Marrakech and Rabat are two different cities.  One is in the south, one is on the coast.  One is very European and touristy, the other is the capital of the country and seat of government.  One offers your choice of language (French, English, Spanish, Italian, German, Dutch, Arabic, and so on) and one asks you to try it the local way.  One gives you lots of trouble as a tourist, and one doesn’t (perhaps different than what you think).  They’re two very different cities, in two different places with two different cultures and ways of being.

And yet, I have found similarities.  The other day, while walking out of the Marrakshi medina, looking for a place to watch the sunset, I stumbled on an abandoned lot.  This abandoned lot wasn’t exactly empty, since there were a whole host of boys playing football (soccer for those of you unfamiliar) in the lot.  While this was going on, a massive grove of olive trees stretched out to my right, casting shadows in the setting sun.  And ahead, the Atlas Mountains imposed their height and majesty on the horizon, snow-capped and all.

It reminded me of similar situations in Rabat.  Many a time, I would go to the beach to watch the sunset.  And while it may not be an empty lot, the boys played football there.  The screams and yells of people in FC Barcelona or Real Madrid jerseys rose over the crashing of theAtlanticon shore.  The seemingly endless ocean met the horizon with its blues and whites, while the sun set beyond the lighthouse and road to Casablanca.  The connections were striking.

It took me a while to get adjusted to the constant goings-on in Marrakech, especially considering the number of tourists.  I am greeted more in French, so long as I do not know the person with whom I am speaking, than I am in Arabic.  By comparison, in Rabat, I could easily pass as a local, one that really blended in with the culture and the people, becoming a fixed and known quantity rather than just another foreigner passing through.  It gave me a sense of belonging, feeling, and connection to a place that I otherwise am not connected to.

But the beauty of the boys on the lot, or the beach, is that they are all part of one and the same footballing culture.  There is a constant desire to play the game, no matter where we may be and what we may believe in.  Everyone has a desire to experience the beauty, escape to the field, and enjoy the magic.  It is a unifying factor that brings many Moroccans together, whether by trees or by lighthouse, by lot or by beach, by mountains or by sea.

I may not be playing as much football these days as I used to, but it is a joy to see others experience the wonder and delight that I had.  I do a lot of watching of the game these days, mostly in person but sometimes on TV, and it is nice to find that it can still unify and unite.  I am hopeful that the boys, or girls, that play this wonderful game will continue to find the passion and excitement that I have for it and its intricacies.  No matter what the pitch may be, whether it is gravel, concrete, dirt, sand, carpet, or grass, the excellence of a little stepover, shoulder jink, or cheeky nutmeg that leads to a great ball or a nice tap-in or a beautiful goal is universal.  I find magic in it and appreciate its brilliance always.

The beautiful game: a thrill unparalleled and a joy unrivaled.  May you always find yours.