Advertisement
Published: September 10th 2006
Edit Blog Post
After breakfast, Habib, Halima and Mami and I took the taxi to Sidi Kada, 20kms from Mascara, the little village where Habib had grown up. I was decked out in "disguise" LOL. Before we went Halima had a great time dressing me up. She had said that I couldnt' go looking like a European as it would be too outrageous for the villagers who had never seen anything like it.
I was first dressed in a lacy blue dress, then a scarf and the burqa which went from my head to the bottom of my dress. She finished me off with jewellry. Habib was laughing so much, saying "if they could see you now back home!" We found a taxi straight away and soon we arrived in the village and walked into the one roomed house of his parents. As usual of all Arab women here, they were all sitting around on cushions with tea and eats. Habib's mother has been lame for a few years and can't walk. After tea and biscuits, we women all went to the Hamam - the communal baths, while Habib stayed back with the men.
As usual all the women crowded around me with many questions, ie "Where is your mummy and daddy?" ... "Why dont' you wear makeup?". In the changeroom, an old lady came up to me and applied kajal - black eyeliner around my eyes - much to the amusement and approval of all the women in there.
Dressed up in all that gear again, we returned to Habib's family home and I was greeted by his father, but it was only for a minute as the women shooed him away from the women's section, as most men are.
Next we got a taxi and took Habib's mother to a holy place, where she believed she might be healed. The men carried her into the car and off we went. Some time later we came to a small mosque like building on a hill top that was beautifully painted. They carried his mother up the hill and Habib said; "Follow them and do whatever they do." The place smelt of incence and there was a large box covered in carpets in the middle. Habib explained to me later that 'Kada' was a prophet who lived about 300 years ago and he is buried there and people still believe that he can heal by visiting his shrine. We sat next to the carpeted box and Habib's mother made scooping motions of the carpets onto her legs, as though scooping the healing forces onto them. As instructed by Habib, I did the same thing.
But I found the incence a little unbearable so I went outside and, standing up on top of the hill, with the breeze tugging at this unfamiliar cumbersome sheet I was wearing, I felt as though this whole scene was surreal. Here I was in the middle of Algeria .... in arab clothing and a burqa. As if to add to this sense of disorientation, an old man in white clothes and an orange beard approached me and said; "Salam" and put his hand on his heart, as though I were a local.
As we were leaving, two old me sitting in the corner were saying something like "Ha Sheva" ... which Habib told me means "Health unto you".
When we got back to Habib's parent's house, his mother was carried back inside. Habib was shooed out and there were about 15 women in there plus children. They had arabic music blaring on the stereo and some of the women were dancing. They said; "Take your burqa off! We want to see you!" Suddenly, I felt overwhelmed by everything, and I clung tight to the burqa around my chin, and shook my head shyly. This was all a bit too much and I felt suddenly overwhelmed. Now they were all looking at me, concerned, which made it worse. They wanted to help me feel welcome and relaxed, but I looked troubled. Someone said; "Change the music!" So Michael Jackson was put on, and again they looked at me, to see if that was the right thing. I felt I was going to cry. Someone pulled the burqa off my head and that was the last straw. To the tune of "Thriller", I ran out, crying! It was all too much ... too strange and weird. Noone knew where Australia was, never mind that there was a language called English! Habib was my only portal to sanity, but where was he? They all came running out after me asking me questions.
Habib was fetched by some chidlren and came running immediately. "What's wrong?" he asked. I didn't know ... I couldn't understand it myself at the time. So, I simply said that I had a headache. I apologised profusely for crying in front of his mother and running out like a lunatic, but they kept reassuring me and I felt safe now sitting next to Habib holding his hand in taxi going back to Mascara again.
Funny how I'd thought Mascara was a culture shock, but now it seemed like sanity after Sidi Kada. Habib often said he could get inside the head of both cultures; european and arab. Despite the culture shock and embarrassing reaction to it, I was having a ball - even feeling disorientated was strangely exhilarating.
We had dinner together and afterwards there was a wedding going on next door. This woman was going to be the second wife of a man. The wedding was going on in two rooms. One room for the men, which was a quiet, tea drinking, discussion orientated get-together. And in the other room was the women's wedding party, where loud music was blaring and dancing was happening. Habib broke cultural rules and hung out with me in the women's wedding room.
I got talking with the bride, curious to know why one would ever want to marry a man who already had a wife. Without me asking her this personal question, she answered it. He was giving her this house, plus a huge suitcase of dresses and jewellry. That's all she needed to be happy.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.107s; Tpl: 0.01s; cc: 8; qc: 48; dbt: 0.0665s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb