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- La Fugue De Mahmoud: Exploration of Colonial Cinema during French Protectorate in Morocco
La Fugue De Mahmoud: Exploration of Colonial Cinema during French Protectorate in Morocco
Discover the intriguing tale of La Fugue De Mahmoud, a cinematic journey back to the colonial era in Morocco under French Protectorate. Dive into the complexities of identity, escape, and cultural clash through the narratives of Maurice, a young fugitive, and Mamoud, a teacher navigating life on the fringes of the Sahara.
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Video Transcript
This Parisian winter event seemed like a good subject for a report.
So I made an appointment with the teacher of this school in the nearby suburb.
Which of these children was Maurice, the little fugitive?
I asked myself while crossing the courtyard, without doubting the long journey that this investigation would lead me to.
Indeed, my conversation with the teacher quickly took an unexpected turn.
I know what you mean.
Voilà.
Maurice est toufé parmi les usines, et il est parti vers les arbres et le soleil.
Je ne sais pas ce que vous écrirez sur cette escapade, mais...
I think back to a boy who did the exact opposite, and yet it was the same.
Here, I have his last letter.
Mamoud, Mamoud.
His story also began in a school.
I was in Morocco, and I had just been appointed to a post in the South.
You can't imagine what it's like to teach math, grammar and morals to little Berbers on the outskirts of the Sahara.
I remember the day I noticed Mamoud for the first time.
I eat, I don't eat.
I eat, I don't eat.
I don't want to eat!
And you, Brahim?
No, madam, I don't have a sister.
Of course, I don't have one.
And you, Mamoun?
Yes, madam, I have a sister.
But no, Mamoun, you don't have a sister.
You're Brahim's brother, like him.
I don't have a sister.
Brahim doesn't have a sister, madam.
But I have a sister.
Our father, madam, he has two wives.
Very well.
No, it wasn't easy to understand these little devils.
Some evenings I felt very lonely.
I was returning from school to my apartment, with its falsely moorish veranda and the ridiculous flatbeds where I was insisting on caring for the roses of France.
Fortunately, I had my faithful Ahomard, the school's concierge, who also served as a gardener.
I was separating my school from Timoulet, the hamlet where Mahmoud lived.
This is an oasis, a meager palm tree stretched along a stream of water and a puzzle of cubes of dry earth.
These gardens of olive trees and palm trees, full of birds and flowers, what a wonderful landscape.
of games for children. But under heavenly conditions, I quickly realized that the life
of an oasis is more difficult.
These people who were politely greeting me, how to understand them and help them?
Two or three times, I had a look around the house of Mahmood.
Which of these two women was his mother?
Once a month meat, oil,
boiled ground barley that she gives to the children.
Two images are especially important to me.
The prayers for the rain in front of the Marabout,
and also the cutting of some spices spared by the drought.
With procedures so rudimentary, it's the Bizzet, the good old days.
I was so struck that I decided to teach my boys some agricultural techniques.
