Being a Moroccan surfer: transcending her country’s gendered cultural norms

In Morocco, surfing reflects a gender-based distinction among practitioners, linked to traditional perceptions and social expectations regarding each gender. Through field observations and discourse analysis of Moroccan men and women, it becomes clear that this difference stems from gendered enculturation that remains prevalent in the country. The accounts of the Moroccan female surfers interviewed highlight that surfing represents a genuine social challenge that takes different forms depending on their personal experiences. There is no single type of female surfer; each has a distinct profile. Each woman takes charge of her own decisions and adopts the most appropriate strategies to succeed in surfing. In these cases, surfing can serve as a vehicle for her empowerment. For others, breaking free from their country’s social norms seems more difficult, which can lead them to stop surfing.

A Report from Morocco: Meeting Local Female Surfers

Ever since I was a little girl in Morocco, people have always told me, “You can’t do that because you’re a girl”—that’s the kind of thing they say to you just because you’re a girl. And for me, defying that meant showing them that just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I can’t do it. So I took up surfing.

Asma, a surfer from Rabat (journal, 2019)

Even today, those words from that young Moroccan woman still echo in my mind. They remind me of something that really struck me the first time I worked at a surf camp in Morocco in 2018, in a village near Agadir: the absence of local women in the water. In fact, I was particularly struck by the fact that, as soon as I approached the beach, I saw very few Moroccan women—and even fewer on a board. Yet I saw several female surfers from Western countries on those same beaches, and I myself had the opportunity to enjoy the country’s waves. Where are the local female surfers? Are they “invisible” in these spaces? The desire to understand this phenomenon then became so strong that I decided to dedicate a research project to it:[1].

The focus here is on the life stories of Moroccan women who surf, their experiences, and their feelings. How did they become surfers? To better understand this social phenomenon, it is equally important to examine how society as a whole functions with regard to the status of women, since one cannot exist without the other[2]. From this perspective, this will “in some way allow the researcher to place men back at the heart of society” (Demouge and Olivier, 1999: 209), and fieldwork is conceived as “the observation of people in situ” (Hughes, 1996: 267). The ethnographic data comes from field surveys I conducted in Morocco, in villages near Agadir in 2018 and 2019[3].

According to Lapassade, participation means integration (1993). For my part, my integration was gradual and facilitated by two key figures: a friend from France, who was born in one of these villages, and Malik (62), a former Moroccan surfer. In one of the villages in the Agadir region, my integration happened through repetition—being seen, becoming part of the locals’ daily landscape, and being friendly while remaining discreet. All these factors led the locals to be welcoming, even though some glances served as a reminder that I was “different”[4]. My friend was there during the first year and frequented the café where all the local Moroccan surfers gathered. As for Malik, he played a major role in my entry into the “cultural intimacy” of the subjects under study (Herzfeld, 2004): he was very committed to helping me, whether by sharing contacts or teaching me more about how Moroccan society functions.

For this study, the testimonies presented, interviews conducted, and situations described are merely the result of the “I was there” effect (Clifford, 1996: 42), my personality, the fact that I am a woman[5], and that I concealed my research intentions. In the field, my notebook and my voice recorder were never far from me[6]. Meeting local female surfers wasn’t that easy. That’s why, while I was getting my bearings, I went through a long initial phase of observation. I observed everything around me, from how the village and its inhabitants functioned to the customs at the beach and the seaside cafés. It was particularly there that I was able to meet many local surfers, observe their behavior and their surfing sessions, listen in on their conversations and join in, and even share waves with them. I adapted to their lifestyle, which was dictated by the weather conditions, so as not to miss the big gatherings of surfers[7].

About two weeks after I arrived in 2019, I met one of my subjects, Nora, at a local café. She very quickly opened up about her life and didn’t hesitate to bring up topics herself that might otherwise be considered sensitive (alcohol, drugs, same-sex relationships, etc.). Our relationship developed over time; we saw each other almost every day. 

Having done some research before arriving on the ground, I knew that Morocco’s surfing champion lived in one of the villages, so it seemed obvious to me that I should go meet her. When I realized that my meeting with Marwa wasn’t going to happen (she never showed up for our appointments), I decided to ask some surfers if they knew her. This approach proved fruitful; I gathered a lot of information about her, so I thought it would be interesting to include her as one of my subjects.

