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dry-valleys · 3 months ago

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A dwelling place for their God, a place made of places torn from crumbling towns, but one that is as perfect and magnificent as the purest conceptions of the greatest stonemasons.

Guy de Maupassant.

This, part of my Tunisia series (please see here, here,here, here, here, here and here for the rest) is about the Great Mosque of Kairouan.

What is now Tunisia was settled and conquered by Berbers (the original stock of the country), Phoenicians, Carthaginians, Romans, Vandals, and Byzantines, before the construction of this building. As you can see in (5) Roman materials were used in the building process and there is a Latin inscription that still can be seen, though I don't actually know what it means;

The historian Mourad Rammah points out that "paradoxically, this mosque is the largest museum of Roman and Byzantine capitals ever to be formed under the roof of a single Muslim monument".

This has always been a hotbed of religious zealotry; Saint Augustine, one of the fathers of the Catholic Church, was born in neighbouring Algeria to a Berber family and breathed in the same arid air.

At first, the Muslims, who came by land and were almost entirely Arabs, struggled against not only the sea-born Byzantines, but also against the inland Berber kingdoms; the early Caliph Umar refused to come here at all, stating that 'It is not Ifriqiya, it is a dangerous land which leads you astray and dupes you, and which no one will attack as long as I live'

Soon after Umar's death in 644 AD the Muslims did come here and Kairouan was founded in 670 AD, with the oldest mosque in the Maghreb, on a Byzantine ruin by the Islamic commander Uqbah ibn Nafi. Kairouan was the home of a garrison who helped put down the Great Berber Revolt of 741.

In the end the Muslims fought off the Byzantines, whose empire collapsed for good when their capital, Constantinople (now Istanbul, Turkey, which I hope to visit next year!), was seized by the Ottoman Empire in 1453. By this time the Berbers and Arabs had become fused into one Tunisia, in which they lived alongside Jews and other minorities.

Therefore, the Museum With No Frontiers reminds us that 'it is impossible to imagine a monolithic and immutable Islamic world blindly following an inalterable religious message'.

What is now Tunisia was part of huge Islamic empires which sprawled across Asia, Africa, and Europe such as the Umayyads, Abbasids, Aghlabids (whose capital was here and which spread into Europe, ruling Sicily- which is only 80 miles from Tunisia and is much nearer to here than Tunisia is to sub-Saharan Africa, or than Sicily is to northern Europe) and the Aghlabid Prince Ziyadat Allah I rebuilt it in 836 AD. (Please see here for other Aghlabid achievements)

The minaret, which dates from that year, is the oldest still standing on earth, as befits what became a centre of Arab Muslim culture in Africa and a portal between Europe and Africa, which was founded in 859 AD by Fatima al-Fihri.

Later there were the Muslim empires of the Fatimids, Almoravids (who spread as far as what is now Spain and whose capital was in what is now Morocco, where I went last year), their Christian Norman adversaries (who, after the Muslims conquered Sicily from the Byzantines in 902 AD, counterattacked, reclaimed Sicily for Christendom in 1194 and attacked Tunisia in 1123) and the Muslim Almohads (also Berber btw), Mamluks, Seljuks, and most of all the Ottomans, whom we've already met defeating the Byzantines, and who ruled here from 1574 to 1881.

Kairouan was taken as the model of mosques in Ifriqiya before the Ottoman era (A later post will be about an Ottoman mosque by contrast). It did fall into decline in the 11th and 12th centuries and the geographer Al-Idrisi, who hailed from Al-Andalus (now Spain) rued that 'Now it has all became totally destroyed and depopulated'.

This was not the end though, as Kairouan made a comeback in Ottoman times so that in 1783, the French voyager René Louiche Desfontaines said that Kairouan was 'the largest of the kingdoms after Tunis. It is even better built and less dirty than the latter'.

This land was also fought over and lived in by Spaniards, Maltese and Italians, all of whom helped to form what is now Tunisia. What distinguishes this city is the old mosque and that Kairouan is a centre of traditional carpet making (I just about resisted buying one, though they are indeed lush).

