Right now I’m sitting in Dulles Airport in Washington DC, having just gotten through treacherous US customs only to find out my suitcase is chillin in Paris. I don’t care though, happy to be back in America after my 2 month long study abroad in Morocco and 2 week long visit to Algeria. My last blog post came towards the end of my study abroad in Maghreb and I intend to do some final thoughts on that experience but for now Algeria is fresh on the mind.
--- over 2 months later
Haha I suck. I remember beginning to write this post in the airport and being really excited to come home and see my friends and family. I had full intention on completing this post and continuing my blog but I decided to eat wendy’s and take a nap instead. That plane ended up being delayed 4 hours and I arrived in Austin at 1 in the morning, the most tired man in the world. My bag actually took a trip to Abu Dhabi and didn’t come home until a good week later. I hope it had fun.
Well now I’ve been back for a while, and I’ve had plenty of time to settle back into my comfortable malaise here in my beloved hometown. But I wanted to write about Algeria, what I saw, who I talked to, where I went, the emotions I felt. So I’ll try my hardest to remember all those things… hopefully time hasn’t fabricated them too much.
After spending 2 months away from my comfort zone it was admittedly very hard for me to just go a couple hundred miles East instead of a couple thousand West, especially when most of the kids on the program were getting to go back home. I was ashamed that I wasn’t more excited to go and see my family whom I’ve only seen a handful of times. So the plane ride from Paris to Algiers was a little strange, wavering back and forth between anxiousness and calm sadness. To add to that, when we were taking off there was a young Algerian man who was talking on his phone and when the (some kind of Slavic) flight attendant told him to turn it off he started yelling at her in mixed Arabic and French, neither of which she spoke. Since I was sitting across the aisle from him and I was the only one around who spoke English and Arabic I played translator. The conversation went something like this:
Flight Attendant: “You need to turn off your phone”
Algerian Man: continues talking on phone
FA (this time with me translating): “Hey you need to turn off your phone, it’s dangerous”
AM: “What do you mean dangerous?”
FA: “For reception between the pilot and the ground”
AM: Continues talking on the phone
FA: “Sir, please turn off your phone, it’s dangerous”
AM: “Fuck you. Go away and leave me alone”
Me: “Bro turn off your phone”
AM to me: “Okay, fuck, it’s off. What kind of flight attendant gets on Air Algerie and doesn’t know French or Arabic?”
Great. Not even in Algeria yet and I’m already dealing with this angry unreasonable bullshit. For the rest of the time he kept making fake small talk with her and then when she left he would make some face at me, which I interpreted as “haha, what a bitch”. Dude was a sack. Anyway I just wanted to relay that story because I thought it was an interesting way to start the trip, especially because of the weird mindset I was in. I’ll get to the trip now… sorry.
I spent about half of my time in Algiers, the capital, and the other half in Biskra where most of my family is. I had very different experiences in both places. The capital is very similar to Paris in architecture. It’s on the Mediterranean and it’s gorgeous. We took a trip to the heights where you can see the whole city beneath you, gleaming white in the sun and fading into the sea. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. But when you look at your feet and along the ground down the mountain everything is covered in garbage.
***
Biskra is a little different. It’s on the edge of the Sahara, which is moving North every year, slowly swallowing the city. It has the highest crime rate in the country and the electricity cuts out every couple of minutes. A short drive away from the city is the small town of Sidi Okba, where my father was born. The biggest and most revered Mosque in the region is there, housing the body of Uqba bin Nafi, who led the Umayyad conquest of North Africa. The town is ancient and you can see people walking along the dust roads heading towards the Mosque at any given time during the day. It was Ramadan, so everybody had this daze about them, and everything was hazy from the heat and the hunger.
Another short drive away is the even smaller farming town of El Horaya, populated by just a couple hundred of people. This is where my grandmother lives and where a lot of my cousins grew up. As we drive in I see a well and my mind is flooded with these little 2-second memories of splashing around in the water with my sister and cousins. I was 4 years old the last time I was here. We arrive to my grandmother’s house; behind the gate my Aunt emerges and greets us. We walk into the courtyard and the memories bombard me again. I can almost see ghostly outlines of myself running around this courtyard and climbing the date trees. When I walk into the house the furniture and bookcases to my right look so familiar and after what seems like a long walk we get to the room where my grandmother is resting. I approach her and get on my knees to get level with her face. She can’t see me. I tell her in Arabic
“Umma, it’s Tarek. I came from America to see you. I learned Arabic so I can talk to you.”
I know it’s hard for her to remember. She puts her hand out and touches my face and brings me in to kiss me tell me how much she’s missed me. I feel like my heart is going to burst and tears are streaming down my face. It’s a mixture of extreme elation and sorrow.
I spent the next couple of days visiting family and friends. Spent the whole time hanging out with my wonderful cousin Nadjib the whole time, who speaks English and is one of the most beautiful people in the world. I visited my Uncle’s farm where he grows figs, pears, grapes, and pomegranates. I saw a plot of land in Sidi Okba that belongs to my dad, where one day we’ll hopefully build something. I read a letter that my dad wrote to my uncle the day my sister was born written in beautiful formal Arabic. I talked in my Syrian-Egyptian-American accent to my relatives who couldn’t help but feel a little humored by it, but all the same proud that I’d attempted to learn the language. It was amazing. The wonder wore off, as I got more and more ready to go home and see my mom and sister and all my friends.
My last couple of days in the country I spent in Algiers. Took a couple of drives along the coast to some beautiful beach towns. One was called Dellys. This city is literally half on the beach and half in the clouds in the mountains behind. We ate fresh fish and went to the boardwalk at night to drink coffee at our family friends’ restaurant. I watched the police officers stand along the boardwalk at about 10 yard intervals, rifles in hand. Then on the 18th of August I said goodbye to Algeria and came home.
Perhaps I haven’t developed this thought very much, but there are plenty of things in Algeria that were off-putting. The angry man on the plane, the trash along the mountain atop the most beautiful view in the world, the crime in Biskra, the poverty, the high concentration of security police. It’s easy to forget about all these things when you’re standing in the clouds looking at a shining white city. But they’re there, down below. Throughout the summer I couldn’t help but feeling that the Arab Spring had failed to reach Morocco. I learned at the end of the summer that it didn’t get to Algiers either. The people in Morocco and Algeria are similarly quiet about it, almost apathetic.
But what I did find in Algeria was family and tradition and home. People who loved me just because I was there. Inside the heat and the sand there was an energy pulsating. I’m not sure how, but I think when that energy is somehow awakened Algeria will also face their issues and revolt in the spirit of their neighbors. And the next time I return I hope I’ll get to see it. But it’s good to be home right now.
P.S. As I was writing this, I wasn’t concerned with structure. It’s just what came to my head. Sorry it’s all over the place, but I kind of prefer it that way.
Tarek...this was very interesting and very funny too. You write very well!
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