Thanks to Malik, Inès learned that I wanted to meet Moroccan female surfers and expressed her desire for us to meet—no doubt driven by “a need for someone to listen, for recognition, and for understanding” (Galligani, 2000: 24). Over coffee, she took the lead in the conversation. At the end of our conversation, she contacted one of her friends whom I could count on to discuss her surfing experience. My network among Moroccan female surfers was then beginning to take shape.

Due to time and location constraints, I was unable to meet with Asma (a friend of Inès’) in person. The solution we came up with was a phone call (35 minutes), and our conversation took the form of a life story, guided by the prompt: “Tell me about your experience with surfing.”

Table: Survey sample – profiles of the four Moroccan female surfers interviewed[8]

Deciding to take up surfing as a Moroccan woman

First Steps in Surfing: Imitation or Confrontation?

I noticed that Marwa and Nora learned by imitating local surfers[9]. It was by observing and copying the surfers’ movements and techniques that they tackled their first waves. For these two surfers, carving out a place for themselves in the water began first and foremost on land: getting close to the men and behaving like them (field notes, 2019). A female skateboarder from Taghazout, a close friend of Marwa’s, confides to me, “To keep up, you have to be like a boy… That’s how you can adapt to these people [the surfers].”

That’s exactly what Marwa did; from a very young age, she felt closer to the boys. This approach seemed to pay off: “They didn’t treat her like a girl” (a surfer from her village). In the eyes of the surfers, Marwa was just like them, but in reality, she experienced symbolic violence (Thorel and Necker , 2013) due to her “non-femininity,” as evidenced by the nickname the surfers gave her: “Mohamed” or “Med.” This particularly highlights the surfers’ rejection of the fact that she is a woman. Nora, too, wants to identify with the surfers and imitates their practices to gain acceptance and find a place in this community. In fact, it was by spending time with these surfers that she began to surf more frequently. To explain Nora’s situation, it seems necessary to add some contextual details. Indeed, in this village, it’s important to know that “it’s also the people who fail in school who devote themselves to surfing” (Malik). Most of the village’s surfers are young, have dropped out of school, and spend their days riding the waves. For the luckiest ones, some find work in the industry and become instructors at surf camps. Everyone knows each other. A passion for surfing seems to bring them together, but not only that… drugs do too. When they’re not out on the waves, they gather at the café to talk about surfing over mint tea with a joint in hand (notebook, 2018). At that table sits Nora as well, engaging in the same behaviors and consuming the same substances.

(Journal, 2019)

Conversely, Inès and Asma took structured lessons at a club, where a completely different approach is taken: everything happens in the water. It’s by asserting yourself on the waves that you carve out your place, because “surfing is a man’s sport” ( Inès). In this sport, it’s all about presence; you have to show that you’re ready to fight to ride the wave.

“It’s more about the confidence you project and how you carry yourself: whether you’re really aggressive or more laid-back. If a guy sees you as laid-back, he’s not going to let you get away with it, of course… For me, it depends on the day. Sometimes I don’t give a damn, like ‘screw you,’ and other times I’m more careful about how I act.”

 (Inès)

These remarks are supported by those of Asma

“When they see a girl with a board, they think, ‘She’s not going to take it’ […] I’ve learned to hold my own in the peak[10]. You have to assert yourself, show that you’re there! But now they know—when I get going, they’d better not try to keep up with me (laughs).”

There is a noticeable bias against women. This is one of the main reasons why these two Moroccan women have worked hard to prove themselves and earn the respect of other surfers. In fact, for one of them, this earned her a nickname that was somewhat more flattering than Marwa’s:

“Do you know what ‘Asma’ means in Arabic? It means ‘princess’ (laughs). So they used to call me the Princess of Kébir. Kébir is a really dangerous neighborhood in Rabat.”

Inès adds that

“Marwa believes that Morocco isn’t a place for women. It’s not easy, but those are things I’ll never be able to understand.”

