The multidisciplinary medical caravan, organized by Moroccan civil society, reached 239 men, 89 women, and 85 children. These individuals, originating from West African nations such as Guinea, Mali, and Côte d'Ivoire, often find themselves in a state of suspension in this "City of a Thousand Years." For many, the consultation was the first time a physician’s hand had checked a pulse or tended a wound since they left their homes thousands of miles to the south.
The volunteers—a mix of Moroccan and sub-Saharan medical professionals—addressed the physical toll of the migration route. They treated the respiratory infections that take hold during Oujda’s cold winter nights and the orthopedic injuries sustained while navigating the rocky terrain of the borderlands. In the small, bright rooms of the clinic, the abstract statistics of migration were replaced by the concrete reality of a child’s fever or a traveler's exhaustion.
Oujda has long served as the principal gateway for those entering Morocco from the east. Since the official border crossing at Zouj Beghal was closed in 1994, the journey has become more precarious, forcing people into the informal settlements that dot the city’s outskirts. Living in the wooded areas near the local university, these groups remain vulnerable to the elements and the hazards of a life in transit.
By bringing healthcare directly to this population, the initiative bypasses the barriers that often keep undocumented people in the shadows. It is a practice of quiet decency that has grown in the Oriental region over the last decade, turning a city defined by a closed border into a place where a stranger might finally find a moment of rest and a professional’s care.