Walking, running, picnicking, gazing at the sea, or taking a break between meetings: in Casablanca, public spaces are coming back to life. For the past few years, a genuine urban dynamism has been evident. Casablancans, long confined to their cars, offices, or apartments, are rediscovering the pleasure of enjoying their parks, waterfront promenades, and walkways. These spaces are becoming havens from the constant bustle of a city that never sleeps.

In this movement, two places particularly illustrate this trend: the Ain Diab Corniche and the recently renovated Arab League Park. Every day, from late afternoon until very late at night, sometimes past midnight on weekends, they fill up with families, athletes, retirees, young people, and expatriates. All come seeking a moment of calm, beauty, or activity. Once frequented only intermittently, these spaces are now experienced as extensions of the home, living spaces, almost open-air social centers. The only drawback: cleanliness, which struggles to keep up with the growing influx of visitors. On the Ain Diab Corniche, the light of the setting sun makes the waves shimmer. Children's cries mingle with the rolling of the sea, the calls of street vendors, and impromptu conversations over a sandwich or a coffee. Soukaina, a mother, walks slowly, keeping an eye on her children who are running ahead of her."I came for a walk, to get some fresh air. It's a place where you can stroll, relax peacefully. The sea... it's the sea that I like the most." She says this while gazing at the horizon, as if this simple landscape were enough to break her free from the daily grind of the city.

A little further on, his 10-year-old son, Ghali, pulls faces for the camera. He comes here between ten and twenty times a month with his family. What does he like most? Especially the view… it’s incredible! And the chip vendors, they have amazing chips! He laughs, runs off, then stops to watch the waves. This mix of childlike wonder and family ritual illustrates the growing attachment of the locals to this place.

Next to him, Youssef finishes a brisk walk. His t-shirt is damp. “I come here three times a week. I walk, I run, sometimes I play soccer. It’s beautiful here, it’s clean… I recommend Moroccans come and exercise and enjoy this place.” He pauses, wipes his forehead: “I’ve been coming here since I was very young, almost every day.” Through his testimony, we understand that the Corniche is not just a place to pass through: it’s a space of habit and routine.

Morgan, a Frenchman who has been living abroad for three months, shares this feeling with a fresh perspective: At first, we were in other neighborhoods… then we discovered the Corniche. It’s really chill, there are the waves, the sea air. You can do everything on foot, it’s great. He doesn’t do sports there, but we walk and go to the shopping center. The act of walking, even without a specific goal, becomes a way to reconnect with the city, to appropriate the space in its simplest form.

A little further on, still in the heart of Casablanca, the Arab League Park stands out as a haven of greenery. From dawn, the first figures appear on the central path. Some are running, others are walking in pairs, chatting as if in a living room. The sound of footsteps, muffled by the renovated paths, mingles with the rustling of leaves in the wind.

Younes, a company executive, comes here up to six times a week. “It’s the only green space near us. Since it was renovated, it’s become a fantastic park: open, airy, clean, and supervised. People feel safe. Children and women too. That’s important.” His tone is calm, almost analytical. For him, this space isn’t just a place for sports, but a model of what urban planning in Casablanca should be: accessible, safe, and vibrant.

At 75, Jilali jogs alongside a group of athletes of all ages. His movements are slow, but precise. “I have the beach in front of my house, but I really like this natural setting here. I come four times a week to train with others. We're looking for movement, for life.” His words resonate, almost philosophical. On weekends, he returns to the coastal path, as if completing a cycle.

Then comes Charles, crossing the park in his office attire, sandwich in hand. He's not running, he's recharging."I come here between noon and two to rest, relax, clear my head. I have my lunch here, in communion with the air, with nature… breathing deeply and regaining my strength." He sits on a bench, closes his eyes for a few moments. The space becomes a buffer between two tense moments.

An open question

Everywhere, the scenes are repeated: a family spreading a tablecloth on the grass, a group of young people improvising a sports session, a woman in yoga clothes studying the horizon, a couple chatting while walking in slow motion.

This reappropriation reflects a deep need: faced with sustained urbanization, traffic density, and ambient stress, residents are demanding a place in their city again. They no longer just want to live there, they want to experience it.

From the Atlantic waves to the trees of the park, Casablanca is undergoing a silent transformation. Its inhabitants no longer simply pass through its public spaces; they inhabit them. They stroll through them, train there, eat there, and raise their children there. They find there what was missing elsewhere: a sense of space, rhythm, and connection.

This reconquest is not a fad. It is a social movement. And seeing Soukaina smiling towards the horizon, or Jilali trotting along at 75, one understands that this is probably only the beginning.