Thoughts and impressions from my visit to Algeria, summer 2005

 Text and photos: Hilde Lund

This article was previously printed in my magazine ‘Navlenytt’, in 2005.
(These are my thoughts and observations at the time. People around me may have experienced things differently).

Finally, after 6 and a half years, I was able to travel to Algeria, and meet my Algerian partner’s family. I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous and had so many butterflies in my stomach before heading off on a holiday.

For 10 years, Algeria suffered from a senseless and very bloody civil war. The war broke out in 1992, when the Islamist party was about to win the State election. The government at the time decided that under no circumstance were they going to let that happen, and they cancelled the whole election. The Islamists obviously didn’t care for this, and the war broke out. It is only in the last few years (this article was written in 2005) that the country has become relatively stable and calm. More than 150 000 people were slaughtered during this very bloody war, both by the army and by the Islamists. There is hardly anyone in the country that has not lost someone, whether they be family, friends or acquaintances. Foreigners have hardly set foot on Algerian soil since 1992, as they were at the top of the list of targets for the Islamists, alongside all kinds of intellectuals; lawyers, journalists, teachers etc.
Now things are relatively calm and peaceful (in 2005), and the biggest, and very real danger is bandits who mug you in broad daylight. Algeria has a very young population, and officially the unemployment rate is 30%. The real number is most likely a lot higher, closer to 50%. Perfect conditions for crime…

We spent two and a half weeks in Algeria, and I got a first-hand experience of Arabic family life, with all its pros and cons, and of what life can be like for a respectable Muslim woman.

As an outsider, it is striking to observe how dual the Arabic society is. There is a very strong separation between the private and the public spheres, very different from in the West. This separation is visible everywhere; clothing, social interactions and architecture.

Homes are split into a public space and a private space. The lounge is the official room, where one receives visitors. A (male) guest will absolutely not go into the kitchen; that is the domain of the women of the house. This ensures that men don’t see the women of the household.

My partner had a very good friend that he had known since childhood. Their friendship had lasted for well above 35 years. My partner had never met or seen his friend’s wife, neither had any of their other mutual friends. This friend sadly passed away last year, and the friends decided to collect money to give to the widow. The rising of funds went well, but troubles ensued when they tried to hand the money over to said widow. They all agreed that the friend who best knew the deceased’s family should do the handover. He had caught a little glimpse of the widow many years earlier, when she was a bride, so at least he had a certain idea about what she looked like. When he did come to her house to hand her the money, the late friend’s brother accused him of trying to hit on the widow, and lure her into sin. He got in big trouble with her family, and had to appear at a zawia, a religious ceremony, to swear his innocence and good intentions.

This strong separation between the public and the private spheres is expressed in many ways. Physical contact between men and women is taboo, unless they are husband and wife. Still, people need body contact, so other solutions are found. It is not unusual that women hold hands and that men hold hands. It is a sign of great respect that someone holds your hand. I spent my two-weeks long stay, being held by my hand by my sisters-in-law and my nieces. Even though it was a compliment that they wanted to hold my hand, as a Norwegian with a VERY large personal space, it felt a bit over the top. Within the close family group everybody kisses on the cheeks, and kids are an excellent source of human touch and affection. They are constantly carried, held by hand, kissed, stroked and hugged by everyone; mothers, fathers, sisters, brother, uncles, aunties and cousins. At least until they reach 6-7 years, when they become too big for all this affection, and they start carrying, hugging, kissing and holding those who are younger than themselves.

Clothing is obviously also split into a public and a private version. This goes for both men and women, even though women are obviously most affected. One simply does NOT leave the house wearing one’s Bida’aya (house dress), not even to walk five metres down the street to buy milk. That is too intimate and private. One puts on a coat, or a djelleba, or changes to more formal clothing. This results in many changes of clothes during one day! I went with my partner to buy bread wearing my beautiful, full length bida’ya, and felt completely naked doing those 10 steps from the car to the shop. It was so uncomfortable to be dressed for the private sphere, in the public sphere. It felt like I was popping in at Coles or Woolies wearing nothing but my underwear. For women who wear the hijab, that obviously must be put on before they leave the house. At home they wear a little head scarf, and then they put the hijab on top of that when they go out.

The current fashion trend in Wahran seems to be coats or djellebas, with or without hijabs, and with or without ‘ajara. ‘Ajara is a white facemask that reminds me of a bird’s beak. There are also women dressed in Western  attire. A number of older ladies still wear the haik, a large, white piece of cloth that the women drape around themselves for modesty. The veiling of the women is a phenomena that has increased over the last 10-15 years, as a result of the rising influence of the Islamists and of the civil war. I spoke with a lady who told me that four years ago, EVERY woman would wear hijab. She did too, even though she hated it, because they didn’t dare do otherwise. Now she sees more western clothes in the streets, and she doesn’t have to wear the hijab. Her eyes were beaming with joy when she talked about not having to wear the hijab anymore. For some women, wearing the hijab might be for practical reasons, rather than due to religious conviction. Men stare, and if you wear the veil you make yourself a tiny bit less approachable.

For a while being an Islamist was quite fashionable, both in beliefs and fashion. That fashion has subsided after years and years of gruesome murders of women and children, in the name of God. A fashionable, correctly dressed Islamist wears a beard, gallabia and a little skullcap. For women, the Islamist fashion dictates that she is completely covered up: full length coat, long veil, face mask with or without an opening for the eyes and gloves. The preferred colour is black.