It is possible to draw a connection between how these women entered the world of surfing and their social backgrounds. In fact, Marwa and Nora both come from working-class backgrounds and grew up in a small village, while Inès and Asma come from affluent backgrounds and a large city. According to Le Pape, in working-class communities, “an attachment to the traditional division of male and female roles” persists (2009: 88). The role long associated with women in Morocco is that of a housewife, subject to restrictions. Le Pape adds that parents’ educational values reflect their view of society. Consequently, we find this same view reflected in the child. The way of thinking and the perception of women in society differ according to social class, and women adopt distinct behaviors to achieve their goals—in this case, surfing. Marwa adopted behaviors considered typical of a “masculine game ” (Lindemann, 2010), with a need to “overplay” masculinity to earn the respect of her peers. Here, we witness the “process of virilization” (Louveau, 2004: 178) of the young woman who transgresses the gendered structure of surfing. Conversely, Asma seems to play the game of femininity and faces a “double bind”: she must project a sporty femininity while mastering “masculine” athletic movements so as not to lose her legitimacy in a male-dominated world and thus avoid stigmatization (Bohuon, 2008; Joncheray et al., 2014; Laberge, 1994; Mennesson, 2005).

Regardless of the strategies these women adopt or their social backgrounds, do they all face additional obstacles in living out their choice to be surfers?

“People talk too much”: the weight of judgment

“Women tend to quit sooner—whether it’s surfing or skateboarding—they train, improve, and once they reach a certain level, they stop… when the criticism starts piling up, whether from outsiders or from their families, they stop.”

Skater from Taghazout (sketchbook, 2019)

All Moroccan women who surf are exposed to the gaze of others and risk being judged by them. We are talking about “labeling,” which, according to Heinich, “is the way others perceive and judge you” (Seyeux, 2008: 3). Regardless of social background, no woman seems to escape this, and these judgments are not limited to their participation in sports. My journal is filled with entries attesting to this phenomenon (journal, 2019):

“Everyone knows everyone in Rabat…” (Asma); “You see, she’s from a small village, and people talk a lot—‘Oh, her parents let her go surfing.’ People really judge you.”

(Inès on Marwa)

Here, the judgment isn’t just directed at the surfer in question, but at her family as well. Because of others, Marwa’s view of women’s place in society has been called into question to the point where she hesitated to give up her passion, but “now she’s fine; she doesn’t listen to what people say, and she doesn’t let them stop her” (Inès on Marwa). Furthermore, let’s not forget that all the information we have about this young woman does not come directly from her but from other people who may or may not know her personally. As Malik reminded me:

“Here in Morocco, surfing is complicated. It’s seen as a hobby, a bad habit,” which leaves room for others to judge. In response, Asma advises people to rise above it: “I surf, and I don’t care what others think.”

This raises the question of the influence of family on these women’s relationship with surfing. For Marwa, family is a pillar of support : “Fortunately, her parents were there, encouraging her to surf” (Inès on Marwa), without whom she would surely have given up. Asma also highlights the importance of the family’s role in a person’s development during childhood

“I was lucky enough to have parents who went out of their way to let me try a little bit of everything […] They were always there to support me.”

As for Inès, it is mainly from her husband that she finds support.

I’ve rarely seen such an expressive and happy face as when I learned that her husband was also a surfer and that they share their passion: “Ever since we’ve been together, we’ve been surfing together almost all the time. We even travel together to surf.”

 (Inès)

However, family support isn’t always there. On the contrary, the family can be very harsh. If they don’t approve of surfing, the family will do everything in their power to get the young Moroccan woman to stop surfing:

“I’ve heard stories about some girls for whom it was really tough. Their parents weren’t on board at all; they forbade them from going surfing. I know one girl who, just to get by, had to marry a surfer so she could keep surfing because her parents were totally against it… well, she came from a background that wasn’t exactly open-minded. So she did things in secret. She’d leave her board at the shop near her house, and to avoid showing her wet hair, she had to dry it… she got beaten when she came home with wet hair (sigh)… so definitely, your background plays a role. For her, it was harder to pursue her passion than it was for me.”

(Asma)

Even though this woman didn’t have the support of her loved ones, she was willing to defy them, fully aware of the risks involved. She broke away from her family and married a surfer so she could continue surfing.