In the Ottoman age, (6) the sundial (1834) and (7) rainwater collector were installed; the latter is remarkable and was installed by the bey . Mohamed Bey Al Mouradi, who reigned here under Ottoman suzerainty from 1675 AD to 1696 AD.

Between 1881 and 1956 Tunisia was part of the French empire, then became an independent state; therefore, from 1881 onwards, the tension between European, Arab/Islamic and African trends was heightened, and this is still the case today, as well as the tension between Islamic and secular; you can see in my Monastir post for more on modern Tunisia.

Before the French conquest, non-Muslims were forbidden to live here, so unlike in other cities there were not large Jewish or Christian communities and this town is still more conservative and Islamic than other places I saw such as Monastir.

Kairouan got a well-earned UNESCO world heritage listing in 1988 and it's said that seven trips here can take the place of the one pilgrimage to Mecca which Muslims are otherwise obliged to make; I doubt I'll be here seven times but it's something worth aiming towards for those who can!

#photos #africa #tunisia #islam #mosque

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mchiti · 3 months ago

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one day we will talk about the toxicity in many muslim communities and how this starts from conservative bigoted Imams

my imam showed up to my place uninvited today and listen I'm on my first day of period, I slept like shit I was tired just got home from work in desperate need of a shower i'm heartbroken cause i broke up with my bf 3 days ago (my decision tho so) in pain cold hungry angry hangry lonely my house a mess I had nothing to offer i even ran out of atay and haven't had some in days atp (me, the hugest atay lover on earth) and like... I have therapy for this whole parentless orphan thing trauma I really don't need.... this

this is truly truly truly not the time for the whole guilt tripping thing because I havent attended prayers in one year and maybe you're getting the feeling I'm not even religious anymore but like listen........he spoke like half an hour and I blacked out and all I was thinking in the back of my mind is that I am 100% sure that if I were a MALE and not a young FEMALE living alone this wouldn't be happening. he wouldn't be here with that patronizing masculinity shit because again I am a girl. why does he never go to pay a visit to the kids selling drugs across the street. why does he never go talking to the people in and out of jail who need some words of compassion. or their tired mothers. or the women left by coward men who are tired of being migrants and suddenly decide life back in morocco/maghreb wasn't that bad after all and they disappear without paying child support. well why don't you go talk to the men known for being violent pos and no one bats an eye. like this place is a true shithole full of dramas and diaspora depression but all he does is visiting girls for being too western or starting to question things. and you tell me this is not toxic. and we want to keep pretending there are not many Imams like him out of there who are the problem

#I will move from this place in 2025.#like I WILL move from here

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avant-greendecor · 1 year ago

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Heritage Haven: Maghreb's Soul in a Living Room Dance

Visit my website for more inspiration 🌿

In the pulse of Maghreb's embrace, this living room sings with comfort and tradition, offering a cozy nook adorned with boho pillows, open mango wood doors framing an ancient mosque, and lush fan plants against ivory clay walls.

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elliemarchetti · 1 year ago

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Instinct

The follow up to Habit Rouge, or the actual Halloween party, in Eris’s POV.

I stole LoA’s name from @andrigyn's A Swing in the Dark, check it out if you haven’t already because it’s very good, just like everything she does.

Plot: Eris recognizes Nesta’s scent at the party.

Warnings: no beta, we die like heroes.

Words: 3049

The music was strangely to his taste, nothing like the electronic crap that nowadays played on the radio wherever he went. For too many years the mortals had depended on technology for everything they did, and the absence of a DJ in favour of live music only served to demonstrate they weren’t welcome at the event. Whoever the organizer was, they certainly weren’t Eris’s age, or they would’ve preferred strings and trumpets to guitars and drums, but he knew how to find satisfaction in what he was given, especially considering the chaos of bodies moving on the improvised dancefloor.

With all those werewolves around, the smell wasn't really the best, and soon the stench of sweat would overtake those of the expensive essences the witches had doused themselves with, but even then, he would bear it, if only to find someone to spend that night of revelry with. It was his last lover who invited him, a witch from New Orleans with long white hair and deep blue eyes, the same shade as the ocean on hot summer days. Appropriate, considering her specialty was water manipulation. He could see her among the patrons of the bar, together with her brother and cousin. To the casual eye, they could all have been mistaken for twins, their features so similar and exotic. The oldest of them had his muscular arm around the shoulders of a middle-aged woman, and judging by the adoring smiles he flashed her from time to time, she must’ve been his partner. In the human world, in the broad daylight he had to avoid for centuries, such an attitude would certainly have caused a stir, but here it was normal, encouraged even. After all, although the sorcerer looked twenty-five at best, he must’ve been at least four times older. Surprisingly, Eris too felt his actual age on that chilly night.

