blog 4 : My Grandfather's Story

It was a sunny day in Rabat, Morocco when my grandfather's story began. In 1941, when he was twenty years old, the French Army sent him a thick letter telling him that he must join the battle against the German army.

At first, his friends were more uncomfortable than my grandfather about fighting on the side of the French colonizers and risking their lives. He discussed the advantage of fighting for the French. In my grandfather’s opinion, everything in life has an affordable price.

First of all, according to my grandfather, the French colonizers were better than the alternative of the Vichy regime. Also, the Moroccan King Mohammed V had a good relationship with the United States government. Therefore there was a chance that the two countries could start negotiations on our quest for independence after the war.

My grandfather’s friends responded, however, that this would be the best time to fight the French because they are powerless and desperate. My grandfather mentioned that there was a big chance that the Axis Powers would lose like in World War I. In addition, we would get experience from our participation in the war which we could use against the French later if necessary.

After three months of firearms training in Casablanca. My grandfather and five of his best friends had to leave for France, not like I did when I was 21 years old and went to Paris institute of technology, but to fight in the war. Most of the soldiers were strangers and the only thing in common was their uniforms. My grandfather showed a great skill in the battles, and that’s why his Commander starts positioning him and his friends in the front of the lines. He was fighting the Germans and killing them one after the other as if it was his own country in danger. While they were fighting along the border of Belgium, three of his friends were killed and my grandfather was taken prisoner. During this time he experienced all kinds of torture and he just had to get used to pain. After two months, and while the French were bombing the village of Eisden, he escaped from prison there and walked for days to Lille and then, after 1 month he got Paris desperate and sick. After the war finished, he started fighting the French colonizers with his friends for almost nine years; they were hungry, tired, sick, and scared about their families.

Finally, Morocco gained independence on March 2, 1956. A few years after that, my grandfather had the great opportunity to meet the king and receive an honor for his bravery during the both wartime, but he wasn’t that happy because he lost his best friends during the war and missed his parents’ funeral.

My grandfather stayed with us for five years when I was 18 years old. During this time, I learned many things from him, like how to be thankful for what you have, be patient for what you don’t have, and that anything could be taken away from you. He was my best friend and I had the best time speaking to him and hearing him talking about the hard moments during his life.

In 2009, when I went to France for school, the first day I got there, I felt like my life took another way, and I start thinking about how my grandfather’s life changed in this place. It was such a weird coincidence that he came to this country at the same age as me. While I was in Paris I heard the worst news of my entire life, and I could not believe that he died. 

Always, when I open my grandfather’s photo album and see the remarkable photos of him and his friends in World War II, vivid memories come to my mind, and I wonder how young men could make the decision to leave their families for an unknown destiny, and I start pondering about how easy my life is now compared to his time.