Casablanca – In our childhood, summer didn’t always mean the beach or boarding a plane. Sometimes, it meant something simpler. “L’blad” (the hometown) was our resort, and somehow, it felt richer than any destination.

The word itself carries weight. L’blad is not just a village. It is origin. It is grandparents waiting at the door before you even knock. It is dust on sandals. More than anything, it is the kind of family memories that stay untouched by time.

A different kind of warmth

It was the one season when the big family became whole again – aunts, uncles, cousins filling every corner of the house. City life paused – the noise, the schedules, the rush. In its place came a different rhythm. Slower mornings, longer afternoons.

Mornings began early. Roosters replaced alarm clocks. Bread was baked in traditional ovens. Cousins gathered in courtyards. There was no schedule, yet the days felt full.

As children, what we loved most was freedom. Real freedom. The kind that didn’t require permission every five minutes. We played endlessly with our cousins, inventing games out of nothing. 

There were no phones, no consoles, no batteries to charge. Just imagination, dust, and open air. We ran under the sun until our faces turned red. We climbed trees without thinking about the consequences. And we eventually came home covered in dirt and stories.

There was one thing about L’blad that should have ruined everything. Summer there means one thing: heat. Not the gentle kind. The kind that sticks to your skin and refuses to leave. The kind that makes the walls warm and the afternoons endless.

The heat was truly unbearable. Noon felt like punishment and the air barely moved.

But somehow, it didn’t matter.

We were too busy enjoying life. Too busy running after each other and arguing over made-up rules in games we invented.

Beyond the playing and the running, there was something else we felt in L’blad. A different kind of warmth. Not the sun this time, but the kind that comes from being surrounded by family.

Maybe we didn’t fully understand it then. We were too young to name it. But we felt it. The way the house filled up with voices. The way laughter moved from one room to another without stopping.

Where time slows down and meaning is within reach

Looking back now, we understand why it mattered. We don’t gather like that often anymore. Life scatters us – work, studies, responsibilities. But in L’blad, time slowed down enough for us to be together.

There was also something about the way we lived there. We let go of sofas. Instead, we preferred sitting on the ground, on a traditional carpet spread across the floor. It sounded simple, but it carried meaning. 

In those moments, we listened to stories and savored every word. We laughed at tales of their childhood and the memories they once lived, feeling connected in a way that only those gatherings could create.

At night, sleep had its own ritual. When the heat refused to leave the rooms, the rooftop became the only logical option. One by one, everyone carried their carpets, pillows, and light blankets upstairs. We laid them side by side, and slept together under the open sky.

L’blad is not only a place. It is a reminder of who we were before noise, deadlines, and notifications.