Surfing: An Experience in a Practice Space Shaped by Inequalities

The principle of localism and its limitations

“February: the beach is packed, the ocean is filled with foreign and Moroccan surfers. It’s no longer the sound of the waves I hear in the distance, but rather shouts and insults. At the end of their session, board under their arms and grim faces, several foreign surfers paid the price and were unable to enjoy those waves. The same fate awaits those who have been there for months. Javi and Inigo (Spanish surfers) told me they have to keep a low profile in the water and wait for the locals to give them “their wave.” Tensions are rising, as they feel they’ve respected the “locals’ rule” enough, knowing they’re on the same level as their rivals.”

 (Journal, 2019)

All surfers share a common goal: catching the wave, while other surfers are present at the same time: “all in the same place, at the same time, doing the same thing, and more specifically, striving toward the same goal” (Bisson, 2015: 10). The notion of competition comes into play, and surfing should therefore be viewed as a site of confrontation. However, “customary rules” (Lafargue, 2017: 52) regulate and establish a hierarchy within this informal competition, one of which—a fundamental one—must be respected: localism. This refers to the “varied cultural practices of exclusion through which surfers strive to control access to surf spots” (Ibid.:53), in the name of local identity (Bisson, 2015). In other words, through the “territorialization of the territory” (Anderson cited by Lafargue, 2017: 53), locals are given priority to catch the wave, which naturally excludes all competition. Other surfers have little choice but to comply; otherwise, it is at their own risk.

All the Moroccan female surfers interviewed have also faced difficult challenges in the water. On several occasions, male surfers have told Marwa (four-time Moroccan champion) to “get lost,” “surfing isn’t for you,” and “go help your mother bake bread.” The aggressive behavior she experienced is closely tied to the fact that she is a Moroccan woman on a board, and not a matter of skill level. Similarly, Inès tells me about an argument she had with a local surfer:

"He took my leash[11] […] and he stole it from me. I swear! I yelled at him—it was crazy! But that rarely happens. Sometimes there are guys… (desperate look). But actually, I took his wave… he’d been taking all the waves since earlier, and I was with a friend who told me, ‘That guy really pisses me off.’ You know, I thought, “Screw him,” so I paddled out, and to get back at me, he totally pulled me in. It just made me miss my wave—nobody could catch it…”.

Moroccan surfers also seem to apply the “localism” rule to their female counterparts, effectively relegating them—based on their gender—to the same status as foreigners. This is surely due to the fact that no Moroccan women were present when they began surfing and took over the territory. They thus place them in a category other than that of locals, as the experiences of our subjects make clear. To avoid being subjected to this kind of treatment, they can assume the status of experts[12], as was the case with Asma, who had to prove her skill level : “There were spots reserved for the guys; they were difficult spots […] and I was the only one going there”; which earned her a nickname worthy of an expert! Or that of a cheater, meaning someone who cuts corners by disregarding the right-of-way rule. This is the case of Inès, who had her leash pulled because she violated the right-of-way rule while trying to balance access to the waves. Surfers claim “inalienable rights” by considering these women “unworthy of sharing their waves” (Booth cited by Lafargue, 2017: 53).

“Personally, I’ve never had any trouble in the water—quite the opposite, in fact. Local surfers would often wave me over to join them and surf with them. It was as if I belonged to their group; far from any conflicts, they were kind and patient with me despite the difference in our skill levels. Yet I’m a woman too—why wasn’t I treated the same way? Is it because I’m a foreigner? Talking with Malik, I realized that my status as a foreigner actually earned me a different kind of respect from the surfers.”

 (Journal, 2019)

Thus, according to Hargreaves, “there are greater differences among women from different social and cultural groups than between men and women from the same social or cultural group” (1992: 169–170). In the discussion with Malik, a quote takes on its full meaning here:

“Surfers need to get used to the fact that these are Moroccan women surfers, not tourists.”

By this, we mean that Moroccan male surfers deny their female counterparts the status of “local,” even though they are just as entitled to it. Deprived of their rightful status in the water and in accessing the waves, these Moroccan women must resort to cunning. Cunning, unlike strategy, is a stereotypical, essentializing trait traditionally associated with femininity (Héritier, 1996). However, this phenomenon is beginning to change, as Inès mentioned:

“Once they get to know the person—the girl, at least when it comes to Moroccan women, I think—they become more laid-back.”

Moroccan male surfers are starting to accept the presence of local female surfers and let them have some waves.

