Translation from French to English by Katie Lockwood
The beach near where I grew up is called Contrebandiers, and it has always fascinated me. As a child, I imagined smuggling operations unfolding on its deserted shores—boats arriving with contraband, campfires flickering in the night… Despite all my research, I never discovered the origin of its mysterious name. Little did I know how much more this place would come to mean to me years later.
I was ten when we moved near Contrebandiers beach. At first, I didn’t understand why we were leaving our small apartment in Rabat. It wasn’t clear to me that, for my class migrant parents, buying a house in an affordable suburb signified our transition into the upper class. It took me a while to realize why I shouldn’t mention to others that we used to live near Temara, the most populated city in our former district. After all, wasn’t that where we ran errands before there were any shops nearby?
Afraid of being judged, it didn’t take long to realize, from the scornful glances of some classmates, that it was better not to mention my old hometown. Growing up in Temara Beach (emphasis on “Beach”)—or Harhoura, as it’s actually called—there were mostly farmlands, a tiny supermarket, a few restaurants, and an endless stretch of ocean. Back then, I used to grumble about having to wake up twenty minutes early to get to school. I hadn’t yet learned to appreciate the constant presence of the ocean, how its color shifted day by day, or the company of those who knew it like the back of their hand.
Harhoura: Sands of Contrast
The waves crash fifteen kilometers south of Rabat. Three decades ago, Harhoura was merely a stretch of beaches and fields. Today, it’s a bustling residential suburb. According to academic researcher Chadia Arab, most Moroccan cities have not been building out “towards” the ocean since the waters are associated with danger and attacks from invaders. The coast was thus seen as a frontier, which explains the presence of citadels and high walls in the historic cities.
Although this interpretation of the coastline has significantly influenced the Moroccan mindset—perhaps even reflected in the beach names—the shoreline has undergone substantial urbanization in recent decades. Currently, a third of the population and 60% of the factories are situated along the Kénitra-Rabat-Casablanca-Safi axis, which includes Harhoura. This coastal area has become a microcosm of Moroccan society, embodying all its contrasts and contradictions.
How many lives intersected at Contrebandiers? How many invisible barriers were broken down on its shores?
The beaches of Contrabandiers (or “Contra” as the locals call it) is a ten-minute walk from our house. I must have been about thirteen when I started going there on my own. I used to love watching the metamorphosis of the promenade as summer approached, with the funfair popping up, vacationers flooding in, seasonal restaurants setting up their plastic tables between the rocks; the smell of cotton candy, escargot broth and grilled corn mingling with the salty ocean breeze.
Every summer, my circle of friends faced the same dilemma—at least for us, it was one, given we had the luxury of options. Some of us would venture as far away as possible to the exclusive beaches reserved for the wealthy, inaccessible by public transport. The rest of us stayed at Contrebandiers, a bustling haven where countless Moroccan families gathered. It was a place filled with long swimsuits, overflowing baskets, sheets tied to umbrellas, short swimsuits, the sound of whistling as girls passed by, screaming children, fluorescent tennis balls soaring through the air, watermelons buried in the sand to keep them cool, and vendors selling sweets, spiced coffee, doughnuts, and ice cream. How many lives intersected at Contrebandiers? How many invisible barriers were broken down on its shores?
Among them were the metal detectorists, who always intrigued me the most. They strolled with a stick topped by a detection disk, deciphering signals to gauge the depth, size, and metal type. I often observed them at low tide, digging in the sand, trying to imagine the treasures they might uncover.
Meeting the treasure hunters
Like any good investigator, I began my work behind a computer screen.
There’s not much on the Internet about Morocco’s metal diggers. I did learn, however, that Contrebandiers is considered an “archeological goldmine that still holds many secrets.” In a Média 24 article, I learned that excavations had revealed the existence of 120,000-year-old bone tools, which are said to be among the earliest evidence of prehistoric man-made clothing. This information didn’t advance my research significantly, but it added a layer of mystery. Were the metal detectorists also unearthing objects that were thousands of years old?
Everyone I spoke to on the beach had warned me that coaxing metal detectorists into conversation was no simple feat.
