Senegal Morocco tensions over can aftermath linger on

The moment I stepped into Dakar, a wave of unease washed over me. Yes, because of the African Cup of Nations. You’ve heard the stories. That final has become a festering wound, deepening the rift between Morocco and Senegal. And the whispers aren’t entirely unfounded.

Amadou, a taxi driver in his fifties with a warm smile, knew I was from Morocco the minute I got in his car. We chatted about this and that, and when the conversation wound down, he sighed, “Despite everything, Senegal and Morocco are still brothers…”

It’s that single phrase—“despite everything”—that says it all. A football match can’t possibly hold that much power, can it? Or did it just serve as the final straw, exposing tensions that were already simmering beneath the surface?

Whenever the topic of the CAN comes up, it’s like an unwelcome guest crashing every discussion. In the bustling markets of Plateau, central Dakar, I tried to haggle for a piece of local fabric. The vendor quoted a price—13,000 XOF per meter. I countered with 10,000. No deal. Then 11,000. Still no luck. So, I played my usual card: “We’re brothers from Morocco!”

In most places across Africa, invoking shared heritage or faith would soften stances and lower prices. Not here. The vendor’s demeanor shifted instantly, his tone hardening as he retorted, “If it’s the Morocco, then it’s 20,000 XOF.”

“Hopefully, these lingering tensions will fade with time, in both Senegal and Morocco…”

His message was clear: “I’m not selling to you.” We were practically ushered out of the market, as if we’d done something wrong.

A human rights activist, fighting against female genital mutilation, casually mentioned, “Please, release our brothers detained in Morocco. What’s taking so long?” The plea to free Senegalese supporters arrested after the controversial final kept resurfacing, echoed by others we met.

Some openly admit to boycotting businesses owned by Moroccans. They spoke bluntly, without the usual diplomatic tact, though many still added, with a hint of reassurance, “In Senegal, we really do like Moroccans…”

That statement might be true, but it’s incomplete. The ellipsis at the end leaves room for emotions like anger, frustration, confusion, and even pain. Hopefully, these complex feelings will fade on their own, in both countries…

Eventually, governments and football federations will reconcile—common interests and reason always prevail. But personal wounds heal far more slowly, and in different ways.

My brief stay in Senegal was intense, to say the least. Though overshadowed by what you already know, it wasn’t entirely ruined. Many Dakarois made it memorable with their hospitality, zest for life, and genuine, unconditional friendship.