I am writing this article because I recently arrived in Portugal to aid my compatriots and spread the word about how amazing our beloved nation truly is. However, upon my arrival, I was shocked to discover that our magnificent Portuguese banners had been replaced by the Moroccan flag.
Apparently, there had been a conflict between our two nations, one that Portugal sadly lost.
And yet, despite the occupation, the Portuguese people stand strong. Even while foreign flags wave from the rooftops of our cities, the spirit of Portugal remains alive. Surprisingly, life inside the country has not changed much. Morocco seemingly decided it would be wiser to preserve Portuguese culture and traditions in order to avoid future rebellions.
Still, beneath the calm surface, there is a strong revolutionary sentiment among the people. After all, we Portuguese firmly believe there are no better rulers for Portuguese lands than the Portuguese themselves.
Outside of politics, daily life remains mostly unchanged. The cuisine is still glorious. Pastéis de nata continue to bless our tables, despite Moroccan troops repeatedly insisting that their Chebakia is somehow “better.” A completely absurd statement, of course, for anyone who has tasted the divine perfection of a proper pastel de nata.
The cities remain beautiful, the infrastructure untouched, and some even say Portugal still possesses some of the greatest monuments in the world. Truly, occupation may change the flag, but it cannot erase greatness.
Curious about our occupiers, I decided to begin a small journey to better understand the Moroccan people now living among us. I spoke with several of them. Some were friendly and answered my questions. We discussed the future, cuisine, religion, ambitions, and the state of the war.
However, there was something… strange.
Some of them simply refused to interact entirely.
No words. No gestures. No reactions. Nothing.
They would stand perfectly still, silently working for their country like statues wrapped in Moroccan flags. The rumors spreading through the streets claim these mysterious individuals work endlessly, donating every cent they earn directly to Morocco itself.
Frankly, I have never witnessed such dedication before.
No ambitions. No dreams. No hobbies. No conversations. No social life. Only work.
Work. Donate. Repeat.
It is almost as if they do not exist beyond serving the nation itself.
I tried greeting them. Nothing.
I tried asking questions. Silence.
At one point, I am fairly certain one stared at a wall for three straight hours before returning to work without saying a single word.
I cannot help but wonder:
Who are these people?
Are they possessed? Are they truly this devoted to their country? Or is there perhaps something far more mysterious happening behind the scenes?
I may never know.
But if I uncover the truth, rest assured, dear readers, you will be the first to hear about it.
Stay tuned.
I will return.