Abayno springs November 23, 2009
Do you know that Abayno park is breasted by seven unified springs.The water is flowing for years from the seven springs down the river to support the survival of over than 339.000 person.
Abyano is on the main road between Chichaoua and Agadir.It’s another natural place that seeks shelter in a remote green spot.It’s around 24 km from Chichaoua towards Imintanoute. Geographically, it’s within the borders of Nzala commune.
Historically, Abyno was populated by Jewish people for decades.Some of the architectural features marks the visible presence of Jews .
Abyno springs are really an ideal outlet for the free minds.
Idea: Aziz and Youness.
Author: Mr.Aziz Moummou
Short story November 16, 2009
A thief in the school
I get up at 07.15 in the morning. I brush my teeth and sit down for breakfast. I try to move around slowly. My cat Jimmy is sleeping. She always follows me to school.
I take my schoolbag and start walking. I often go by bicycle. Today, I choose to go on foot. It’s Saturday 10th January. It’s my 15th birthday. On the road, I greet Mrs.Halimi our neighbor.
“Happy birthday Jen”,Says Mrs Halimi.
“Thank you Mrs Halimi”,I reply.
I am extremely happy and thrilled to invite my classmates. Amal is my favorite friend .We usually meet in the classroom. She likes Physics and I love English. She always asks me about English words. Today, we have English class and Amal forgets to do her homework. I help her to find the meaning of some words like: an accountant, a librarian, laboratory, etc.
The teacher arrives and greets: “Good morning!”
We stand up and reply: “Good morning teacher!”
My teacher is very polite and punctual. He doesn’t like late comers. All the students try to be in the classroom at 08.00 o’clock sharp.
In the administration, a strange person is inside the director’s office .He takes a black cell phone, and walks silently out of the school. He is a thief. He puts the cell phone in his mouth and runs fast. Suddenly, the school’s accountant sees the thief. He immediately shouts: “Whose cell phone is that? Put it down!”
The robber doesn’t stop. He rushes to the courtyard, then to the stadium. All the school staff follows the thief.
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In the classroom, we hear a loud noise. We look from the window. We see the director and the staff running from corner to corner. The thief is quick. He has more legs.
We get out of the classroom and join the running crowd. In despair, the thief stops on the edge of a will.
“Give me my cell phone!”, cries the director out of his nerves.
The thief answers wildly: “ Myaw, Myaw,” he drops the cell phone in the will.
I know the voice. It’s my pet cat Jimmy. She runs towards me. I am really embarrassed.
The next day, my father comes to school and apologizes .He buys me a cell phone for my birthday. I give it to Jimmy .She adores the new technology.
Jobs November 14, 2009
We sometimes need to ask about others’ job or give our own.
Here Occupations is a list of jobs .
Try to find the jobs of the people in the attached document.
Send your answers to me and I will provide you with solutions.
I will wait your comments.
Douar Macho November 13, 2009
Douar Macho in Chichaoua.
Do you know that Douar Macho is named after a French foreigner
who lived there.His name is Francois Macho.
Author: Kbira Loubi.
This explains how often we derive names from iconic persons either Moroccan or foreigner.The occupation era marked deep scars in the Moroccan culture.So,there is no doubt these days that you will find loads of Arabicized words.This is not a big issue.The stigma is when you find Moroccan people, Muslims, meditating in a shrine where they think a saint lays.But indeed,in many occasions we discovered that disciples are worshipping a Jewish merchant or even a smelling skeleton ,of a donkey, wrapped up under an odored shrine.
Author : Aziz Moummou
( if you think that the information submitted above needs modification,please let us Know).
Follow up November 12, 2009
=”short story”
…I still remember that we were besieged by a hungry German dog. He looked furiously to the baby and we understood that we had to drop it. Suddenly, a courageous gunshot tore the dog’s body and retrieved silence to the place. It was night; we couldn’t see nor feel but the resistant snow. One of the tall and free woods introduced a dark, big boned figure. We could see from his color that he is not a German soldier. My mother in gratitude kneeled to the black statue and so I did. Gently, he asked us to stand up. We were lucky. He recognized us as Jewish ladies. He spoke our language and could even utter some German words. He could see that we have just arrived from the German camp. He understood our need of food, and humanely shared his meal.
We walked away from the dead dog, and made our way inside the organized woods. Only silence broke our silence. The black soldier, your father, started to ask about the number of the German regiments in the camp, their weapons’ supplies and lots of things. Our silence answered them all.
“I met some Jews yesterday on the other side; I’ll try to take you there”. Murmured your father.
