The Moroccan Family's Struggle with Technology
In nearly every Moroccan household, a scene has become so commonplace that it often goes unnoticed: a small child, no more than three or four years old, clutching a smartphone with tiny hands, effortlessly swiping across the screen without the need for instruction. No one has taught them how to do this; they simply learn, much like we adults learn to walk or speak. This observation brings forth a pressing question that resonates within families across Morocco, from Casablanca to Oujda, and from Marrakech to Nador: who is raising our children today? Is it the parents, the grandparents as it used to be, or has the responsibility shifted to a small screen that never tires or complains?
Smartphones as Child Companions
Many Moroccan mothers openly admit, sometimes with a hint of embarrassment, that smartphones have become a quick solution when a child cries in the market or when they need a brief moment of peace to finish cooking or handle a work call. The smartphone does not tire, does not refuse, and does not demand anything in return. It serves as the perfect companion for a weary father after a long day at work and for a mother juggling the responsibilities of home and career. However, the issue lies not in the smartphone itself, as it is merely a tool devoid of intention. The real concern is that, as parents, we have inadvertently assigned it a role we never intended: the role of caregiver. A child who spends hours watching rapidly changing short videos learns a specific rhythm of thought, a certain way of coping with boredom, and even a particular model of relationships and behavior, all without the guidance or correction from a parent or teacher.
The generation of parents today remembers what it was like to experience boredom during vacations, to play outside with friends, and to wait an entire week just to watch a single episode of a cartoon on Thursday. This emptiness, though seemingly annoying at the time, cultivated patience, imagination, and the ability to create play from nothing. In contrast, our children today do not know this kind of boredom. The moment they feel a hint of it, one of their little hands reaches for the smartphone, and boredom vanishes in seconds. While this may seem convenient in the moment, it deprives the child of a crucial opportunity: the chance to learn how to be alone with themselves and how to confront emptiness without fleeing from it.
One protective element in Morocco, which may still partially exist in some areas, is the extended family. The grandmother who tells stories, the uncle who jokes around, and the neighbors who watch with warmth form a genuine social network that participates in upbringing without formally declaring it. Today, however, with the disintegration of this network in large cities and the preoccupation of everyone with their smartphones, children often find themselves truly alone, even when surrounded by family.
So, what can be done? The solution does not lie in completely banning smartphones, as this is neither realistic nor effective in our time. Instead, the answer is closer to restoring balance. We must establish screen time limits just as we set times for meals and sleep. We should sit down with our children and occasionally watch with them, not just to monitor them but to understand what they consume and why it appeals to them. We need to give boredom its rightful place, allowing children to feel it without rushing to alleviate it with a smartphone. Furthermore, we must remember, as adults, that our own eyes are also glued to screens more than we realize, and children learn by imitating long before they learn through words.
Ultimately, the question is not just about who raises our children but also whether we are still the ones making that decision, or if we have relinquished it to an algorithm that neither knows our children nor cares about their future.
As reported by hespress.com.