He was born in Spain during a violent period, on a year in which freedom was only a distant memory and you couldn’t trust your neighbour, the risk of being sold to the Inquisition as Jew out of mere envy so high that one barely allowed distant family members to visit. The matter shouldn’t have affected him, the Vanserras were fervent Catholics, and it hadn’t, until Eris turned thirteen. He still remembered vividly the day he found out his mother was pregnant for the seventh time. His father had organized a sumptuous banquet, and had announced the happy news with such satisfaction Eris almost feared he wanted to demonstrate to the guests how active he still was in the nuptial bed. Lucien was born the following year, and despite the mild winter, the blood of the maids who had assisted Lady Vanserra during the birth must’ve run cold. The child had auburn hair, and eyes of the same russet as his mother, but his skin was noticeably darker than that of his brothers, so much so that the whispers he was a half Moor reached Eris’s tutor, who was engaged in a lesson with the three oldest children, before they arrived to Beron’s ears.

“Are you sure?” the man asked under his breath, and although the other two students had taken advantage of the opportunity to distract themselves from their books, Eris listened attentively.

“Half Maghreb, I swear,” the woman replied, before disappearing back into the corridors of the villa. They called it the Forest House, and although there were various woods in Spain, the name was due to the quantity of fruit trees the founder of the family had planted all around the estate. Acres and acres of land that Eris knew like the back of his hand, an advantage he used to smuggle out the suspiciously silent baby.

“Run,” his mother had told him that night, still covered in dried sweat, holding back tears. “Leave Spain before your father comes back and never return.”

Eris had kept his promise, even when he discovered they’d both been burned alive. Helion hadn’t embraced God, and Lady Vanserra hadn’t regretted having loved him.

How a fourteen-year-old boy had managed to keep a newborn alive could only be explained through the compassion of strangers: he’d met women who had acted as wet nurses, and had been offered all sorts of lucky passages; he’d sold some expensive heirlooms for twice their value, and he’d been hired as a kennel master even though he had no previous experience, just a great love for animals.

They’d reached England, where their aunts still lived, when Lucien had already learned how to properly talk and walk. The two women, younger than their deceased sister, had silently mourned Aureliana’s terrible fate, and at the same time did everything possible to make their nephews forget the horrors they had to endure, but in 1563 the plague reached the gates of London, and with it more suffering came. In that wicked year, Lucien lost his eye, and Eris was initiated into the supernatural in a rather unceremonious way.

Everyone knew the symptoms of the plague, the disease that had wiped out nearly half of Europe's population just two hundred years earlier. High fever, headaches and severe weakness were only the first of a long list of ailments that led to almost certain death, and when aunt Drusilla began to suffer from them without apparent relief despite the compresses and treatments her family subjected her to, the only reasonable solution was quarantine. Although it didn’t happen so often, it wasn’t unusual for some members of the same household to get sick and others not, but when the terror reached its peak, and the woman stopped sleeping because of the nausea, officers dresses in long black tunics, with thick leather gloves and masks that still populated Eris’s nightmares, showed up at their door to drag her to the lazaret. Lucien had tried to oppose, to place himself between the bedchamber of the woman who acted as mother and father for him, but someone had drawn his sword, and before Eris could intervene, a long red gash had opened on his brother’s face. The deep cut ran from above his eyebrow almost to his chin, and although they managed to stop the resulting heavy bleeding, Lucien didn’t wake up for days. Seeing his little brother, the one for whom he’d risked his life so many years ago, fighting between life and death had pushed him to extremes he never thought he would reach, and in the middle of the night he’d brought a doctor of ill repute to his room, without the knowledge of his grieving aunt. The man was deathly pale, with deep dark circles surrounding his pitch-black eyes. He spoke with a heavy accent, and something in his movements seemed ancient, dating back to times when there weren’t abundant wealth and urban centres teeming with life, but remote villages and a life marked by the alternation of the seasons. He warned him that he would have to pay dearly for his brother’s recovery, and that Lucien would no longer be able to lead a normal existence.

