EN
I do not know, and do not need to know, how love for your own country should be defined. You just feel it. Algeria is an emotion. It is dreams and delusions, hope and fear, prayers and wishful thinking. Algeria’s suffering makes me sad but its steadfastness brings me back to life. My attitude towards my country is beyond the limits of common sense. I am in constant fever, like a starving drug addict trying to find himself amidst hallucinations. Algeria remains mainly undiscovered. This makes it valuable and mythical at the same time, like a philosopher ’s stone. It is an elusive muse for its children and for foreigners alike. Nobody can resist its charm. You can reach it only if you are humble enough. If you look down on it, you will lose sight of it. You will only see your own hubris. Guy de Maupassant did not understand Algerian reality. That was in times when a stranger was considered a savage, and his chanting was heard as only groans; in times of exaggeration and abuse; in times of a master’s narcissism and the hierarchy of race. He came to Algeria as a recovering conqueror, steeped in his own genius, and returned with a suitcase full of wind. André Gide suffered sunstroke in Algeria. What did he remember from the harsh light of Biskra? From the salutary shade of palm trees? From the poetry of Al Khalifa and Moufdi Zakaria? If he had listened to the noise of the orchards, the melancholy of the flutes, the wail of the lute, he would have heard the pulse of eternity. It was in Bab El Oued that the Gallimard brothers gave up music to devote themselves to literature, because Algeria awakens hidden passions. Karl Marx had his beard shaved off at a barber in the Casbah, to restore his real face and expose it in the sun of the bay closed to the natives. Even Albert Camus, trying to identify with Tipaza, confused reference points. He noticed the area of his own art only where Arab-Berber splendour was pushed to the rank of a fairground curiosity. His Algeria was in the antipodes of the Algeria of ‘Arabs’, those eternal supernumeraries trapped in the deep backstage. For me, Camus’ vision of my homeland remains opium-affected: too perfect to be possible. To see the jewels of our country, you have to get rid of stereotypes. Algeria only entrusts its secrets to reasonable visitors. Only then does everything arouse admiration. The land of a hundred deserts suddenly reveals its mirages and oases, and you feel as if in an enchanted dream. The Sahara opens its arms and horizons for you; the Hoggar lets you find yourself again; Tassili teaches meditation; stony deserts and ergs guide you through the inner world in which you are the perfect replica of authenticity. If your steps on the High Plains lead you to a hamada, you will find yourself in the heart of the most fraternal hospitality. In Algeria, people are more important than historical monuments. Every man or woman teaches a lesson of life. The Algerians suffered too much to bask in misfortune. They have learned to overcome pain so that nothing can be lost from the promise of tomorrow’s song. They are generous people that avoid resentment, ready to give away their last shirt for a friendly smile. Algeria is a paradox. It can be enchanting and traumatic at the same time. I think the country has not been able to digest the insults from its own children suffered during the Algerian War. After the apparent triumph over the colonial yoke, Algeria was surprised by the fact that it began to doubt its identity when freedom returns. Musicians of Algeria were discomforted by the silence of its dead poets. Algeria drew its magic from the skills of craftsmen, from the beauty and courage of women, and from the wisdom of scholars. In today’s songs, you will hear nothing but despair and sadness, contestation and self-denial. But do not be fooled – this is only an incubation period, a type of forceps delivery. The emerging nation will be born in harmony with itself, cleansed of toxins, refined, radiant like the gaze of a child staring at an aquarium. I can imagine that the old enchanted world is already germinating in hearts and minds. Constantine will stretch out its hanging bridges like shoulders breaking clear days; the Djurdjura mountains will carry the Berber song as high as prayer; Algeria will regain all its myths and holy patrons; Oran will revive the joy of living in its bazaars and esplanades; and Tamanrasset will be the capital of dreamers again because nothing and nobody can stop the hope being reborn among the chorus. When I think about my country, I see one by one all the important moments that strengthened my beliefs: Algeria is a phoenix and a salamander at the same time. No fire will destroy it; no ashes will quench the smouldering hope. Nostalgia is a harbour in a world that no longer exists. This can be sad, because it refers to something that rocked our souls and left without warning, but it is our task to find the traces of things that are valuable to us. Those who seek their salvation ultimately find it. Each nation has its own ancient demons but does not make a demon of it. On the contrary, it is through misery that we reach humanity. Algeria gives you the opportunity to be reborn. Many newcomers, travellers and adventurers admit that my country has changed their way of thinking, and they feel that interactions with Algerians have helped them to become better people. We are a fraternal nation that likes foreigners; we are helpful and friendly to those who want to visit us. Get on a plane and come to any Algerian city. You will immediately feel at home here and, even better, you will be happy.
Yasmina Khadra