Another Great Aunt came over and told 4 more folktales. So far the women I have asked who know the folktales are more than willing to tell them—in fact seem flattered that the American Granddaughter has taken an interest in one of the oldest parts of our culture. Tonight the other grand children (understand Grandchildren in their 20s) left as soon as the story telling began. Which of course means that there will soon no longer be anyone to carry on these stories. My Great Aun
t said that when her kids were young you could scare them or teach a lesson with a folktale—now she says they don’t believe in imaginary worlds anymore.
*
This morning everyone was saying “did you hear the gun fire last night? Towards the road that leads to Beni Douala?” That’s my family’s village. The day before yesterday terrorists held two women hostage in an apartment building in the area near Tizi Ouzou called la Nouvelle Ville. The police shot one of the men and the other ran away. But these are incidents we read about in the newspaper and even though they are happening close by they feel completely distant and separate from my daily routine here. When I widen my eyes or say Oooh that makes me nervous everyone says “how is that different from the horrible things we read about in America? People getting shot at school? Or in a shopping mall? Or at a church? You just don’t use the word terrorist for those things.”
And then it turns out all the noise that everyone thought was gunfire came from firecrackers up the street. Dozens of little bitty firecrackers.
*
I came home for the afternoon coffee yesterday and was met by my uncle who said that my aunt had lost her tooth in her lunch at work today. “Make her laugh, she’s in a foul mood.” To repair a lost tooth costs as much as one month’s pay. Last night, standing waiting for the water to boil for my evening tisane my uncle comes home from work lugging a big plastic bag--the day’s garbage from the hotel where he and my aunt work. He sets it down in the middle of the kitchen and says: “I’m going to find her tooth.”
*
I have to give props to my uncle as the only man I have ever seen wonder the streets of Tizi Ouzou with his son in a stroller. He refuses to take out the new stroller. He says: “the new stroller is really strong and well built—it’s not fit for the tough broken up streets of Tizi Ouzou. I prefer this old rickety one that could break any minute…” All the same, he’s not ashamed to be seen taking his son for a walk around the neighborhood in an old dirty stroller that is so low to the ground it forces him to bend halfway over.
t said that when her kids were young you could scare them or teach a lesson with a folktale—now she says they don’t believe in imaginary worlds anymore.*
This morning everyone was saying “did you hear the gun fire last night? Towards the road that leads to Beni Douala?” That’s my family’s village. The day before yesterday terrorists held two women hostage in an apartment building in the area near Tizi Ouzou called la Nouvelle Ville. The police shot one of the men and the other ran away. But these are incidents we read about in the newspaper and even though they are happening close by they feel completely distant and separate from my daily routine here. When I widen my eyes or say Oooh that makes me nervous everyone says “how is that different from the horrible things we read about in America? People getting shot at school? Or in a shopping mall? Or at a church? You just don’t use the word terrorist for those things.”
And then it turns out all the noise that everyone thought was gunfire came from firecrackers up the street. Dozens of little bitty firecrackers.
*
I came home for the afternoon coffee yesterday and was met by my uncle who said that my aunt had lost her tooth in her lunch at work today. “Make her laugh, she’s in a foul mood.” To repair a lost tooth costs as much as one month’s pay. Last night, standing waiting for the water to boil for my evening tisane my uncle comes home from work lugging a big plastic bag--the day’s garbage from the hotel where he and my aunt work. He sets it down in the middle of the kitchen and says: “I’m going to find her tooth.”
*
I have to give props to my uncle as the only man I have ever seen wonder the streets of Tizi Ouzou with his son in a stroller. He refuses to take out the new stroller. He says: “the new stroller is really strong and well built—it’s not fit for the tough broken up streets of Tizi Ouzou. I prefer this old rickety one that could break any minute…” All the same, he’s not ashamed to be seen taking his son for a walk around the neighborhood in an old dirty stroller that is so low to the ground it forces him to bend halfway over.
3 comments:
This is definitely an adventure! Thanks for keeping up this blog so far! Its interesting to hear you at home and not at home at the same time...
Jonell
I enjoyed the little details about your trip. Keep sharing what you can share. You always find a way to make it funny.
What a very interesting blog. I've read your latest entries and have now started at the beginning and intend to finish reading the whole thing this afternoon!
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