“A solitary life, with an insatiable thirst,” he concluded, after which he laughed at his determination to stay by his side despite everything.

“You would die, and you will do it long before he goes back to being who you now call brother,” he’d warned, so Eris asked if there was no way to follow him on that path, to condemn himself too, if this would serve to help him.

“It's possible,” the doctor confirmed, “but you'll have to pay double.”

The price to reduce his existence to the shadow of what could’ve been, to be dominated by predatory instincts that scratched his chest and broke his ribs if they weren’t indulged, started with the blood of two servants. Eris had sent for them on a plausible pretext, and then watched the doctor drain them as if they were tasty glasses of fine wine, no emotion in his eyes. Soon he too learned how thrilling the taste of healthy people could be, and how bitter that of the sick and the drug addicts was.

For almost fifty years, Lucien hadn’t forgiven him for that choice. It was too much, death preferable to damnation. Eris had told him that he could choose his own path, go out into the sunlight and burn to ashes if that was what he wished for, but at least his conscience was clear and he would know he did everything possible to keep him alive. Over time, his hatred had weakened, and by the beginning of the eighteenth century the roles seemed to have reversed. The habits and customs of the 1700s definitely suited Lucien’s character more than Eris’s, and the long scar had become the protagonist of daring stories that attracted the admiration of men and the adoration of women. Fame obviously proved to be a double-edged sword, making the borders of unified Britain too small for the comely pairing, so they visited the Empire of Denmark and Norway, Sweden, and the ever-expanding Russian lands, from whose territory they witnessed the fall of the Holy Roman Empire and the coronation of Francis II as Emperor of Austria.

In Moscow, Lucien met his first love. Jesminda was a former serf, a poor woman hardened by work and the constant cold that characterized her homeland. She didn’t care that Lucien was a vampire, nor did he care about the dirty looks they were given when they walked the fancier streets, but her family soon forbade her from seeing a man she wasn’t married with, and since there was no way for Lucien to enter a church without perishing, he had to abandon her. More than Eris himself, who knew very little of love at the time, it was Vasilisa Melentyeva who consoled him. Sixth wife of Tsar Ivan the Terrible, after her husband sent her to a monastery to forget about her and have the freedom to remarry, she fled, resolute in not watching life pass before her eyes, only to end up in the hand of a Death God who first trapped her under the ice of Lake Baikal, and then, when he’d grown tired, cursed her to live the daily hours as a flaming bird, so she could act as a reminder of his immense powers for the growing supernatural population. After a quarter of a millennium, and with the impossibility of communicating when most of the people were awake, Vasilisa found it extremely difficult to adapt to the innovations that had radically changed the daily life she remembered, but in the end she succeeded, and the meeting with a heartbroken Lucien had solidified her will to live.

The latest addition to the bizarre group of redheads, and the one who broke the pattern with his brown hair, had been a sarcastic witch hunter whose soul had been trapped in a disturbing ring decorated with his own eye. The maker of said piece of jewellery had a history with the guy, he killed her sister during a previous job, but Eris pitied the finding he made at the end of the 19th century, and since he needed a specific set of skills to reconstruct a body, he, Lucien and the beautiful Vassa moved to France in hope to win over the leader of a renowned Aquitaine congregation. Grateful for what they did for him, and without any ties to his previous home, Jurian remained with them, discovering to his horror he was unable to age. Immortal and immutable were the only adjectives the magical community had managed to use to describe him, aggravating the quartet’s need to move whenever the local population became suspicious.

In 1915, at the outbreak of the First World War, two vampires, a recently reborn phoenix and a human frozen in time boarded the hold of a merchant ship and fled to America, landing in New York together with tens of thousands of Bulgarian, Greek and Romanians refugees. It was there that their paths parted, and nor for lack of love for each other, but because Eris simply wanted a retired life, far from suffering and prejudice, while Lucien and Jurian aspired to carry on Vassa’s desire to help those in need by bringing a smile and a moment of relief.

