College Literature

Rachida :
Letters from Algeria

Adapted by Eliza McDonald and Jo Thomas

My country's future is uncertain.
From day to day, nobody knows
what will happen.
I've even begun to wish
for a terrible earthquake
so people will look to themselves
instead of killing one another,
they'll work together
to save human lives,
to help the people
who have been afflicted.
God forgive me,
I'm praying for it.
In Algeria,
no one dares say anything.
Rachida was scared but felt
she had to speak up.
"Show how we live now"
she told me when I left,
"I'll write."
Algiers, 10 November.
There's a water shortage.
Not a single drop for 10 days now.
I have to go 8 km in a taxi to get water. [End Page 56]
People are dying every day,
especially the young.
So when a kid isn't home by 8 pm,
we are worried sick.
Mohamed's trial is in December.
We still haven't got the exact date.
Rachida married at 14.
At 15,
she had her first son, Mohamed.
She became a nurse,
divorced, and took responsibility
for her 7 children.
I've always stood up
for the freedom of the individual.
People live as they choose.
I've had setbacks
because of the way
I brought my kids up.
Since they were little I let them
go their own way.
Whether they wanted to play,
be a footballer, a judoka,
an Islamist, a policeman,
or be unemployed.
Mohamed, the Islamist.
Samir, the policeman.
Abdelkader, unemployed.
Salima, the judoka.
Tarek and Amel,
both addicted to TV series.
They all live under the same roof.
Tarek and Amel struggle along
with their studies.
Samir is madly in love.
Salima left for Canada this morning,
with hopes of a gold medal.
World championship.
Hamilton 1993.
The best judokas have come
for this big event in Canada.
Algeria's judo hopefuls [End Page 57]
are warming up,
some of them with
well-founded medal expectations.
The hopes of the female team
rest on Salima alone.
A double challenge
for this Muslim girl,
whose religion forbids sport
and whose country
the West watches with concern.
Her first fight is against
a young Bulgarian.
At 18, Salima is used
to world competitions.
In 90, in Mauritius,
she won the gold medal
in the African Games,
the bronze medal
in the 91 World championship,
and came 5th
in the Barcelona Olympics in 92.
Salima began her career here,
in this suburb of Algiers.
Not many other young girls dared
stand against family pressures.
Mothers rarely let their daughters
practise a sport.
I had lots of problems
because of Salima.
It's only because she was a success
that Salima was accepted.
If she'd failed, even her brothers
would've avoided her.
I still manage
to make the kids obey me.
Particularly now, it's very hard.
The boys find it very difficult
not to raise their voices
against their mother.
But I manage.
I think this is because of [End Page 58]
their basic education.
I taught them respect
and love for God
and their parents.
Only a few seconds
before the end of the fight.
The Bulgarian is ahead in this heat.
The Bulgarian has made
a decisive move
and with this defeat
Algeria loses its chance of a medal.
No one in the Algerian team
has got past the first series.
A setback for the team
whose spirit is undermined
by the political atmosphere
prevailing in Algeria.
Reportedly, three athletes
defected during the games.
We don't know yet if they'll ask
Canada for political asylum.
To be 20 on the housing estate
means living in poverty,
boredom and lack of privacy.
At 20, your life is at a dead-end
if there's no work,
housing or marriage.
To be 20 is to be rejected,
a victim of politics,
trapped by two forces.
Here, bullets, whistle past your ears.
Everyone of us has been affected,
each family.
And the sportsmen and women . . .
suffer from our political situation,
men and women alike.
They can't ignore it.
It's impossible
not to be affected by it.
Well, now she is in Canada;
she'll come back tomorrow [End Page 59]
and she'll want to know
what happened while she was away
and she'll be told.
We had a moment of . . .
weakness. . . .
Now she will have
to go through it too.
Because her country has changed,
and they're too young
to know about war.
My opinion as a coach is
that she was tough with the boys.
She hurt them.
She hurt the champions
who were with her.
She really did.
They were the same age.
And she hurt them.
Because she was aggressive.
She made them cry.
They are champions
and she made them cry.
He thinks she's not as good
since she has been in love.
