Before the joy of becoming a father, I experienced September 11, 2001. For Muslims in France, this date marks a before and an after. I have a very vivid memory of it. I was receptionist in a hotel, and a customer asked me “You were at an internship yesterday, right? » He bursts out laughing: “A driving course! » Fortunately, a colleague kicked him out. His gesture gave me hope. It meant that there were still people who respected us. When I arrived in 1989, we Moroccans were welcome. There, I understood that something had changed.
It was in this terrifying context that I became a father. My daughter Camilia was born in 2002, Rym in 2005 and the twins in 2008. At first, I wanted to speak only Arabic to them, but I was afraid that they would develop an accent when speaking in French. I knew it would be detrimental for them. So, my wife and I decided that we would speak both languages at home.
We enrolled them in Arabic school for one hour a week, so that they could learn to write literary Arabic, and we campaigned with other parents for it to be taught to them at school, like Chinese. or Italian. It seemed normal to us: in our neighborhood in Aubervilliers, in Seine-Saint-Denis, there were only black people and Arabs.
Very quickly, I understood that we could not rely solely on school. At Aubervilliers college, the teachers explained to us that they did not want to give them too much homework, for fear that some parents would not be able to help them. I understood the idea, but I found it ridiculous. How are they supposed to succeed if they don't work from home? In Paris, the children of doctors and architects are given a lot of homework!
“I then understood that my children would have to work extra hard if they wanted to find a place for themselves”
One day, a Jewish neighbor who had sent her children to private school told me: “It’s the elite!” » I spent hours ruminating on this word. For me, the elite were the cosmonauts and the surgeons, not the children! I felt like a huge click. The attacks had changed the image of foreigners in France. I then understood that my children would have to work extra hard if they wanted to find a place for themselves. The message was clear: I was forbidden to be passive in their school life.
To a certain extent, I helped the children with their homework. Then, I paid private teachers. It was a financial investment, a strategic calculation for their future. Sometimes I refused to buy a Barbie, or I compared the price of diapers at the supermarket. I put down the ones with a weird flower scent to take the cheaper ones. I didn't need my children's butts to smell like spring, I needed them to have a good education!
“From a very young age, my children told me they wanted to become rich”
When they were little, they asked questions because they saw that there were people richer than us. They often asked me: “How did they get all that? » I simply replied: “They worked. » I think that motivated them. They quickly understood the game of life. From a young age, my children told me they wanted to be rich.
In reality, the most important thing for me was that they didn't experience the same disappointment as me. I arrived in France in 1989 to study biotechnology in Limoges. I had passed my master's degree and was accepted into a DEA in Paris but, unfortunately, I had to give up due to lack of money. Then I had to find work to feed my family. I categorically refused to allow the little ones to end up stuck in their journey like I had been. Nothing material should be an obstacle for them.
Our efforts have borne fruit. Camilia and Rym both studied at the Louis-le-Grand high school in Paris and continued with math prep and engineering school. I didn't particularly push them down this path. It was on her own that Camilia chose to fight in this environment of boys! And we know that there are few girls like her in these schools.
“Over time, Camilia understood that her success also had political meaning”
At the beginning, for her, the objective was above all financial security. But over time, Camilia understood that her success also had political meaning. She could be a role model for other daughters of immigrants. France is her country, but she feels the prejudices and negative judgment about Muslims here.
It fueled her desire to change things and she became very activist. I am proud of her, she defends just causes. But sometimes I'm scared. I'm afraid that doors will be closed to her because she talks about Palestine. Especially as a Muslim woman, in a country that is becoming hostile and intolerant.
My children live in an anxiety-provoking climate which is not conducive to the realization of their dreams. It's true that there are people who harm our community, but every time we turn on the TV, we hear bad things about Arabs. It's sad, but it's a fact. How to build yourself in a world where you feel rejected? Me, God willing, I will return to Morocco with my wife when I retire. And sincerely, if things don't work out in France, I will understand that my children want to leave too.
I always told them not to hide who they were. We are Muslims, we must be proud of our origins. But we are as much Moroccan as we are French, not just one or the other. We must respect everyone and not fall into hatred of France. But my children have a different attitude than the immigrants of my generation. They live in “after September 11”.
(1) All first names have been changed.