It was only much later, after the war ended and the Twenties started to roar, that Eris saw their performance for the first time. The Band of Exiles hid their peculiarities in plain sight, so Lucien, who certainly couldn’t die from a bad fall, was now an improvised acrobat, Queen Vasilisa was a bird of rare plumage and Jurian her tamer, who guided her through courses made of fire rings and mid-air pirouettes. When the spectators had finally emerged from the tent, and the two brothers had a moment to talk alone, Lucien had admitted that they didn’t earn much from the tickets, but at least they managed to lead a life worthy of being called one.

At the end of the decade, when the Great Depression hit the Unites States like a hurricane, Eris settled in Boston on a semi-permanent basis, buying for a paltry price an apartment that at the time could be considered quite luxurious. Finding clothes and sustenance was certainly not difficult for a vampire, and the long immobility to which he was forced by the scarcity of entertainment and jobs suited for his condition allowed him to claim a small number of victims, who went unnoticed thanks to his refined techniques of corpses concealment.

His favourite hunting area was undoubtedly the Public Garden, a place that exuded magic and attracted both supernatural beings and humans alike. There he’d encountered The Morrigan, who he’d helped escape her homophobic immortal family, and there he also met his first male lover, a friend of the aforementioned who was able to merge with shadows. Their relationship had been brief and passionate, but then Azriel had reunited with his friends waiting for him further south, and he’d never heard from him again. Just when he thought his life had fallen back into a monotonous routine, he saw Nesta, a witch with unearthly beauty and an icy gaze, so good at concealing her nature that he tried to seduce her like a fool in an attempt to feed on her. When she laughed in his face, he’d decided she would be his partner for life, no matter what he had to do. The courtship had been relentless, made of expensive gifts, attentions and promises, and when she’d finally been his, Eris had wondered if the Paradise he’d studied about as a child might not be on earth for those who couldn’t yearn for eternal grace. They’d spend years of pure, unconditional joy, until he talked too much, until he revealed feelings she likely wasn’t ready to face. She’d left him after a wonderful night at the theatre, leaving behind her intoxicating scent and a short note of apology. She’d told him her sister urgently needed assistance, and she would get in touch as soon as possible, but it had never happened, and Eris’s local acquaintances had reported that she’d been engaging in a vulgar affair with a werewolf almost five inches taller than him, with arms as wide as tree trunks.

During the 80’s, the neighbourhood where Eris still resided was raided by a gang of thieves. On a mild spring night, they took from him years of memories and the vast majority of the things belonging to the woman he loved, and although he managed to buy back almost everything in local pawn shops and flea markets, her perfume had disappeared from the fabrics, and with it his hope of reliving the moments spent together. Of the few missing pieces, the one he felt most sad for was the red velvet dress she’d worn on that last evening, the one that left her back bare, just a golden chain dangling down her spine. For a brief moment, Eris though he recognized the bodice among the people moving on the dance floor, but his attention was drawn by a lanky witch who nearly spilled the drinks she was holding on his jacket, and when he turned again, the vision disappeared like a cruel hallucination.

“I’m surprised to find you partying in such an unrefined place,” a familiar voice, one he hadn’t heard in over a hundred years, teased. The last time he encountered Vassa, her tone and body had been that of a child, so different from those of the woman in her sixties who had turned to ash one morning in France instead of taking on her usual bird appearance. Now, in front of him stood a decaying beauty, but the playful twinkle in her blue eyes was always the same. Her skin was no longer as white as the day he met her, but pleasantly tanned, a healthy golden colour that highlighted her refined features, and her hair were of a vibrant shade of red, no white in sight, surely thanks to box hair dye. Next to her, Jurian looked younger than he remembered him, but it must’ve been a simple reflection of the years passing for one and not the other.

“I see only one Queen here,” he replied, before pulling his friends into a quick embrace. With the exception of Vasilisa, his small group wasn’t particularly fond of canonical displays of affection, but given the prolonged distance, it almost seemed obligatory to seek for physical contact, a reminder they were all real and alive.

“Where’s my favourite acrobat?” he asked, scanning the crowd behind them with a hopeful gaze.