The practice of surfing: building identity through a male-dominated sport

From their very first years in the sport, Marwa and Asma began competing and quickly made their way onto the podium—a fact they’re proud to share. Both have won the Moroccan surfing championship at least once . Malik tells me that in Morocco , “it’s very difficult to make a living from surfing.” Aware that it’s hard to build a career there, Asma chose to prioritize her studies and “continues to surf for fun—that’s what matters; it’s the passion.” As for Marwa, recognized as an international female athlete, she runs her own surf coaching business. Her ambition is to bring about change in her country by introducing and teaching surfing to local women. Inès also tried competing, but unlike the other two women, she quickly gave it up because she doesn’t see things the same way:

“I didn’t find it fun—that boring side of it […] No, it’s really not my thing. I do it for fun.”

Unlike everyone else, Nora spends more time out of the water watching and commenting on the waves than she does surfing.

“There have been many times when I’ve heard her say to me, ‘The waves are perfect today, I’m going surfing,’ even though she’d stay at the café smoking or sleeping in the middle of the afternoon to recover from the night before. Yet she insists on saying proudly, ‘I’m the only girl in the village who surfs’… Can I really consider her a surfer?”

 (Journal, 2019)

Sayeux has explored the question of “what it means to be a surfer”[13] and shows us that “this identity—that of a surfer—only makes sense within this community. It is the gaze of one surfer upon another that grants this recognition as a surfer” (2010: 21). As noted earlier, Nora is accepted within her village’s surfing community.

“Surfing is just an excuse for our conversations; she talks to me more about partying and drinking with local surfers than about the waves she could have shared with them. She’s even stopped going to class and has run away from her parents’ home. She’s searching for freedom—a word I’ve heard her say more than once a day. She likes to stand out and be noticed. Her body reflects this: her bun highlights her shaved head at the back, and her tattoos on her arms. She defies the rules by going surfing and trying out practices that aren’t widely accepted by society, which she calls ‘stupid.’”

(Journal, 2019)

Based on my observations, it is clear that she embodies surf culture ( Lefebvre and Roult, 2009). From the perspective of Moroccan society, this young woman can be considered an “outsider”—someone who transgresses the norms of a group. However, Becker adds another meaning to this term: “the transgressor may feel that his judges are strangers to his world” (1985: 25). This is why the young woman has distanced herself from her family to join another: the surfing community, which aligns more closely with the norms of her world. This is referred to as positive deviance.

Being a Moroccan surfer in a traditional society is a real social challenge

As we have seen, these women face challenges in their surfing. Being a Moroccan female surfer means occupying a liminal space between two seemingly opposing “worlds”: surf culture and traditional Moroccan culture. Everything seems to set these two cultural spaces apart: one, hedonistic and based on a “lifestyle that promotes freedom, the spirit of riding the waves, individuality , and fun”(Lefebvre and Roult, 2009: 55); the other, conservative, with religious traditions that restrict women’s participation in sports[14]. Rigar et al. clarify: “On a social level, often combined with religious considerations, and given the physical nature of the activity, women’s participation in sports poses specific problems in Morocco, particularly due to the cultural and religious meanings associated with the female body” (2010: 55). However, when considering the role of women, these two spheres share similarities that strongly connect them: surfing is a space of symbolic and gendered domination (Sayeux, 2008), just as Moroccan society is patriarchal[15]. In Morocco, surfing reflects a “differential gender valence” (Maillot, 2011: 522), where the feminine is always subordinated to the masculine. The small number of Moroccan female surfers, according to Asma, is attributed to their beliefs:

“I think a lot of people—maybe even society as a whole (laughs)—I’m not generalizing, mind you—have some misconceptions.”

According to Naamane-Guessous, “a number of distortions have caused social practices to diverge from religious prescriptions, and this gap forms the basis of what might be called ‘tradition’” (1987: 8). Traditional Moroccan representations have a direct influence on gender-specific social expectations, based on processes of gender differentiation and hierarchization (Bourdieu, 1980). These traditions, which form the basis of Moroccan culture, are transmitted from the group to the child; this is referred to as enculturation. By linking this concept to Bourdieu’s theories, the term “gendered enculturation” seems particularly apt here. It is within this context that the stigmatization regarding access to surfing—experienced by women but not by men—takes place. Through Asma’s remarks, we can see that she breaks away from the group, which highlights that her parents did not pass on identical beliefs to her and that this process of transmission does indeed vary from one family to another. We are referring to normative enculturation—that is, the process specific to each group that adapts to its own norms and values—as opposed to political enculturation, which occurs at the societal level (Gobert, 2007). From the perspective of my research, the question is therefore to understand how certain Moroccan women have become surfers within a space marked by constraints. What strategies do these women adopt to overcome their country’s gendered enculturation in order to practice surfing? Can this sport serve as a means to their empowerment?

