Growing old can turn into a nightmare. These 31 distressed residents who spend their long days in this "Centre for homeless and destitute elderly people", located in the Atlas district, in Azrou, confirm this reality. "We are all rejected by our families," asserts Hadj Ahmed Taïaa, 81 years old. With tears in his eyes, he tells ALM his story. "I have no children, but I have brothers who live in Casablanca," he stammers in a tone full of sorrow. He was a shepherd who earned his living with dignity. He was married, but divorce condemned him to live alone, without a companion. Admittedly, he visited his family from time to time. He even had friends. "But they all abandoned me. No one wanted me when I really needed them," he adds in a bitter tone. Finally, in 2008, he took refuge in this centre, which currently houses 17 men and 14 women and was built with a budget of 1,719,852 dirhams, of which the INDH contribution is around 1,203,852 dirhams. Hadj Ahmed is considered one of the first elderly people to have moved in, as this centre has been operational since 24 April 2008. Hlima Amalou does not know her age. "I am 36 or maybe 50," she says, placing her hand on her cheek. But it seems she is in her sixties. "My husband repudiated me because I am infertile and I found support from no one," she confides to us. Unlike Hadj Ahmed and Hlima who have no children, El Kaderi Ben Issa, 76 years old, had a child, a Moroccan national living abroad. "No one is interested in you when you get old, not your children, not your family... You become like a plague," stammers El Kaderi, who adds: "Even my wife abused me to the point that I left the house." Sadness traces indelible wrinkles on his heart to the point of drawing an endless sigh. His son came to visit him a few days before the Al Mawlid Annabaoui festival. He asked him to accompany him to his in-laws in Meknes. "If my family rejected me, how will I be welcomed by my in-laws?" he wonders. His son returned abroad, leaving him in the abyss of distress. Moulay Ali Ben Youssef is 12 years his senior, but he shares the same fate. This 88-year-old man took care of a child who is currently the father of two daughters. "I took him in when he was only forty days old. I loved him. I took care of him until he became a young man. When he got married, he threw me out onto the street," he recounts, bursting into tears. L'hadja Sfia, who spent more than 35 years as a cleaner at the craft complex in Azrou, finally found herself homeless. At 77 years old, she earned her living with dignity, working with self-sacrifice, but without having her social rights. She too accuses her family of having thrown her out onto the street. Indeed, all these thirty-one residents express their joy at having finally found a refuge where everything is available. "There is only one thing we lack: medical care and medication," the majority of residents confide to us. Admittedly, a doctor visits them. "But not regularly," reveals one resident. "If one of us is seriously ill, they remain bedridden until they die," he concludes. A manager of the centre, for his part, asserts: "We do our best so that they live with dignity. But nothing pleases them."