“He must’ve lost himself in his witch’s embrace. Elain never seems to tire of the old-time poems he recites at every hour of the day, and he…” Jurian started, but his renowned vulgarity was interrupted when Vassa elbowed him in the ribs. To everyone else, his words may have seemed harsh, but Eris recognized the tenderness in his expression as the same he wore when thinking of his brother.

He was just about to ask them if they were going to stay nearby for a while, when an unmistakable scent hit his nostrils, so intense it stunned him.

Nesta was at that party, and he had every intention of finding her.

#halloween themed fic #technically it's a modern au with a lot of historical references #neris #eris vanserra #nesta archeron #past azris #because they don't have to be my otp to recognize their potential #mentioned elucien #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #if you pay attention i hinted at other ships too in this and the previous part #but since there's no name to one of the partners you can do what you want with this info #asks and requests to extend this universe are super welcome #jurian #vassa

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jordanianroyals · 1 year ago

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27 March 2024: King Abdullah II, accompanied by Queen Rania, Crown Prince Hussein and Prince Hashem, visited the Central Badia region, and met with local community leaders and figures.

During the meeting held at Qasr Al Mushatta in Al Qastal area, His Majesty expressed pride to be among members of Bani Sakher tribe, commending their hospitality and dedication to Jordan.

The King said Jordan has overcome difficult phases and circumstances through the determination of its people, stressing the need to move forward with progress and modernisation.

Jordan holds the respect of the international community, His Majesty said, stressing the Kingdom’s commitment to defending its brethren, and standing with them in adversity.

Attendees at the meeting, held as part of His Majesty’s outreach visits to the governorates and Badia areas on the occasion of the Silver Jubilee, highlighted Jordan’s progress under the King’s leadership over the past 25 years, commending His Majesty’s wisdom and Jordanians’ awareness and resolve.

Upon arrival at the venue of the meeting, the King was welcomed by a poetry performance. His Majesty joined attendees for iftar and performed the Maghreb prayer.

Queen Rania also joined a group of women from the Bani Sakher tribe for iftar. The gathering included a traditional Samer performance by members of the Royal Badia Police’s Camels Unit.

#King Abdullah II #Queen Rania #crown prince hussein #prince hashem

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imkeepinit · 2 years ago

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I giocatori di backgammon by Giulio Rosati

Giulio Rosati was an Italian painter who specialized in Orientalist and academic scenes.

Giulio Rosati was born in Rome in 1861 into a family of bankers and militarists. He did not follow his family's career and instead studied art at the Accademia di San Luca under Dario Querci and Francesco Podesti. He also studied with Luis Álvarez y Catalá (1836-1901), director of the Prado Museum, Madrid. He worked mainly in watercolor, and occasionally in oil, and focussed most of his entire painting career on Orientalist art. He devoted himself particularly to representations of the Maghreb, that he never visited himself. His painting, Oriental Scene was exhibited at the Exposition di Belle Arte, in Rome in 1900. He was part of a large group of painters, who at the time were depicting similar Middle Eastern subject matter. He became one of the most prolific Orientalist painters of the 19th century. Unlike other Orientalists, he never journeyed to the Middle East. He rarely participated in exhibitions, preferring to sell his works directly through art dealers. - Artvee

#art #watercolor #I giocatori di backgammon #The Backgammon Players #Giulio Rosati #undated artwork

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ahlulbaytnetworks · 2 years ago

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🔸🔸Imam al-Rida, peace be upon him, said: Whoever visits Hussein in Ramadan month shall not miss al-Jahne night at his shrine which is the eve of twenty-third, and it's the awaited night. The minimum act in it is an hour of seclusion in worship between Maghreb and Ishaa' prayers. Whoever does that, achieves his fortune of the night of fate.

📚Al-Iqbal, vol.1, p.358.

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theewestend · 9 days ago

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lol besides the screaming baboons in the middle of the night and being surrounded by wild animals, you’re trip to Kenya sounds like a beautiful, fun and somewhat scary experience.

lol, The being surrounded by nature part is beautiful too! It almost feels like, we should all be living like that.

