My experience in Morocco.

Hawari Richard.

A Challange. I'm here asking the Moroccans to produce a decry where you have liberated or freed your Moroccan slaves!? Like the Britch Royal decry, a declaration! Or something to prove to the world your humanity!? https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Slavery_Abolition_Act_1833 By law, if you have one slave in your mists, it means the entire Nation is made of slaves! Prove me wrong slaves! Introduction. Orwell's experiences in Morocco and his reflections on the country give insight into the cultural, political, and social aspects of Morocco at the time. Morocco was under the control of the French Protectorate, which was a period of French colonial rule in Morocco from 1912 to 1956. During this time, the French exercised significant control over the country's political and economic affairs. Morocco gained independence from France in 1956, following years of resistance and political activism. Understanding this historical context helps to put into perspective the challenges and difficulties that people,faced growing up in Morocco during the 1950s. I was born in 1950 in July, to a landowner, my father Ben Azzouz Al Hawari. In a part of Morocco called Oulad Al Hawari.The Hawwara (Berber languages: Ihuwwaren), also spelled Huwwara, Howwara, Hewwara or Houara, is a large tribal confederation of Berbers and Arabized Berbers spread widely in the Maghreb, with descendants in Upper Egypt and Sudan.[1] Hawwara are amongst the most prominent tribes in Upper Egypt, with branches found mainly in Qena. In Sudan, they are labelled as Hawwaweer (Arabic: هواوير) (plural of Hawwara), and have a significant political presence. I was told my birthday was a regional celebration, with its Fantasia, and festivities lasting for three weeks. My father Si Al Hawari was married to two wives, in the same household, therefore I happen to have many half-brothers, and sisters. Today; I want to tell you all about my experience My life story of resilience, and its resourcefulness qualities that served me well up to this shared happy moment. Lets start from the The story of my life started when I was able to make my own toys, before I can play, or when I was playing a toy maker at an early age. Not that I was a genius kid, no. It was because I was an unfortunate smart poor orphaned child at the age of two. An assumption, is what you naturaly think of when you are stock in time, when you are disoriorianted not know your ups from your downs. When you havenothing to do, but youy have no time to do anythink. It is then when you assume certain position, and naturally the featale position is more assuring, and conforting. Statisticly speaking the majority pass through these fading moments during our passage, or life time. They have said "Life is crazy; Life, is a bitch, and I married one". My life was and is hit and miss, I had many Golden opportunities, that I have spoiled, As I had many downfalls, where I triumphed by squeezing out of tight holes, or did I? Today when looking back I say oh what the hell? I watched my self-grow, through the years, just as I experienced feelings of greatness, sadness, happiness, helplessly on my own relations, situations, cities and countries, societies, traditions, and civilities of all sorts, dating back to the Viking, the Mongols, and the Romans in a life span of my own perspective. My daughter gives me that invisible push, through love, hope, and revived my strength of a true fighter attached to life of an exiled soul far from his land, friends, and family. I have learned to share from an early age, since all I had are my good honorable orphan friends, considered sisters, and my true brother. In 1957 At the orphanage; Girls used to smuggle me into their dorms for amusement, and curiosity, admiration and love, a gang of law, and regulations breaking at their head my sister Al Malalia. These curious Angeles adored me, they have showered me with sweets, drinks, and what was at their means, and possibilities, to keep the little fire Storme kid happy, friendly, and comfy! Never did I forget that act of kindness, and forever kept a worm spot in my heart in memory to my kind orphan sisters and the noble brothers. That act of love, respect, and kindness are my true secret, and motive, in fighting the Moroccan evildoers. Thus is my fight with Slave's Merchants, the Moroccan fraud, the criminals, and their systems of racists thugs, French colonial agents. in order for man to walk he will have to stand tall, physically erect, if the man is capable to execute a simple natural behavior, then he may choose to walk on his own! As for the case of the dark closet existence, the subject is unaware of his existence, the world let alone freedom! Which bring us here to the Moroccan society. Historically Morocco is void of kindness, humanity, common sense. or could these descriptions be an exaggerated pigment of my imagination? My friends, it depends on how much you know about Morocco?

Now where is The Moroccan's slavery Abolition's act!??? They can't produce one, because they are the true slavers! Still own slaves in their palaces, all the Fassis bourgeois still own slaves and so is the Dictator, who inherited millions of slaves Known as "Tawaregues."