Being a Moroccan Surfer: Moving Beyond Her Country’s Gendered Enculturation

In Morocco, surfing reflects a gender-based distinction among practitioners, linked to traditional perceptions and social expectations regarding each gender. Through on-site 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 presents a real 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 be able to surf. In these cases, surfing can be a vehicle for her empowerment. For others, breaking free from their country’s social norms seems more difficult, which can lead them to give up surfing.

A Report from Morocco: Meeting Local Female Surfers

Ever since I was little in Morocco, I’ve always been told, “You can’t do that because you’re a girl”—that’s the kind of thing people 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, that young Moroccan woman’s words still echo in my head. 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 surfboard. Yet on those same beaches, I saw several female surfers from Western countries, 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 became so strong that I decided to dedicate an investigative project to it:[1].

The focus here is on the life stories of Moroccan women who surf, as well as their experiences and 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 “to some extent 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 are drawn from fieldwork I conducted in Morocco, in villages near Agadir in 2018 and 2019[3].

According to Lapassade, participating means integrating (1993). For my part, my integration was gradual and facilitated by two key figures: a friend from France, a native of one of these villages, and Malik (62), a former Moroccan surfer. In one of the villages in the Agadir area, my integration came about through repetition—being seen, becoming part of the locals’ daily landscape, and coming across as 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, in particular, the café where all the local Moroccan surfers gathered. As for Malik, he played a major role in helping me gain access to the “cultural intimacy” of my research subjects (Herzfeld, 2004): he was very committed to helping me, whether by sharing contacts or teaching me more about how Moroccan society works.

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 field notebook and 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 residents functioned to the customs at the beach and the seaside cafés. It was there, in particular, 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 is dictated by the weather, so as not to miss the big gatherings of surfers[7].

About fifteen days after my arrival in 2019, I met one of my subjects, Nora, for the first time at a local café. She very quickly opened up about her life and didn’t hesitate to bring up topics on her own 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, and 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 to be heard, to be recognized, and to be understood” (Galligani, 2000: 24). Over coffee, she took the lead in our conversation. At the end of our conversation, she put me in touch with one of her friends whom I could count on to talk about 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 min), and our conversation took the form of a life story, guided by the prompt: “Tell me about your experience with surfing.”

Table: Analysis Sample—Profile of the Four Moroccan 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 space 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) because of 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 often. To explain Nora’s situation, it seems necessary to provide some contextual information. In fact, in this village, it’s important to note that “it’s also the people who struggle 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. The luckiest among them find work in the industry and become instructors at surf camps. They all know each other. Their passion for surfing seems to bring them together, but that’s not all… drugs do too. When they’re not out on the waves, they gather at the café to talk about surfing over mint tea, a joint in hand (notebook, 2018). Sitting at that table is Nora, 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 men’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 a little more reserved. If a guy sees you as reserved, 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 at all—like, 'go fuck yourself'—and other times I'm more careful with 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 make my own space 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 sought to prove themselves in order to 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 own view of society. Consequently, we find this same view reflected in their children. The way women are perceived and viewed in society differs according to social class, and women adopt distinct behaviors to achieve their goals—in this case, surfing. Marwa has adopted behaviors considered typical of a “masculine game ” (Lindemann, 2010), with a need to “overplay” her 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 appears to play along with the expectations 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 other obstacles in living out their choice to be surfers?

"People Talk Too Much": The Burden 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 piles up, whether from outsiders or from their families, they stop.”

Skater from Taghazout (journal, 2019)

All Moroccan women who surf are exposed to the gaze of others and run the risk of 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 else 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 directed solely at the surfer in question, but also at her family. 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 doing 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, it’s hard to surf. 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 family’s influence 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, she finds support mainly from her husband.

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 they can to make the young Moroccan woman stop surfing:

“I’ve heard stories about some girls for whom it was really hard. 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, let’s just say, wasn’t very open-minded. So she had to do things in secret. She’d leave her board at the shop near her house, and to avoid showing her wet hair, she’d have 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 Rule of Localism and Its Limits

“February: The beach is packed, and 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, with their boards under their arms and grim expressions on their faces, several foreign surfers paid the price and weren’t able 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, because they feel they’ve shown enough respect for the “locals’ rule,” knowing that they’re at the same skill level as their rivals.”

 (Journal, 2019)

All surfers share a common goal—to catch a 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 arena for rivalry. However, “unwritten rules” (Lafargue, 2017: 52) regulate and establish a hierarchy within this informal competition, and one fundamental rule 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 in catching the wave, which naturally excludes all competition. Other surfers have little choice but to comply; otherwise, they do so at their own risk.

