Communal Ovens and Shared Spaces — Football Case Study

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Dispatch: a series dedicated to immersive storytelling, where our photographers and writers journey to chosen places, combining evocative imagery with long-form editorials to uncover and share unique football cultures.

Andrea Vílchez

Communal Ovens and Shared Spaces: The Power of Accessibility at WAFCON

Words by Fay Harvey
Photographer Jinane Ennasri, Andrea Vilchez, and Matthew David Stith

July 13, 2025

RABAT, Morocco — When weaving through Morocco’s coastal Casablanca souqs and kasbahs of Tangier, you may walk around and stumble upon furans: Moroccan communal ovens that are nestled into neighborhoods, standing as a tangible African staple representing the undeniable culture found within food.

Per the name, these ovens exist as a shared hub for baking, and people within the area use the space for roasting meat, bread, cookies and more. Since arriving in Morocco, I’ve come to learn how integral grains are in Moroccan cuisine, with kohbz leaning against dinner plates and fekkas paired with gunpowder mint tea right after. While ovens can be found within some modern homes, many Moroccans instead lean towards using this traditional community asset that’s heavily engrained in everyday culture and has been for the last two centuries. In the cities, families bring in their own dough to be engulfed by the wild, yet precise flames; the bread rises alongside the sun.

Bakers run the furans, and those who are working in the early hours are not only known by all in the town, they’re championed by all in town. A research paper titled The Public Oven Project by Ryan Steiner of Brown University in 2005 found that furans double as both a kitchen and a social space. With customers dropping in from the early hours to the afternoon lunch time, bakers find themselves acting as therapists, teachers, artisans and companions by being an open ear to local people that visit for, at times, hours on end.

Delivery systems are coordinated with local children to deliver treats that bakers place outside the oven entrances for pickup. Marrakesh-based artist Sara Benabdallah painted the picture for us one night while sitting in a local cafe, describing how kids gliding by on their bikes scoop up a basket of cookies in the morning and pedal off to deliver the goods to start their day.

When Football Case Study Members Andrea Vílchez and Jinane Ennasri visited a Casablanca furan in Habous alongside London-based Photographer Susana Ferrerira, a baker named Ahmed invited the team inside with the typical welcoming Moroccan hospitality. He waved the girls in to look all around, happily encouraging them to look inside the wide, ferocious oven. And when Andrea asked to take a photo, he obliged under one condition: that she’d take one with him too. Though he was done baking the bread for the day, he sent the girls off with a free bag of his remaining cookies.

At the heart of furans stands the strength of community that accessibility provides. Eating is, of course, a necessity, but it truly is a foreign concept in the West that a locally shared, food-oriented accommodation exists to support nutrition. For example, in American apartment complexes, there are typically communal charcoal grills to be used by tenants, but many opt out of using them for a plethora of reasons: hygiene, inconvenience, or fear of breaking the status quo. Americans would rather buy and use personal grills, or not make food at all, instead of getting into the community to bond over a shared necessity such as food. The fear of difference and lack of trust keeps people indoors, which in turn creates a society of radical individualism and isolation.

Andrea Vílchez

Jinane Ennasri

Matthew David Stith

From the interaction at the furan in Habous, to the people we’ve spoken with on our trip, it is clear that furans provide warmth in many aspects, from the actual baking of the food, to the rich community found in the traditional practice. Instead of staying indoors to use their own supplies, those within the neighborhoods blend themselves into the town to break bread with their neighbors and bring forth physical goods that give back to the locality. When a room is created to share the technology that makes every meal possible in a culture where food is a sign of love, it reveals something about that space: it is sacred, necessary and an indispensable part of life. It shows that this irreplaceable element can exist anywhere, as long as someone cares enough to provide it.

While at the Women’s Africa Cup of Nations tournament opening week, the spirit of accessibility that is found within furans around the country were put on full display, but this time the welcoming nature of the communal ovens was found at the pitch — and this occasion presented an unexpected reminder of the ways cultural prioritization of access can uplift the Women’s game of football, revitalizing generations around the continent.