Algeria isn’t a popular tourist destination. Morocco to the West, and Tunisia to the East are the places to go for travellers. Because of the civil war and the systematic killings of foreigners, there has hardly been any foreigners in Algeria since 1992. A whole generation of children have grown up without seeing white people ‘in the flesh’. This has led to me being received in surprising ways. The men stare at all women, anyway, but in addition to the expected staring, I have been greeted with pure astonishment. I was at the market with one of my sisters-in-law, looking at a skirt. I was minding my own business when an old lady stormed over to me, grabbed me with both her hands and shouted at the top of her lungs: “Barbie!” I think that was a sort of a compliment…. One of the kids in my partner’s family, a 13 year-old boy, stared at me with wide open eyes when he saw me the first time and asked what this was. He was told that “She is European” and he asked “What is an European?”

Nobody in the family thought I could work and be useful. European ladies apparently don’t do house work. At one point, I had a load of dirty laundry, and I asked my sisters-in-law how I could clean it. They said that I should give the laundry to them, so they could clean it for me. I told them I would be happy to wash by myself, but they wouldn’t listen to that. When I insisted that I do the laundry myself, they said “We don’t have a washing machine, we wash by hand here”. I tried telling them that I have two arms, just like they do, but they weren’t convinced. When I finally got to wash, there were nine children standing in a circle around me, observing and commenting every little movement I did. I was quite the tourist attraction!

While in Algeria, I fell in love with a traditional dress called Cheddah. This dress comes from Tlemcen, west in Algeria. It was very expensive, so I wasn’t able to buy one. That might be a problem for more women than myself, because the photo studios made big business renting those dresses out, so people could get a photo in one. I was taken to a photographer, and was dressed and made up for my cheddah photo. It was a warm day, 33 degrees outside, and at least 40 degrees in the little indoor changing room with no air conditioning. I was dressed in layer after layer of thick velvet, while the sweat was pouring down my back. The jewellery and pearls weighed many kilos, the necklace was held in place by three harnesses. While I was in the process of getting dressed, a lady who needed photo for her ID card came in. She was very thoroughly covered up, in all black, no opening for the eyes in her face mask and with gloves on her hands. The photographer said that he would happily take her photo, but that she needed to remove her mask, so her face would be visible. The lady refused and said that she couldn’t do that, for religious reasons. The photographer insisted that she had to, the lady dug her heals in and flatly refused. The end of the story was that the photographer said that he could take her money and take the photo while she wears her mask, but that she would be coming back again later, because the authorities will not accept a faceless photo on an ID card. I have wondered about that later, what do you do if you refuse to show your face, neither in photos nor in reality? Obviously, you can’t get a passport or an ID card, but how do you take money out of the bank?

There was a small popular uprising against the banks when I visited Algeria. Islam forbids interest rates, but even in Saudi Arabia they have found a way to deal with interest that can be accepted by the religion. All of a sudden, people in Algeria had become very anti-interest. One of my sisters-in-law told me that she refused to accept interest on her saving account. The bank obviously has a duty to pay the going rate, so she gave the money she made from the interest to charities. That way, everyone was happy.

The family received me extremely warmly, way past my wildest fantasies. I am Norwegian, from a Christian country and background, I am a dancer and quite different from them in every way, as far as I can see, those are all very good reasons to be apprehensive about this new member of the family. But everyone accepted me with the most open and welcoming arms, and were very happy to meet their son’s / brother’s / uncle’s wife, at last. The words de-facto partner aren’t the most appropriate to use in a traditional Muslim family. Everyone went out of their way to make me feel welcome and accepted, spoiling me and giving me gifts. I really felt like a princess.

My partner comes from a modest and traditional Muslim family. As far as I could see, there were no issues with me not being Muslim. Still, the family took a lot of pride and joy in the fact that I can recite ‘Al Fatiha’, the opening sura of the Quran. I was immediately invited to fast with them during Ramadan, and it was established that I had the qualifications to pray, if I so desired. At times I felt like a circus act, being shown off to aunties, uncles, neighbours and friends: “Look what our European can do, she knows how to recite Al Fatiha!” Some were so moved that they had tears in their eyes. It was also greatly appreciated that I behaved well and decently, and avoided causing scandals of any kind. I dressed well and wasn’t in places where I shouldn’t be. Another Norwegian woman with an Algerian boyfriend had recently visited the same city I was in, and it was the talk of the town that she was spotted sitting in a cafe drinking tea. Her transgressions reached scandalous levels when she was observed at a bar, where she drank beer, and talked to men. “They say that they saw her in a bar!” To avoid gossip of any kind, we had the tea brought home to us, and enjoyed it in peace and quiet in the safety of our house.

I spent a lot of my time visiting Algeria at home with the family, because walking alone outside wasn’t an option for me. My partner’s mother and his sisters went out alone, but they refused to let me do the same because they were afraid something could happen to me. And to be fair, it could. However, I still managed to get out on a fair few adventures.

I tried Algerian beach life, as the only non-Algerian around. The beach was three kilometres long, but for some mysterious reason, every single young man on that beach that day, seemed to end up standing right in front of our parasol, talking on the phone, smoking or just looking their best, flexing their muscles. A makeshift street parade appeared right in front of our toes, where all the young men strolled back and forth, non-stop, staring openly at me. I suppose that was the closest I will ever come to being treated like a celebrity!

I was fortunate enough to be able to dance a lot with the family, and take lessons from the founder of the Algerian State Folklore Dance Troupe while in Algeria. My sisters-in-law are great dancers, and you don’t need much of an excuse to turn the music on and get dancing. Dancing is such a great way to bond with people, even when the language is a barrier.