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

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

Moroccan surfers also seem to apply the “localism” rule to their female counterparts, 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 first started surfing and staked their claim on the territory. They thus place them in a category other than that of “local,” as the experiences of our subjects make clear. To avoid being subjected to this kind of treatment, they can assume the status of an expert[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 who went there”—which earned her a nickname befitting an expert! Or that of a “cheater”—that is, someone who circumvents the rules by failing to respect the right-of-way rule. Take the example 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, actually. 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, too, am a woman—why wasn’t I treated the same way? Is it because I’m a foreigner? While 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 exchange with Malik, a quote takes on its full meaning here:

"Surfers need to get used to the fact that these are Moroccan female surfers, not tourists."

By this, we mean that Moroccan male surfers deny “local” status to their female peers, who are nonetheless 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 surfers are starting to accept the presence of local female surfers and let them have some waves.

Surfing: Shaping One’s Identity Through a Male-Dominated Sport

From their very first years in the sport, Marwa and Asma began competing and very quickly made it 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 more 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 keeps saying proudly, ‘I’m the only girl in town who surfs’… Can I really consider her a surfer?”

 (Journal, 2019)

Sayeux explored the question “What does it mean to be a surfer?”[13] and shows us that “this identity—that of a surfer—has meaning only within this community. It is one surfer’s view of another surfer that grants that 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 scalp at the back of her head, and her tattoos on her arms. She defies social norms 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 dimension to this term: “the transgressor may feel that those who judge her are strangers to her 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 position between two seemingly opposing “worlds”: surf culture and traditional Moroccan culture. Everything seems to set these two cultural spheres apart: one is hedonistic, based on a “lifestyle that promotes freedom, the spirit of the waves, individuality, and fun”(Lefebvre and Roult, 2009: 55), while the other is 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 challenges 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 link 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. According to Asma, the small number of Moroccan female surfers is due to their beliefs:

"I think a lot of people—even society as a whole (laughs)—I'm not generalizing, mind you—have false beliefs."

According to Naamane-Guessous, “a number of distortions have caused social practices to diverge from what religion prescribes, and this divergence forms the basis of what we might call ‘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 surrounding women’s access to surfing—which spares men—occurs. Through Asma’s remarks, we can see that she sets herself apart from the group, which underscores that her parents did not pass on the same 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 on a societal scale (Gobert, 2007). From the perspective of my research, the question is therefore to understand how certain Moroccan women have become surfers within a context 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 of their empowerment?

Surfing as a Tool for Empowerment

“Before [surfing], it was seen as a guys’ 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 around (laughs)… Well, in Taghazout it’s better since there are foreigners (laughs)—it’s accepted—but in Rabat, everyone knows each other… (pause). It’s not the norm. But I’ve changed over time; my views have changed, so now I wear a bikini and I don’t care.”

Asma (journal, 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 information. Women are criticized for practicing a sport deemed “not sexy,” 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 may 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 emphasizes that in Morocco, nudity and the exposure of the body remain complicated, even taboo, in public spaces. The way the body is presented 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 repercussions. 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, preserving one’s cultural heritage and identity, and on the other hand, through exchanges, sharing or even assimilating the other’s culture. This has a direct impact on how individuals perceive the world and behave, 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, becoming married and staying home as 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 take up 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)

“The latter [enculturation] would therefore take place at a macro level, where the young individual builds his or her ontological framework through interaction with social role models, in order to integrate into his or her culture and find a place 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 role models. It is therefore they who have the ability to facilitate 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, going along 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 in a positive light because she is now able to surf. However, let’s not stop there. A deeper issue must be highlighted: has she truly transcended 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 that of another. Her surfing 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 emancipated, you know, with democratization. Even now, there are women who are more emancipated than men (laughs). But society keeps an 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 television channel.[16]. This report may symbolize 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 that are 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 first year of the Master's program in Sports Tourism Management.

[2] Reference to hemogenic masculinity, defined by Connell as “the configuration of gender practices aimed at ensuring the perpetuation and domination of men over women” (1995: 11). Gender practices take place 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 as discreetly as possible, 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 of 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 the key to reading and predicting how a wave will break. Surfers all gather at this spot.

[11] Leach: 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 primarily organized around the principle of gender segregation and control over girls” (Guibert and Arab, 2016: 178).

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