On July 5, the team and I entered the main street and rolled into a swarm of city buses. Moving sluggishly through the traffic, we had plenty of time to look around. To our right, families and vendors dressed in Achraf Hakimi Morocco kits took to the sidewalk as they moved towards the recently completed stadium; construction work ensued behind them as the up-and-coming Stade Moulay Abdellah received treatment from hammers and cranes. We were in awe at the number and diversity of fans walking, chatting and buying sound horns from the vendors as they went; however, there was more ahead.

Matthew David Stith

Andrea Vílchez

As we exited the car and moved further down the road, a plethora of buses filled to the brim with people sent floods of limbs out as the doors opened. Young boys hurried out of the buses chaotically to the entrance while the older women gracefully took their time gathering their bags before heading to the stadium.

The amount of people attending the match was impressive, and laughter was heard all throughout the air as masses of people excitedly ran to the stadium’s opening despite there still being a couple hours left before kickoff. We learned that the buses were carrying people from the outer regions of Rabat such as Témara and Salé which, in comparison to Morocco’s capital of Rabat, are much more rural with less access to events such as major sporting tournaments. Additionally, with ticket prices being as low as 20 Moroccan Dirhams ($2 USD, or $1.90 EU), it was becoming clear that fans' access trumped capital profit during this WAFCON.

Inside, we met fans and women of all ages who were seeing the Moroccan Women’s National Team for the first ever time. Older women held small Moroccan flags to add to the sea of red while cheering and dancing to the sounds of the crowd. When they would notice Andrea and Jinane’s cameras hanging from their necks, they’d happily pose, ushering their friends and grandchildren into the frame.

One teenage girl I had spoken with told me she never had the opportunity to attend a match, but since experiencing the scenes on this summer day, she stated that she will never miss another one. We hadn’t a clue what the match turnout would look like, and when we saw generations of Morocco fans, and they were primarily women, the feminine energy washed over us like water on sand, and we appreciated the special feeling that comes with experiencing a scene like this firsthand as opposed to through a screen.

A woman wearing a Moroccan flag wrapped around her back like Superwoman asked for a photo in front of the barriers that separate fans from the track and pitch. As Jinane got to speaking with her, we learned an interesting fact that left us surprised: she had been provided access to the match by her local government. In her hometown, the local leaders provide discounted transportation and free access to all types of local sporting events, from football matches to basketball games. In exchange, the citizens who attend the local games receive free gifts like food, such as rice or bread, during Ramadan to break fast with — this was the town’s first steps in getting their citizens, especially women, to get involved in sport.

Since taking part in this exchange, she explained to us that she has become a massive sports fan, showing us a photo from years ago that was nearly identical to the one Jinane took of her: Moroccan flag around her neck and the same bright grin — but this time, above a basketball court. After our farewell, she went back to melodically singing with her loved ones in anticipation to watch her team take on Zambia. The Moroccan national anthem ensued and we basked in the sound of voices who sang with pride for their nation.

While the match was on the more affordable side and buses provided transportation from local outskirts, the attendance didn’t quite fill up the stands like we’d expect the home opener to. Though the energy was there, especially from the lively Zambia fans, the number of filled seats declined by halftime. Still, after the match drew 2-2, we remained in awe of the crowd we saw before the first whistle, and even outside after the match, the sight of older women dancing and singing in circles in honor of the national team was alive.

The following day, still feeling the bliss of the night before, Casablanca’s Larbi Zouli Stadium was grounds for a match between Nigeria and Tunisia. With our closeness to the coast, the hot air had turned dense, and the desire to get under shade and in our seats heightened by the second.

In line to our left, amongst pushing teenage boys, a woman with sunglasses on and purse in hand was standing and smiling. As we looked closer, a wad of tickets to the match were held in her hand. She told us that in collaboration with the local foundation she works for, she had purchased hundreds of tickets to pass out to those without access. This was a sight of generosity I had never seen at a sporting match, especially not right outside the entrance gates.

This act of sharing, which led us to be able to gift three tickets we received to a family of Nigeria fans at a different entrance, has been sprinkled graciously throughout our continental interactions.

While in Marrakesh a couple days later, we met a group of boys waiting patiently for their football coach to arrive. During this period of limbo in the medina, they shared words on their love for the sport. While in conversation, one boy spoke up when we asked about the participation in football amongst girls their age, saying, “We want to play with girls more so we can all improve and play together more often.”

A young boy whose age couldn’t have even been over the double digits understood the impact of opening doors to those less likely to be invited in, and the opportunities that arise when the field is level: and he grasped this societal concept through the intersection of culture and football.