She is with her fiancé
and she's not as flexible.
Not as before
when she was a boisterous girl.
Is she so fixed?
—She's dependent.
—She's changed.
—She just sits there.
—He won't let her move.
She's not like before.
If she makes a mistake or. . . .
She can't make decisions anymore,
she can't decide alone.
For instance, if she wants
to come back here,
to train here in Borjekipen,
Meziane says no. [End Page 60]
His training's in Algiers
so she has to go
and train where
her future husband is.
Why did I encourage her to do judo?
I couldn't encourage
the boys and not her.
The boys ran away,
because Salima was one girl
among all boys.
For them, here in Algeria,
this was too much.
She wasn't supposed to do sport.
But Salima resisted.
Samir was here one day,
with a fractured leg.
He broke his plaster and went out.
"I can't stay
with Salima
fighting boys. I'm not a man
anymore. I have lost my honour."
Her future?
First, I wanted her to have
what I couldn't have.
I asked her to persevere.
To win the World championship
and her Olympic thing.
She could have received
social benefits.
Maybe she would have had a reward,
enough money to help her
to get out of this hole.
Hurry up!
Go and get her.
They always wait
for Salima to return,
she's the only girl to travel.
It's through her eyes that
the local women see the world.
Tell me what happened.
I . . . in the first heat. . . . [End Page 61]
You lost the first series?
You know,
I could have won easily.
I am very tired.
Salima's father lives nearby,
on the same estate.
He has always let her
decide for herself.
We stay up until midnight
but we don't even see you on TV.
I'm not a good Muslim.
If I was, I would do
what God says.
I mean,
I pray regularly and all that,
but I don't wear the veil. . . .
It's a requirement, I have to.
—Will you?
Sooner or later.
What stops me is my sporting career.
Otherwise,
I would have done it years ago.
My eldest brother Mohamed
is a great Muslim now.
He sacrifices everything to Islam.
Once, Mohamed gave me some books
and I decided to stop.
I thought, that's it,
I must quit.
Then I met Meziane
and one thing led to another. . . .
Meziane is a strict Muslim.
A good Muslim.

For instance, when abroad,
he only eats clean meat.
He is a faithful Muslim.
If I wear the veil,
I'll do it out of love. . . .
Inchallah, sooner or later.
In fact, even Meziane agrees [End Page 62]
I should wear it.
Salima has such strength of character.
It's wonderful but she's weakening,
because of her married life.
Because Desmani is little by little
getting a hold on
my daughter's way of thinking.
He's the one in command
and she depends on him.
She has no say and
this is a disappointment to me.
A great disappointment.
I don't like it.
Desmani is very nice though.
But it's a question of honour.
A man's honour.
And here, a man's honour. . . .
You've got no idea.
Quite something!
Muslims make you think
Islam wants to shut women away. . . .
But that's not it.
Muslim women are normally
very happy.
Especially married women.
What more can I ask for?
I am with my husband.
I have my children,
I follow the Muslim faith,
I do everything to give my children
a good education,
that's my only concern.
My problem is not being free
to go out
and wear nice clothes.
What I want is to be
a good mother and housewife.
He says he's dreaming
of a large family,
a family of 7:
5 boys, myself and him [End Page 63]
sitting at the table, having a meal
talking together. . . .
5 good Muslim boys.
Yes, he's always said
that's what he wanted.
Good Muslims, brought up my way,
well behaved.
Isn't Salima a good Muslim?
She's the almost perfect Muslim.
Almost perfect.
Because she prays and behaves
like a Muslim woman.
She does all the things
a Muslim woman must do.
There are still a few things. . . .
I love my religion.
She loves Islam, very much.
In fact, she's going to wear the veil,
very soon, she will.
Then, she'll quit sports. It's over.
Are you happy about it?
Very.
I'm looking forward to it.
If I'd had my say,
she'd have done it long ago.
Meziane has a principle,
he doesn't force you
to wear the veil.
But you must wear it with conviction,
with love.
He could force his sister,
me or his mother maybe.
But he knows that when he's away,
his sister can take it off,
she can put make up on with the veil
and so can I,
I'm not asking much from her
as a woman.