Surfing as a catalyst for empowerment

“Before [surfing], it was seen as a guy’s sport—like, it’s aggressive, it’s not sexy… well, it is sexy when you’re in a bikini, but in Morocco you can’t really wear a bikini or else the whole crowd will follow you (laughs)… Well, in Taghazout it’s better since there are foreigners (laughs), it’s okay, but in Rabat everyone knows each other… (pause). It’s not the norm. But then I’ve changed over time; my views have changed, so now I wear a bikini and I don’t care.”

Asma (notebook, 2019)

Some women manage to transcend this gendered enculturation deeply rooted in Moroccan society by taking control of their own decisions; thus, “the individual can resist this enculturation or circumvent it” (Corneloup, 2004: 253), as Asma did.

These remarks convey other essential insights. Women are criticized for participating in a sport deemed “unsexy,” but does Morocco truly allow women to be sexy in public spaces? The female body is subject to numerous restrictions in Morocco, and women are advised to “conceal the body and all body parts that might arouse male desire ” (Samaali, 2004: 118). For a Moroccan woman, practicing a sport like surfing could amount to “transgressing deeply ingrained social and moral norms,” and she thus runs the risk of being labeled a “deviant” (Guibert and Arab 2016: 182 and 190). Asma highlights the fact that in Morocco, nudity and the exposure of the body remain complicated, even a taboo subject in public spaces. The staging of the body shapes behaviors that seem natural to us but are, in reality, socially and culturally determined (Elias, 1993). Furthermore, by surfing in a bikini and disregarding the gaze of others, Asma’s behavior can be seen as an act of defiance. Indeed, publicly (re)claiming one’s body is equivalent to a form of challenge to established norms and a subversion of hierarchies (Tlili, 2002).

Tourism plays an important and significant role. Indeed, the encounter between two cultures is not without consequences. Numerous studies show that tourism brings about cultural changes in host societies. This is referred to as acculturation, defined as “the set of phenomena resulting from direct and continuous contact between groups of individuals from different cultures, with subsequent changes in the original cultures of one or both groups” (Redfield et al., cited by Mokounkolo and Pasquier, 2008: 57). This acculturation process boils down to a choice between, on the one hand, maintaining one’s cultural heritage and identity, and on the other hand, through exchange, sharing, or even assimilating the other’s culture. This has a direct impact on how an individual perceives things and behaves, as Asma attests.

As for Marwa, a surf instructor and professional athlete, she has made surfing her career. This implies that, in her case, surfing can no longer be considered a hobby or viewed as a bad habit, as Malik had led us to believe. In other words, surfing is not just a sport; it can be a vehicle for her empowerment as a woman in Moroccan society. Indeed, we can assume that if she hadn’t made surfing her career, she might have followed the path of her childhood friends from the village—that is, married and stay-at-home mothers (carnet, 2019).

These women then enter the second phase of the process of gendered enculturation: “that of adulthood, which is akin to reconditioning.” “In its later stages, when enculturation operates at the level of consciousness, it opens the door to change by allowing for the exploration of various possibilities and reconditioning to new modes of thought and behavior ” (Herskovits, 1967: 183)” (Gobert, 2007: 5). This enables them to overcome the restrictions faced by women in Morocco and to engage in the practice of surfing.

Persistent male dominance

March 20 (journal, 2019): Nora tells me she’s had an epiphany and now sees the world differently following a conversation the day before with some surfers from the village: “God said that a woman should stay at home and take care of her husband. She can go out to study, but then she has to come back.”