Andrea Vílchez

To close out the opening WAFCON week, the gates of Olympic Stadium in Rabat once again opened doors to the fans of Morocco as well as their new opponents, DR Congo, on July 9. Arriving at 6 p.m., we were once again greeted by buses, but these instead were ones resembling tour buses. Stepping off were college-aged students, some with arms linked in conversation and some with headphones in and eyes forward looking towards the entrance.

On the lanyards of all the bus riders, their individual names and photos were printed under a glowing building, and on the top the title read “Young Moroccans Living Abroad.” The program invites Moroccans from all around the world to visit their motherland to get in touch with their cultural origin. This Morocco vs DR Congo match was one of the primary activities on the group’s itinerary.

Sia, an Italian-Moroccan activist who happily chatted with me while her friends all pulled her towards the direction of the entrance, had never been to a match before, but through this trip she was granted the chance to see her women’s national team play. “I love football and I love everything about Morocco,” she said. “I believe in women's empowerment, and being here for women and my country is a great honor. I’m very happy to be here.”

An hour and a half passed, and I finally headed back to the entrance with an extra 30 minutes to spare. I figured that was enough time to enter given the last game hadn’t reached capacity; but the closer I got, the more I realized this night was very different.

Matthew David Stith

Andrea Vílchez

Jinane Ennasri

Matthew David Stith

There was no line for entrance; instead, there were multiple gates with doors wide open. The sounds of tickets being scanned was replaced with the sounds of feet pattering against the cement while nods were exchanged with CAF workers who let everybody in. It dawned on me that on this night, entrance was free for all. It felt wrong walking in without needing to hand a piece of paper validating my existence from one side of the gate to the other, but that’s all there was to do. I asked several workers why this was happening — why is entry to an important continental tournament free?

“This is Morocco,” one security guard said, while another explained that this match was specifically marketed as free admission for all in the days leading up.

Making it to the seating gate with a few moments to spare, I was let in where I rushed to meet with Jinane and Andrea — but first I was greeted by the swarming sea of people in every part of the stadium’s sections. There was barely a single chair left empty, and stairways had become makeshift seating for the overflow of people. Three different drumlines were placed in unique pockets of the venue and flags for Morocco and Congo DR flew on opposite corners. Kids were running rampant with sound horns and whistles while their parents and neighbors flowed as one to the beat of tambourines and maracas. As we took our positions in the stands, a young girl handed Jinane 4 mini Morocco flags and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
The night was free of personal space but rich with collective joy. Throughout the match, we met groups of people that we hadn’t seen at the other events: huddles of youth girls’ clubs that never missed a chance to sing along with the pop songs echoing through the stadium at the break, a kid-lead drumline that kept the atmosphere rhythmic, and different people all part of the same group throwing free snacks into the crowd for whoever could catch them. When the match concluded, the party continued outside where everyone joined as one to dance to the Moroccan qraqebs (hand cymbals) and bendirs (wood-framed, hand-held drums). The sights I saw on this day were ones I had never seen at a woman’s match before, and while overdue, it still felt immensely special.

The equation for this successful night could be chalked up to a mixture of variables: public transportation, free entry, word of mouth and a welcoming atmosphere mirroring the cultural values of a nation. But at the root, accessibility to these variables in the first place stood as the necessary function to making this widespread support and joining of groups in the name of sport possible.

In similar fashion to splitting a meal, attending football matches stands as a shared language between groups of people coming together for a mutual reason. Like the atmosphere in the public furan — therapeutic, safe, warm, equal — the Morocco vs DR Congo match in Rabat held similar feelings: it was a place for fans of all kinds to let their guard down and be embraced. Where in the furan speaking to the baker may be a cathartic form of non-judgemental socialization, and dropping off your dough is a way of paying forward to your community: in the stadium seats, biting your nails with anticipation for a goal and bumping shoulders with your neighbor while jiving to musical notes are the same forms of communication, love and synergy; just through a different vessel.

When a stadium is shared that creates bonds for a culture unified through the love of sport, it says something about that space: it is sacred, necessary, and an indispensable part of life. It shows that this irreplaceable community can exist anywhere for everyone, if someone cares enough to open the doors.

Jinane Ennasri

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