I ask her to comply with
her duties as a woman
who respects her husband. [End Page 64]
What are these duties?
I mean, when dressing,
to wear the proper clothes.
For instance when going out,
to walk in the street
in the proper way.
To obey her husband.
Does Salima obey?
I don't have to ask her,
she does automatically.
She knows her limits
and her rights towards me.
And if not?
I throw her on the judo mat
and I beat her.
That's all.
If Salima has decided
she'll wear the veil, let her be.
Amel also made the decision.
And then,
when she realised she could not
go swimming, she took it off.
I told her:
"You can't wear the veil in winter
and not in summer.
It's impossible."
She thought hard about it for two days,
and she'd worn it
without asking my advice.
I was against it.
For me, wearing the veil
is sacred.
You can't take it off afterwards.
You must follow the Way
and reach towards God.
At one stage in the 90s,
the Islamic Front
was very popular.
Wearing the djilbel and the veil
was in fashion.
And now in 93, [End Page 65]
I think 50% of those wearing the veil
have taken it off.
They walk like this, like me.
The use of the veil or the headscarf
is one of God's commandments.
I must say it is strict.
But I can't abide
by this commandment. I just can't.
I can't see the difference
between a veiled woman and me.
Islamic Salvation Front Congress.
Algiers, November 1990.
God grants you success
and leads you to the way,
He gives you a home in Paradise.
Prayer helps you solve your problems
and protect yourself
from your enemies.
In it you'll find
your soul's repose.
In January 92,
the Front was credited with 80% of
voting intentions.
February 92,
a state of emergency was declared.
March 92,
the Front was banned.
Today, possessing this document
incurs the death penalty
for breaching State security.
In 10 years,
10,000 mosques were built in Algeria.
There are 3 mosques
on Rachida's estate.
Mohamed has been an Imam
for nearly 5 years.
He was saying his prayers
at the age of 3.
But this change,
this drastic change. . . .
He no longer wanted to watch films [End Page 66]
or listen to music.
I think this is because of
his study of Islam,
because of the books
I gave him myself
when he dedicated himself
to his religion.
I had to help him because
he wanted to follow
the way to salvation, the way to God.
These books were quite expensive
but I got them
for the love of God as well as
for the love of my son.
This is Mohamed
before he became a religious integrist
I'm stroking his beard
and mocking him gently.
I said:
"Your beard doesn't look nice."
This is him.
He's always had these sad eyes.
Everyone's having fun except him.
Mohamed, the holy man.
Samir, the policeman.
Rachida forbade the brothers
to talk politics,
to have peace in the family.
Samir and Mohamed led separate lives
ignoring each other
in this tiny space.
Then came the political division.
Rachida threw them out
and told them to be responsible
for their own beliefs.
Yes, I asked my mother
for her opinion.
What did she say?
She said it was my life,
it was up to me.
I told her I'd decided [End Page 67]
to be a policeman.
She told me not to. . . . I don't know.
She helped me, that's all.
When I want something,
nobody can stop me,
or tell me what to do.
But I'll accept the consequences.
She let Mohamed go
his own way too.
She said: "Do as you wish."
Well, Mohamed. . . .
When he grows his beard
or when he prays,
that's all right.
You have a good wage?
Yes.
That's why he married early.
You're getting married in August?
Inchallah.
On the 13th or the 14th.
Inchallah.
Where will you live?
I don't know.
Perhaps they'll give me a tied house.
It depends on what's available.
They give priority to the policemen
living in a "hot zone."
Did you get one?
We are 8th on the waiting list.
We all love Islam. All of us.
And they're all faithful,
those who are dying now
are all faithful.
They are the integrists. . . .
Mainly policemen are dying
and they are all faithful.
In their own way, of course.
You fear for your family?
Oh yes!
Samir the policeman
and Mohamed the holy man [End Page 68]
are 22 and 23 respectively.
Now to survive, you must choose
which side you're on
and expose yourself on the front line.
Somebody rang.
They said:
"Tell Rachida that in the crowd,
her son got a stray bullet."
I went to the hospital.
