Setting foot in Dakar for the first time, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of unease. The reason? A single word: CAN. You know the story—this tournament’s final has become a bitter wedge between Morocco and Senegal, poisoning what should be friendly relations. And it’s not just hearsay; the tension is real.

Take Amadou, the taxi driver—a man in his fifties with a warm smile. He knew I was Moroccan from the moment I sat in his cab. We chatted casually, but when our conversation turned to football, his tone shifted. Still courteous, he sighed, «Despite everything, Senegal and Morocco are brothers…» Those three words—despite everything—spoke volumes. It was as if the football pitch had cracked open old wounds, revealing resentment that had always simmered beneath the surface.

That phrase, «despite everything,» seemed to haunt every interaction. In Dakar’s Plateau district, haggling over a bolt of local fabric became a test of patience. The merchant quoted me 13,000 XOF per meter. I countered with 10,000. No deal. Then, in a desperate attempt to invoke camaraderie, I tried the classic tactic: «We’re brothers from Morocco!» Usually, this phrase—or a heartfelt «Assalamou alaykoum»—would soften even the toughest negotiators. Not here. The man stiffened. «If it’s Morocco, then it’s 20,000 XOF,» he snapped. The message was clear: no sale, and no welcome either.

«Hopefully, these lingering frustrations will fade naturally, in Senegal as in Morocco…»

The frustration didn’t end at the market. A human rights activist, fighting against female genital mutilation, turned to me abruptly: «Please, free our brothers detained in Morocco. What are you waiting for?» The demand to release Senegalese supporters arrested after the controversial final echoed through conversations like a stubborn refrain. Some admitted to boycotting Moroccan-owned shops, their words raw and unfiltered. «In Senegal, we love Moroccans,» they’d say—before trailing off, leaving the unspoken emotions—anger, hurt, confusion—hanging in the air.

Perhaps the sentiment is true, but it’s incomplete. Those trailing dots could just as easily be filled with «resentment» or «betrayal.» Diplomats and officials will eventually reconcile—interests always win out—but people? Their wounds heal slowly, if at all.

My trip to Senegal was brief but intense. It wasn’t ruined by the football drama, though it certainly cast a shadow. The warmth of the Dakarois—their laughter, their hospitality, their genuine friendships—outshone the bitterness. And in those moments, the tension felt smaller, almost forgettable. But only almost.

By Mariama Hamani — Analyst