In Casablanca’s Maarif district, 27-year-old Sara adjusts her camera before starting a livestream on a language learning app. Her expression is focused, determined. “I didn’t want to answer to a boss anymore,” she says, eyes locked on the screen. “I felt like I was wasting time waiting for a job to appear. Now, I choose my own pace, my own projects.”
Over the past few years, freelance work has quietly but firmly taken root in Morocco. With graduate unemployment hovering above 30%, an increasing number of young people are turning to freelancing and self-employment as a way out of a rigid and unrewarding system. The auto-entrepreneur status has become a practical workaround—an entry point into professional life without waiting for a traditional job offer.
Also in Casablanca, 29-year-old Mehdi, a former engineer with no stable job prospects, pivoted to digital content creation—producing videos, newsletters, and marketing advice. “I had skills, but no job where I could actually use them,” he explains. “In a regular job, a manager would’ve blocked me. Working independently is tough, but at least I’m building something for myself.”
Platforms like Freelancer.ma and Jobbers have seen a steady rise in users, connecting these isolated young professionals with both local and international clients. For many, these platforms offer visibility and opportunities they wouldn’t have found otherwise.
But the path is far from smooth. “They want to see a portfolio, past clients, references—but I’m just getting started,” says Lina, a 25-year-old freelance community manager. “It’s a vicious circle: I need experience to get work, but I need work to gain experience.”
The hurdles are not just personal—they’re systemic. Freelancers often lack access to social protections, face difficulties securing credit, and must cope with highly variable income. Some end up juggling part-time jobs just to stabilize their finances. Still, many see salaried work as an invisible trap—offering the illusion of stability at the cost of autonomy and personal fulfillment.
For many, freelancing is about more than flexibility. It’s about purpose. This generation is not just chasing income—they’re seeking meaning. They want their work to align with their values: creativity, freedom, social impact. The goal isn’t just to escape the 9-to-5; it’s to build something that reflects who they are.
That rejection of traditional employment isn’t uniform. It varies depending on the industry, level of education, and family support. In smaller cities, where professional networks are limited, freelance work often struggles to take hold. Poor infrastructure—spotty internet, few co-working spaces—only adds to the challenge.
Still, this shift marks a clear cultural turning point. For a generation raised on social media and online communities, the idea of staying with one employer for decades has lost its appeal. What matters now are projects, self-initiative, and creating value on their own terms. In this environment, a new model of work is emerging—one that reflects the hopes, doubts, and risks of an entire generation.
Meanwhile, a different kind of work is also growing—fueled by apps like Glovo and inDrive. These platforms don’t act like traditional employers; instead, they serve as intermediaries, connecting gig workers to tasks. “I spend hours watching the app, hoping a delivery pops up,” says Kamal, 24, who’s been working as a Glovo courier for over a year. “If I’m free, I take it. If not, I just wait for another day.”
The model is simple: delivery riders and drivers log in when they want, accept the gigs they choose. It’s the kind of flexibility the platforms love to promote. Glovo classifies its riders as independent contractors, not employees. inDrive even allows drivers to set their own rates on some trips, giving them some control in negotiating with customers.
But the freedom these apps advertise often comes with hidden costs. Income is unstable, and riders bear the full burden of expenses—gas, maintenance, internet fees, wear and tear. To make a decent wage, they need to rack up dozens of deliveries. Many extend their working hours just to break even. Some also face sudden account suspensions, with little explanation or recourse. In Casablanca, Glovo couriers recently protested outside the UMT union headquarters, demanding better conditions and decrying base rates as too low—just 6 dirhams per delivery, despite rising costs.
For many, this kind of gig work isn’t a choice—it’s a last resort. “I couldn’t find a well-paying job in my field,” says Leïla, 26, who juggles Glovo deliveries with freelance projects. “At least here, there are gigs—even if they don’t pay much.”
The danger is real. Riding a motorbike in city traffic is risky—accidents are common, safety nets are rare. Many riders have been seriously injured without proper compensation. Some platform-provided insurance covers hospital stays or third-party damage, but the terms are often limited and the coverage capped.
Other platforms are even murkier. Take Yango, a global ride-hailing and delivery company. Its VTC operations in Casablanca were suspended in 2023 for failing to comply with transport regulations. While it was active, young drivers saw it as a promising new gig. Now, with its suspension, many are left scrambling to find alternatives.
What’s emerging is a new frontier of work that defies traditional categories. These young workers don’t want fixed hours, rigid hierarchies, or office life. What they do want is recognition—of their effort, their risk, their hustle. They want basic protections without giving up the autonomy they’ve fought for. The paradox is clear: they’re trading the constraints of the old system for the uncertainty of a digital one, hoping that somewhere in the blur between freedom and insecurity, they’ll find a future worth building.