I thought they wouldn't do anything.
My son was in a coma.

I stayed with him,
in my nurse's uniform.
I was allowed to stay
because I was a member
of the Health Service.
When Mohamed came
he said: "Don't worry." He was
so pale I thought he was dying.
I thought I could have him
back home after the operation.
In fact I didn't get him back at all.
Mohamed the Imam has been in jail
for one year without a trial.
Samir heard that Mohamed
had been tortured for 13 days.
He paid the legal fees
for his defence.
I talked to his lawyer who said
he would be released, inchallah.
Because
there's no evidence to suspect him.
He's got nothing to do with it.
They just want him to say
he saw what happened,
he saw the terrorists
when they shot the policemen. . . .
That's enough.
Stop.
Can we change the subject? [End Page 69]
He was very true to himself
and to the others.
He hated lies.
That's why he's in jail.
I think that's why.
When he was wounded, he got up
and said:
"I am a true follower."
It's because
the people think that those
who are for the religion are killers,
that he had to go through this.
But it's not true.
Well, I'm not saying
there are no killers,
but nobody knows
who the killers are. No one.
No one can be so certain and point
at people,
integrists or government supporters,
nobody can tell.
Mohamed has always respected me.
He's always shown his affection.
He wasn't ashamed.
He's nearly 6 foot tall
and when I met him on the bus,
with his beard and his djellaba,
he kissed me, and I didn't wear
a djilbel or a headscarf.
He wasn't ashamed of me.
At the mosque, with people,
in professional circles
where he studied,
whenever I visited,
he kissed me in front of everybody.
I was his mother
and he loved me as I was.
He never forced me to wear
a hijab or a djilbel.
He never tried to stop me
from watching TV [End Page 70]
or listen to music, never.
He was making his point
little by little.
Very slowly.
He's ever so patient.
He had a way with us.
Once I mentioned his wife:
"I'm not sure she has got the faith."
He said:
"She hasn't got a strong faith,
but with my love,
I'll breathe
a faith as strong as mine into her."
And I think
he succeeded with his wife.
He had a little conflict with me
because I can't
come to terms with. . . .
It's not a headscarf
that will make me believe
or give me faith.
Because I've got faith already.
God is in me.
I believe, very strongly.
And it's not by my wearing a scarf,
a hijab or a djilbel
that people will see me as a believer.
It's not true.
In the name of God
this dress is considered
as the Islamic dress.
It's a Muslim woman's duty
to wear this garment, the djilbel,
as well as gloves and stockings.
This is the Sheria's rule.
Since the age of 11
I have followed the rules
and worn the hijab.
I've finished!
I can see Mohamed every two weeks.
It's very painful for me [End Page 71]
when I go to the prison.
I wait all day long
to see him for just 5 minutes.
We are happy for those 5 minutes.
When the bell rings,
I go to pieces.
We speak about our baby,
trying to guess whether
it's a girl or a boy.
To be honest, I prefer girls
but my husband wants a boy.
So. . . . I want a boy too.
Actually,
the little soul who will come,
God willing,
will automatically be educated
according to the Sheria's rule.
I will not allow him
to listen to music.
The Sheria forbids it.
It's a sin to listen
to music or songs.
Algiers, 15th November.
The baby was born at home at 17.40.
He is absolutely beautiful.
3 days after his birth,
Amel and I took Mouad
to visit Mohamed in the prison.
I asked him how he was
and then I unwrapped Mouad.
What a shock it was!
Mohamed opened his eyes wide
and cried Mouad's name.
Then he threw himself face down
on the ground in front of everybody
and praised Allah 3 times.
He stood up, crying with joy,
banging the glass between us.
He was like a baby himself.
Soon Mohamed and I fell out
over his baby. [End Page 72]
Mohamed said he'd educate him
his way.
I said: "In that case,
he won't visit his grandma."
Of course.
But, if he comes to his grandma,
he'll see another way of life.
Mother,
—Do I look all right?
—Yes, you look as you should do.
What's going to happen now
is that I'll let him do
all sorts of things.
I'll bring him up my way.
What's your way?
My way is to love God and religion,
it's to be free.