I forgot to add we visited the local Masai Mara tribe and saw some of their customs. Including their high jump, plus one of the chief’s sons one offered my family a dowry for me. A couple sheeps, cows, and a lion for me to stay behind and marry them. I flew to Ghana right after and the customs agents in the airport were talking about I’m not allowed to leave Ghana either. My family was like can you offer more than what they were offering in Kenya for her?

I’ve done West, East and South Africa. I need to do the Maghreb next

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hechma01 · 16 days ago

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Actualités Maghreb

Hechma.com est un site d'actualité Maghrébine. Allez le visiter

#sahara-marocain

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beardedmrbean · 19 days ago

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SALE, Morocco (AP) — Moroccan authorities this month arrested a dozen people they said were planning attacks on behalf of the Islamic State in the Sahel, a region south of the Sahara Desert, officials said Monday.

The discovery of the terrorist cell and what authorities called an “imminent dangerous terrorist plot” reflect the expanding ambitions of extremist groups in the region.

Authorities did not provide details of the suspects’ motives or their plot, beyond saying they planned to set off bombs remotely. They released photographs and videos showing officers raiding terrorist cells throughout the country.

The images showed weapons stockpiles found during police raids, Islamic State flags drawn on walls, and thousands of dollars of cash.

“Morocco remains a major target in the agenda of all terrorist organizations operating in the Sahel,” Habboub Cherkaoui, the head of Morocco’s Central Bureau of Judicial Investigations, said at a news conference.

Militant groups have been expanding their presence in the Sahel, capitalizing on instability in countries including Mali, Burkina Faso and Niger. Since French troops began withdrawing almost two years ago, the Islamic State in the Sahel has launched deadly campaigns and taken control of lucrative transit routes.

Groups like Islamic State in the Sahel have found support in impoverished communities that feel neglected by their governments. Their growth has destabilized and in several cases contributed to the overthrow of elected leaders. It has alarmed neighboring states — including in North Africa and coastal west Africa — and worried western powers concerned about militant groups using their regional bases to orchestrate violence elsewhere.

Authorities said the Morocco-based cell called itself “the Lions of the Caliphate in the Maghreb” and took direction from Islamic State in the Sahel commanders. More than a year of tracking done by Morocco’s General Directorate for Territorial Surveillance showed Islamic State in the Sahel commanders worked to recruit, arm and direct sympathizers to carry out attacks in Morocco.

The weapons found include materials to make explosives including nail bombs, dynamite and gas cylinders as well as knives, rifles and hand guns whose serial numbers had been scratched off.

Investigators said the 12 men arrested ranged from 18 to 40 years old and were apprehended in nine different cities, including Casablanca, Fez and Tangier. The majority were unmarried and had not finished high school. They have not yet been charged under Morocco’s anti-terrorism laws.

Based on materials gathered in raids last week, authorities were able to locate a cache of weapons in the desert near Morocco’s border with Algeria, including firearms and ammunition wrapped in newspapers printed in Mali in late January.

Authorities said the suspects arrested this month had maintained ties to Adnan Abu Walid al-Sahrawi, a militant leader born in the Morocco-controlled Western Sahara who was killed by French forces in 2021. In the years since, they took direction from the Libyan commander Abderrahmane Sahraoui, who oversees the group’s operations outside the Sahel.

Episodes of violence would be particularly damaging in Morocco, where the economy relies heavily on tourism. More than 17 million people visited the North African Kingdom last year and the tourism industry makes up more than 7% of its GDP.

Morocco is the only in North Africa not to have experienced a major terrorist attack for more than a decade. But its security services regularly underscore that the threat remains and claim attacks are regularly foiled when terrorist cells are dismantled. They have in recent years claimed to have dismantled 40 such cells, including one as recently as January.

Cherkaoui said the operation revealed that Islamic State in the Sahel aimed to expand and establish operations in Morocco or recruit Moroccans to fight abroad, including most recently in Somalia. He said the groups “do not hide their desire to target Morocco through propaganda platforms” and said Morocco’s aggressive counterterrorism posture made it a target.

Morocco has worked to present itself as a regional leader in combatting violent extremism, forging deeper ties with new governments throughout the Sahel, including Mali, with which it signed a joint military cooperation agreement last month.

#nunyas news

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