We followed his gigantic foot steps, breaking ashes of ice. He didn’t look back, and bowed his head in mere respect. I started to inspect his body; didn’t really look like the image I had about Arabs in the other side of the world. I minded our religious conflict and stitched scattered words he might say, or gestures he might do.I was sixteen.
The white snow revealed broken shadows of hungry Jewish women. They were quite a large number. They heard our march and hided behind each other. Your father, the soldier, made a sign to me to move forward. I did explain to them that we had just escaped from the concentration camp. They looked suspiciously at your father. He removed his rifle backward. He made some steps of trust. A young lady raised and uttered few cold words, “we didn’t eat for two nights”. Gently, your father gave the rest of his food. The women wrestled to have a fair share.
Short story follow up November 11, 2009
Zipporah,Jewish girl,First writing
The disease bridged the gap between the mother and her daughter. Yet, only one thing might be able to seal the problem: the father.
“Call him Muhammed…”, bravely said the mother. The name surprised Zipporah . she stood and walked unconsciously around. The name is a threshold of undesired outcomes.
She froze and focused on her mother expecting more.
The mother continued, “I met him in Frankfurt. He was an African soldier. Strongly belt. During the German assault on France, the French government deployed thousands of African young men so as to free Paris. At that time we were scattered in German ghettos waiting to be displaced into camps”. A nurse entered the room; she noticed that the tube has been removed. She made no complaints, and kindly said, “I’ll be back in 30 minutes to check out…and please, it’s time of her pills”.
Nicely, Zipporah helped her mother to take the pills. She adjusted the bed and sat there making her ears in TELL ME MORE posture.
The mother harshly coughed and carried on: “France freed Paris and moved on to Berlin. The second day on the German territories was a real massacre of the allies’ troops. Those who were not killed were taken as POWs. Your father was one of them. We heard about attempts of escape, but we had never met one of the POWs. Each escape was a hope for us. In the middle of the woods, hundreds of Jews were hiding from the Germans. We had thoroughly received calls for joining them, but only few dared to do so. My mother was pregnant, and we knew that she and the newborn baby would be immediately executed. So, we didn’t have a choice but to flee in the upcoming escape. We made it, we were three. I was 16…
Short story November 10, 2009
Zipporah
The sun challenged the wide red curtains and shed rays on a skinny body. The light unveiled a wide open mouth holding a big respiratory tube; small, careless and green eyes shadowed by a white hair.
She stood in the corridor watching this stubborn body.She can’t see her mother in this profile. Not the same determined eyes, not the same skilful, active hands, not even the same spirit.
“Zipporah…”, said a weak voice.
Zipporah didn’t hear ,but she noticed from the corridor that her mother murmured.
She hurried inside the room and warmly hold the cold hands of the old woman. She looked deeply in her eyes. She tried to dig out the swarm of unspoken words.
The old woman was diagnosed with a Bloom Syndrome and leukemia. A disease that was widespread in the Jewish ghettos during the Second World War. It’s a matter of time before the rebellious body surrenders.
The mother is uneasily trying to utter something. She was disabled by the giant wide tube in her mouth. Zipporah removed carefully the tube and kindly asked her mother to relax.
Stubbornly the old woman whispered ,“ I have got to tell you something…”.
“Mum, please try to relax. We will have plenty of time to chat over a warm cup of tea as you always asked”.
These words stimulated a faint smile which was sarcastic rather than joyful. Zipporah understood her mother’s smile. She knows that she hardly spares time with her mother. Maybe due to her job, or simply because she doesn’t care.
“I got to tell you something about your father…”, uttered the feeble mother. Now, the young lady stared with her shining blue eyes, clearing her mind for what’s coming next. Zipporah never knew her father. She did ask her mother several times when she was a child. She has never got an undiplomatic reply. She gave up insisting. As an adolescent she tried again. The subject of her father usually triggered long disputes. Somehow, this issue raised suspicions and yielded a gap between the two ladies.
After high school, Zipporah chose to enroll in military service. She wanted to stay away from home. She took this decision against her mother’s constant dream. The mother portrayed Zipporah as a teacher of languages.
To be followed…
Prepositions of place video November 6, 2009
I tried my first video tutorial.
An exercise about prepositions of place.
What do you do ? November 2, 2009
We sometimes need to ask about others’ job or give our own.
Here Occupations is a list of jobs also called occupations.
Try to find the jobs of the people in the attached document.
Send your answers to me and I will provide you with solutions.
I will wait your comments.