For example,
not to renounce the world.
To see what's happening in the world,
watch TV and listen to the radio.
So that come the 21st century,
you're not left behind.
Mohamed, a Muslim,
Samir, a policeman,
Tarek will soon be a pop singer.
If I stop studying, yes.
I'll go away, if I stop studying,
If I don't pass my A levels,
Because there's nothing for me
in this town, in Algeria.
I'll do nothing,
I'll sit at home like a good boy.
And if I go out, then
I'll become a yobbo.
A man is nearly a sultan,
a king in his house.
He can say whatever he wants,
whether right or wrong.
He must say what he likes,
even if. . . . [End Page 73]
And the woman must not complain,
she must shut her mouth
and stay in her place,
otherwise, she'll get a beating.
A single woman here in Algeria
is easy prey.
I hide from my kids I'm at risk,
because a single woman
must show she's strong.
If I'm short of money to buy food,
I don't tell the kids.
I borrow money
and I prepare a real feast.
Then I watch them eating
and I feel so relieved.
Fatima was abrupt.
She used to storm out
of her room and switch the radio off.
She's stopped doing this
because Mohamed told her:
"If you don't want the music,
go to your room
or the kitchen
and let them listen to it."
He's flirting with Agnes
like a maniac!
What makes you think so?
It's as plain as the nose
on your face.
He's putting on his great act.
And you're not jealous?
Good evening ladies and gentlemen.
Following Mustapha Abada's
assassination
the president of
the State High Committee, Ali Kafi
offers his deepest sympathy
to the press.
Mustapha Abada was shot in the head
and died from his wound.
The murderer ran away. [End Page 74]
Mustapha Abada is the 7th journalist
to be murdered.
It used to be a paradise here.
We were not afraid
to stay out until midnight,
there was nothing to worry about.
That was in the past unfortunately.
Now I'm always scared at night.
Since the curfew, the police
have come at night
to check if there are people
on the streets.
They can hurt people.
They entered the neighbour's house,
they searched the place
for weapons. I could hear their steps
in the walkway.
It's the way they walk, their shoes. . . .
It's so noisy.
It's dangerous here,
really dangerous.
It's risky at night.
Maybe a stray bullet.
I could be killed by a stray bullet.
So I'm scared.
Algiers, 20 November.
The clock rings at 5 am
but I can't wake up.
Prayer. Breakfast.
My neighbours and Fatima heard
the racket the soldiers made.
Around 2 am, there was a raid.
People are crying.
They say that all those
who were taken
have been killed
and the bodies left for all to see.
I can't believe it.
I put up with it
and go down for a walk.
I must suffer [End Page 75]
the people's tears and cries.
These people do nothing wrong.
I mean, they have
no real political involvement.
They hear the rumours and watch TV.
That's all.
They're just workers,
they sweat 8 or 10 hours at work
and go home.
These men and women are exhausted.
At night they just sleep.
And they're scared.
Scared stiff.
No one knows why they're scared.
That night, 11 men aged 15-35
were taken at random.
They were woken up and executed.
Their bodies were left in the road.
The army's justification:
Reprisals against people
suspected of supporting terrorists.
I saw them, one by one.
At the morgue,
I identified them myself
because there were no names.
As they were all neighbours
I recognised them.
They'd been given numbers
and I gave them back
their full names.
I was like a robot.
I felt empty.
It was raining and I was numb.
I was too depressed to feel anything.
That day was marked by grief.
I don't know why this country
has gone downhill so much.
Nobody expected it.
Absolutely no one.
We were building our future.
The young were eager for success, [End Page 76]
they wanted to become doctors,
engineers,
astronauts and scientists.
We strived for it.
And all of a sudden,
everything collapsed
and nobody knows why.
Nobody knew who was what.
It was total confusion.
Sometimes I think that
behind an angelic face
something vicious lurks.
When walking in the street,
I get worried.
If a car stopped,
I didn't use to give a damn,
I ignored it.
But now,
if a car stops behind or beside me
I take a quick look at it,
in case it's come for me.
I was hoping for a steady life.
