neighbors asked whether she left for good or just for some time. As for me, I have tied to contact her, only in vain. For sure, she must be busy and have other life commitments. She must have errands to run and kids to rear. She must be exhausted due to loads of work.
Two weeks ago, after succeeding to contact her, I knew the reason why she stopped writing back to us. I don’t need to divulge this reason here. It is a secret that I must keep. The people who knew her very well have been impatiently waiting for her support for five months now. Personally, the real mystery to me is why she had temporarily stopped helping others, the cause she herself claimed to have adopted for the rest of her life. Nonetheless the phenomenal woman continues to remind me of John Holmes’ quote, “There is no exercise better for the heart than reaching down and lifting people up.”
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