(Journal, 2019)

“This process [enculturation] would thus take place at a macro level, where the young individual constructs his ontological framework through interaction with social role models, in order to integrate into his culture and find his way within it” (Gobert, 2007: 5). As we have seen, Nora has made these surfers her new family. This means that they then become her new social reference points. It is therefore they who have the ability to apply the process of transmission. Drawing on their religious interpretation, these men reestablish male dominance by succeeding in making her internalize traditional restrictions regarding the place and role of women in society. As the study conducted by Kelly et al. (2005) on female skateboarders, Nora appears to internalize the “masculine” norms of Moroccan culture, aligning herself with these norms rather than resisting them, for fear of being expelled from the surfing subculture.

Now, let’s consider the case of the woman Asma mentioned who married a surfer so she could continue pursuing her passion. At first glance, we might view this positively because she is now able to surf. However, let’s not stop there. A deeper issue must be highlighted: has she truly overcome the gendered enculturation to which she was subjected? “Enculturation attests […] to the adult’s ability to adapt to the vicissitudes of life’s journey in society” (Gobert, 2007: 5). Consequently, in order to face the waves, this Moroccan woman has moved from the domination of one man to another. Her practice thus remains dependent on male consent, and she does not surf in complete freedom.

At this point in my thinking, a phrase Malik once said to me comes to mind:

“There are women who are becoming more and more empowered, you know, with the spread of democracy. Even now, there are women who are more empowered than men (laughs). But society keeps a close eye on them, and it ends up coming back to haunt them.”

It is difficult to free women from this social and cultural oppression if men themselves are not entirely free. Regardless of gender, both are confronted with and subject to a cultural burden. This idea is championed by Chebel, who states: “Democratic modernity is inconceivable without women’s emancipation; and the latter cannot come about without the autonomy of men themselves” (2002: 63). However, a collective awareness is emerging regarding the place of Moroccan women in society. Several initiatives have been undertaken in this regard, such as the creation of the first women’s sports association dedicated to surfing, the Moroccan Women’s Surfing and Bodyboarding Union (UMFSB), affiliated with the Royal Moroccan Surfing Federation, and the broadcast of a documentary on Marwa’s journey on a national channel[16]. This report could be seen as symbolic of a “movement conducive to women’s empowerment” (Maillot, 2011: 528). Thus, a strategy still needs to be refined to foster collective progress and enable Moroccan women to achieve conditions for accessing and practicing surfing similar to those available to men. 2019 appears to be a pivotal year for women’s surfing in Morocco, one that could have significant repercussions in the years to come.

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[1] This article is based on my thesis for the Master’s 1 program in Sports Tourism Management.

[2] Reference to heteropatriarchal masculinity, defined by Connell as “the configuration of gender practices designed to ensure the perpetuation and domination of men over women” (1995: 11). Gender practices occur in different historical and cultural contexts and are performed by individuals of different races, classes, and generations (1985).

[3] These field studies were conducted as part of a university internship at a surf camp.

[4] I am of French-Portuguese nationality and have a “Western culture.”

[5] The researcher’s gender is a variable that can influence the course of an interview (Ghiglione and Matalon, 1998).

[6] I always carried a piece of paper, a pen, and my voice recorder in my pocket, ready to be turned on at any moment and in complete discretion, so as not to let time slip away and to remain as faithful as possible to the scene I was observing. That same evening, I would transcribe all my notes into my logbook.

[7] People who participate in board sports; in the case of my study, these were skateboarders and surfers.

[8] The names of the individuals have been changed to protect their anonymity.

[9] Reference to the “observational learning process” (Bandura, 1986).

[10] Peak: the highest point of a wave; finding the peak is key to reading and predicting how a wave will break. Surfers all gather at this spot.

[11] Leash: a cord used to connect the surfer to their board.

[12] As Moraldo demonstrates in his study, “it would seem that female mountaineers, unlike men, must prove that they are truly exceptional athletes” (2013: 6). Similarly, the study by Richard and Dugas shows how athletic ability can “compensate” for being a woman (2012).

[13] Raspaud (2010: 93) and Sayeux (2008; 2010).

[14] Guibert and Arab, 2016: 185.

[15] In Morocco, “families’ educational practices are largely organized around the principle of gender segregation and the control of girls” (Guibert and Arab, 2016: 178).

[16] Marwa recounts her struggle to carve out a place for herself in the surfing world. In particular, she mentions the sexist treatment she has endured, which stems from the role of women in Moroccan society. The country’s gendered social norms are laid bare. This broadcast can demonstrate the Moroccan government’s support and help change attitudes.