Not to be rich but rise
above the average,
and above all,
I wanted to be loved.
It was my dream.
But it didn't come true.
I'm capable of love.
But with my pigheaded nature
people find me hard to love.
That's a fact.
That's why I love Mohamed.
I think he's the only one who
loved me and made sure I knew it.
I miss my boy.
I swear I do.
It's a dog's life because
I cry alone and must console myself.
My children find comfort
with their father. [End Page 77]
So if I happen to make
a comment or reproach,
they run away.
They know where to hide
and get a meal.
They're taken care of.
If not for him,
they would have
to face my reproaches.
We wouldn't be in this mess.
That's particularly true for Abdel
who is 21
and doesn't do a damn thing
all day long.
I wish I was a rich guy.
A car,
and a flat for myself.
Everything I need.
We've nothing in Algeria.
It's sports or nothing.
Here, the young Algerians go under.
Most of them become drug addicts,
and they've got nothing to do
and they drop out of school early.
They're idle and start messing about.
I've got no job
because I have no diploma.
I did a course in electro-mechanics.
But it went over my head
because it was in French.
I didn't understand Maths in Arabic,
so in French, you can imagine!
Electric circuits
and Physics in Arabic
were bad enough.
In French it was hell.
That's no good.
I like speaking in Arabic.
Here, people mix languages.
Instead of saying "el mara,"
I'll say "el bâtiment," [End Page 78]
I don't say "seldolieu"
but "la pharmacie."
Sometimes I don't know
the Arabic word for something.
I can't say the word. . . .
So I say it in French.
It's strange,
I don't know it in Arabic.
Many doors are closed.
For us, there are few openings.
There's only one door
that's open to us,
that's the barracks.
Barracks, where you enrol.
The barracks or the mosque.
There's nothing left,
no universe,
no opening.
Nothing.
Everything has been burnt down
and devastated for ever.
For ever, ever and ever.
We must mourn the dead.
They all died.
There are no living anymore.
We must mourn the dead.
Millions and millions
of silent kisses for the dead.
It's the depression. The crisis.
There's no work.
It's tough on the young now.
I ignore politics.
I don't like them.
Before the revolution,
I was interested.
Now I only try to feed myself
and find some sleep.
Survive.
That's all I can do.
It's nice but it lacks. . . .
What's "nana" in French? [End Page 79]
Mint.
I work at night.
My job requires this.
I work nights and mornings,
I have no regular timetable.
I work all the time.
Because here in Algeria,
it's a bit tough.
I'm a policeman and here in Algeria,
I don't know. . . .
Most policemen don't live at home.
They are afraid because
there are many terrorists here.
You're not afraid?
No, on the contrary.
I'm proud to be a policeman
here in Algeria.
Because I love my country
and I must defend it.
Algiers, Sunday 12.
The assassination of Samir,
my child, 22 years and 4 months old
took place on the 4th December,
at 2.15 am.
Men dressed as soldiers
banged at the door.
In the dark,
I woke Fatima, the children
and Samir also,
to reassure everybody.
After peering through the windows,
Samir told me
to open the door:
"They're soldiers,
don't be afraid."
I opened.
They grabbed Samir violently.
One man went to Samir's bed
and took the gun
from under the pillow.
They took him barefooted [End Page 80]
to the cemetery, 500 yards away,
with another policeman
and a mentally ill person.
I didn't scream because
one of the false soldiers told me:
"Don't be afraid, we'll send him back
after the identity check."
I thought I was in a dream
but Samir's bed was empty.
At 5, I went to the police station.
A woman was crying,
waiting to be told bad news.
I prayed and hoped
although I knew very well
that Samir had been shot
with his own gun.
At 6.40
The ambulances brought the bodies.
The first body wasn't Samir.
In the second ambulance
I saw 2 pairs of feet.
They opened the main door
of the vehicle.
Samir was in there, still warm.
He looked as if he was asleep.
He was shot in the chest
and the head.
His white sweater
was stained with blood.
I stroked his face and said:
"This is my boy."

Rachida is a mother. She lives in Algiers. Eliza McDonald and Jo Thomas are film directors. They live in Arles, France.