An English girl in Algiers ....PART II

Last day in Algiers before we head back north to our beloved island;

My parents house is situated within a 2 mile radius of three mosques, the muezzin calls for Fajr (dawn) prayer at around 5.20am, I lay in my bed staring at the fluttering shapes on the ceiling reflected by street lights and the faint moon light filtering through the scattered clouds, "Steph, are you awake?” she was also staring into space listening to the sound of the muezzin's enchanting voice and the melody of this call to prayer, 30 seconds later a sound of another muezzin starts and then the third, we sit up in shock, it feels like an ancient Chinese torture method, the sounds flooded the space and assaulted our senses with what has become nothing short of noise pollution. Equally annoyed and frustrated, we get up and follow the smell of coffee to the kitchen where my parents sat and enjoyed their freshly made brew whilst chatting after their prayers; we say Bonjour and I quickly start complaining about the noise, Steph couldn’t dream of uttering a word or commenting on the situation for fear of making a faux pas, but I tell her its normaaal to comment and question, nobody was going to defend the Tappage noturne we just witnessed, so my dad explains that when mosques are so close by they should agree on who would do the first call to prayer, that three unsynchronised calls to pray overlapping each other is not an inviting sound or a motivating one to leave bed at 5.20am,

Steph appears to be astounded to hear my father, a presumably devout Muslim, explain this, she expected him to defend the sacred call blindly and irrationally and take offence at our comments (hers and mine), so she sips her café au lait, sits back on her chair, seemingly relaxed and satisfied.

My mum looks at me and says; “don’t you want to try, now that you’re awake”, I look up from my coffee mug, look at my mum and then look at Steph, whose head was going between mum and me, as though she was watching a tennis match. I ponder the thought for a minute and head to the bathroom without saying a word, Steph follows behind and I explain that I was going to wash for prayer, she stands there shell shocked and without questioning then says: “Let’s have a go then”.

You wash your hands three times, your month three times, et cetera, we finish our ablutions, dry ourselves and head to the bedroom, I deploy Steph to borrow prayer mats from mum as I cannot look her in the eyes because of a silly pride not to give her the impression she convinced me of doing anything, I explain briefly to Steph what to do, and to follow my lead, so we cover up and raise our hands to the air, ALLHU AKBAR (1), we pray two ruk3at (bows) and finish Fajr prayer, I glance to my left to see Steph smiling, she gets up and says let’s do more, as a matter-of-fact there is more I say, we have to do the Soubh (morning) prayer, so we start again, two bows and two prostrations and we’re done, now raise your hands to the sky and ask Allah. Ask him what? Whatever the hell you want, She, smiling joyfully exclaims: SCORE.

What do you want to do today? She wants to visit every famous mosque in the Capital, I look at her in astonishment and decide it was not a bad idea, Algiers boasts some of the most beautiful mosques in North Africa and nobody takes a slight interest in these amazing landmarks, should make for an interesting photo shot. My sister drives us around priding herself in her Schumacher-like skills, she doesn’t pass the opportunity to comment that it is like we’ve come to Algeria on a religious holiday. Steph remarks: so cynicism runs in the family I take it??

We park the car in downtown Algiers and start walking through the busy streets of the capital, it’s a sunny day as usual, sky is a clear blue, accentuates the blue painted balconies and windows on all the white buildings that distinguish Alger la blanche,

we stop many times to take pictures, but sure enough, we get the odd policeman waving us away or vigorously gesticulating for us to stop taking pictures, Steph looks at me and say “what the hell is he saying?” So I, true to my Algerian short temper, start screaming bladi bladi, tssalni?(2) he looks at me stunned and then throws his hand in the air in defeat, Steph laughs and follows with a loud Normaaal

We visit the Great mosque of Algiers or Djama’a al-Kebir near the Algiers harbour, it was prayer time, we were not allowed in, so we circle the beautiful edifice and discover it was built in 1097, take a few snaps then we get bored so we take a walk through the bustling street market heading to beb El Oued, past Dar Aziza bent el bay(3) a grandiose palace of Moorish architecture, built for Aziza daughter of the bay of Algiers during the Ottoman rule, not maintained to the best level, and is currently the office of the National Archaeology Agency, the typically self-important but equally friendly guard announces that it wasn’t open to the public, but we’re not the public I say, we’re journalists with the BBC, she’s English, he believes us and lets us in as far as the courtyard, from what we could see, it was dilapidated and shamefully dusty and worn, so we say merci and take our disappointed souls across the road to the beautiful Ketchoua mosque located at the foot of the Casbah, this, we discover it was built in 1612 but in 1845 during the French occupation it became the Cathedral of St Philippe until 1962(independence) when it was refurbished to become one of Algiers most prominent mosques, we cover our heads and climb the flight of stairs to enter the mosque, old men line the steps, presumably residents of la Casbah, we take a minute and sit with them, take in the atmosphere and chat about politics and religion, some are wearing a changais(4) which I recognise from when I was a kid, a symbolic outfit for Wled Alger (true sons of Algiers), and almost all wearing a arakiya(5), at the bottom of the stair, a few plastic baskets filled with bread baguettes, women in Hijabs stop to buy some on their way home, nobody paid attention to us, Steph is astonished that no one made her feel like a foreigner or unwelcome despite her ginger hair, I explain that they probably just assumed she was kabyle.

It was past midday prayers so the keeper of the mosque allows us in, we walk in sheepishly, our heads already tilted backwards admiring the edifice, breathtaking architecture, intertwining alcoves and arches, beautiful red carpets line the floor, an opulent chandelier ornates the ceiling, and a feeling of peace overwhelms us, Steph squats on the floor and prostrates, I stand there looking at her in disbelief and then realise she was having a moment with God, she stayed in that position for a few minutes, I join her on the floor, she rises with a smile, I ask if she was ok, she says she feels at peace, so I propose we pray tahiyat al masjid which is a prayer to salute the mosque, she agrees and adds: is this not the house of God after all.

So we raise our hands to the sky and pray in unison. We only stay for a few minutes; we thank the mosque keeper and leave feeling exhilarated.

It was past three o’clock in the afternoon, hungry and grumpy, we head back towards the harbour, stop for lunch at a café near Kitani in bab el oued, overlooking the sea, we’re served the plat du jour, roast chicken with chips, an hors d’oeuvres and a bottle of Hamoud boualem(6), Steph is overwhelmed and exhausted at the same time, but her eyes are wide open like an exited little girl, she photographs everything she sees, takes a picture of the young waiter who is working here during the school holidays, his name is Omar, she tips him a generous 100 dza (aprx 1gbp), he shyly declines it, Steph flustered, doesn’t understand why he would reject her tip, so I explain that Algerians don’t expect tips and are not used to that, tipping just does not have a strong presence in our culture, but it is changing, so she copies me and pops it in his apron pocket, we say goodbye and leave.

Back at home, last supper with the family before heading back to London the next day, my mum makes my favourite meal, a tagine of chicken with green peas, I was always a grateful child my mum confesses, I don’t hide my pleasure when I eat, hummm and more hummm, my sister looks up at me from her plate, in disgust and says: bal3i (7)

To be continued...

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(1) God is Great = is proclaimed during the prayer at least 5 times
(2) bladi = my country, Tssalni = I do what I like.
(3) House of Aziza daughter of the bay
(4) Changai suit, is a working men’s blue suit that became a symbol of true Algerois
(5) arakiya: Islamic skullcaps worn mostly to mosque.
(6) Hamoud Boualem: Local award wining lemonade – can also be found in London

(7) shut up