Mohamed, seated behind a mound of iridescent seashells, is a mussel fisherman who became my initial guide into a previously unknown world. During our interview, I asked him about the schedule of metal detectorists at Contrebandiers beach, as I hadn’t seen them there for weeks. He described them as discrete individuals who prefer not to engage in conversation. Mohamed also introduced me to the YouTube channels of الشواطئ (the beach king) and diving trip رحلة غوص – that unfortunately never responded to my inquiries.
A few days later, I set out again in search of the metal detectorists. After immersing myself in hours of YouTube videos, my curiosity was stronger than ever. Yet, I found no trace of these men with their metal rods on the beach, so I wandered along the promenade, capturing photos of the varying shades of blue and the rugged black rocks. On my way back, I struck up a conversation with a man running pony rides. He suggested I return early on Sunday morning if I wanted to catch the beachcombers in action.
Portrait of a Contrebandiers Expert
Khalid, with his calm, steady voice, and profound, smiling gaze responds to my questions on a warm Sunday in February 2024. He’s a professional cab driver and does metal detecting in his spare time. “When I’m not working, I come here and forget the world”
Although he seems shy at first, he really opens up when talking about his passion. “I like being alone with the sea. And when I find something, it makes me happy. When I don’t find anything, I tell myself that at least I’ve cleared away hazardous objects, like nails, hooks, things like that.”
“If a woman loses a ring in the ocean, should the person who finds it a hundred years later post a photo on Facebook asking who it belongs to? That would be ridiculous.” By reselling these objects, Khalid is able to supplement his income, though he doesn’t rely on it to make a living. According to him, the image of “treasure hunters” is detrimental, as it isn’t the temptation of making a profit that motivates him. “You can spend weeks collecting nothing but rusty metal scraps, leaving your children to starve. Before anything, you must be passionate to be a detectorist. That’s the part people don’t seem to understand.”
Whether it’s jewelry, coins, or rifle bullets, Khalid loves finding objects with historic value. “Can you even fathom the life of an object that has gone through one, two, three, even four centuries in the depths of the ocean?” He pulls several coins from his pocket to show me: “Look, for example, here is a coin dating back to 1261 (1844 in the Julian calendar.) I wasn’t even alive when it went missing, but God meant for me to find it two hundred years later.”Khalid, who is from Temara, enjoys coming to the beach to gaze out at the horizon. “We city folk aren’t used to wide open spaces anymore. When I come here, I feel rested, just like when I go visit family in the countryside. It’s not the sea itself that heals, rather, it’s something that we feel deep inside ourselves when we return to it. The sea reminds us how miniscule we are. It’s God’s gift to us. We see it as something that creates distance between people, but it’s actually the link between continents, a trade route. It helps us in times of drought and famine.
Protéger les chercheurs de métaux
rotecting metal detectorists
Before us, the waves continue to roll in while the sun beats down even more brightly. Khalid proudly shows me his membership card. In order to peacefully pursue his passion, he joined the ARDM (Rirha Metal Detection Association). Created in 2022 and with already 1,300 members, it is one of the main organizations dedicated to supporting metal hunters (or detectorists). So by signing the ARDM charter, metal detectorists agree not to excavate on any historic sites, cemeteries, sanctuaries, or private land.
Metal detecting is gaining worldwide popularity. In Great Britain for example, metal detectorists are working hand-in-hand with archaeologists to find ancient objects lost in the wilderness. With its 3,500 kilometers of coastline, Morocco boasts the longest coastline of any African country. The country offers a world of possibilities for detectorists, and its organizations play a crucial role in protecting the hobby and providing guidelines for ethical practices.
“Mankind is inherently a seeker, driven by an innate spirit of competition,” writes anthropologist Georges Balandier. Whether pursuing riches like gold and precious metals or striving for scientific breakthroughs, I find myself deeply moved by detectorists, often praised for their enduring patience. Their unwavering hope for discovery resonates with a profound wisdom of its own. As I stand here, listening to the rhythmic melody of the ocean waves at Contrebandiers Beach, I realize I too am on a quest. Perhaps it’s for tranquility, memories of moments past, or even the promise of a meaningful encounter.
* Names changed
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