One more thought, when these men meet Algerian girls out there, before realising they're Algerian, they could easily be attracted to them, would they change their minds when they realise they're Algerian and feel guilty of being attracted to their so called "sisters"?
Wednesday, 21 December 2011
One more thought, when these men meet Algerian girls out there, before realising they're Algerian, they could easily be attracted to them, would they change their minds when they realise they're Algerian and feel guilty of being attracted to their so called "sisters"?
Tuesday, 20 December 2011
Everybody’s panicking about New Years Eve plans, because we all know, if you don’t have cool plans that involve Taghit, Tamnraset (aka Tam – shoot me now), then you’re going to be crossed off the TchiTchi (2) list which the TchiTchi committee keeps updating but rumours are they are overwhelmed, the list is rumoured to be ever growing and the standards ever dropping…
There are reports of panic amongst Algerians, Tunisia is out of the parté plan, unless for a Mas’haf (3) convention, the French consulate has taken its leave and Libya is just not as fun as it used to be…La TchiTchi committee had to convene an urgent meeting to discuss - Le Reveillon 2011– Taghit is deemed mainstream now as more TchiTchi imposters have embarked the caravan to Taghit and everyone listens to Gnawi music now… Convention deemed it “like so last year and like totally unsuitable”, Tam is still vogue though, it’s extortionate, exotic and superior, but a new destination has to be found, the vodka is not going to drink itself, the gendarmerie would be bored, think of the police! Traditions must be upheld.
Caravan diverted to ….London baby!
Meanwhile, in London, Algerian Londoners are hating the cold December and the shopping frenzy, they shop online and all are partied out, they want to go home to Algeria and stay indoors with the family and the dog, eat couscous and sleep before midnight
So not TchiTchi….
(2) La TchiTchni = posh Algerian posse
(3) Holly Qu'ran
Thursday, 15 December 2011
Good friends, shit friends, needy friends, childhood friends, coffee friends, cinema friends, travel friends, work friends, sex friends, drinking friends and finally forced friends.
One day you wake up, after having spent a whole evening with a friend, a substantial amount of money matching what the "friend" wanted to do, you sit there; laugh and talk, all the while feeling a twitch at the back of your mind, but you discount it and continue having a "nice" time.
You continue with this, laughing at unfunny jokes, swallowing and nodding the condescending comments, humouring the know-it-all attitude, the emotional blackmail, the neediness, the blatant use of your time and kindness, but do you say anything? nope....
You continue being a good friend, by good friend I mean a push over, until one day you feel angry and resentful as to why you have to spend a minute more with this so called friend.
How many of you out there, find yourselves badgered into friendships with people who target you because you represent something they aspire to be, or you have something they need, like attention, help, time, love or simply financial gain and popularity.
You know how the saying goes; you can’t choose your family,Well then I am well bloody going to choose my friends, and since I am not 15, friendships don’t tend to form overnight and despite you having my phone number or address, knowing my birthday or my favourite meal doesn’t make you my friend unless I allow access…FROM NOW ON I mean.
I now know, all it takes is to say NO.
Yallah – al abarani barra as my dad says
Dz-Chick ….in a cleaning mood!
Yallah = come on
Al barani barra = The outsiders, out
Wednesday, 14 December 2011
I often declare proudly NOTHING, NAFINK I TELL YOU
But gloomy hormonal days like these make me rethink the answer and ….seriously, how many days a month do you suffer from hormonal imbalances? Because with me, it seems to be 25 out of 30. Hormones will be the death of me.
If I could turn back time, I would do just that;
If I could turn back time; I would wind back the clock to when I was 12 and developed a sweet tooth, I would have taken more pictures since my parents seem to have been busy making more children, I would have learnt to say NO, I would have prayed to be like Peter Pan and remain forever young and forever happy.
I would have known better and bought yahoo shares, I would have created facebook myself, I would have told Boudiaf he was about to be assassinated, I would have cheated on many a one exam, I would have told my dad I hated physics, let me play my damn Guitar, I would never have taken the first razor to my legs and made a mess of myself, I would have opened my eyes and avoided colliding with the lamppost that marked me for the rest of my life (mentally apparently – I’d gone a bit mad since), I probably would not have moved to London or have moved back after my studies had ended…so many regrets and so many things to do….but hey so much time still, I am only 34 right? Gold help us next year.
Unsurprisingly I never regretted starting this blog, this post I might reconsider however, when the cloud of hormones has dissipated and I’ve gone back to my “normal” self.
Dz-chick…in a probing mood
Wednesday, 7 December 2011
My Algerian dream was of moving back to Algeria, farm broccoli and Brussels’ sprouts and import Salmon which lets face it, sounds like hard work and I am Algerian, I like to know where my next income is coming from, I am not the one to take risks, I like to get paid at the end of each month whether I showed up or not, and I stash my money in the mattress bank.
Nowadays I dream of working in Algeria, get a job in Algiers at one of those big Banks in Hydra or some major Oil company that pays double my fucking London salary…seriously! I work my butt off; I pay exorbitant rent to live a poxy flat that I have to share with someone and their needy cat.
I am not done – I have to pay bills on top of that, water, electivity, gas and then come a series of taxes; Council tax, Road Tax, VAT on nearly EVERYTHING, TV Licence because you own a TV then you have to pay Virgin or Sky to rip you off with lousy Internet connection and a bunch of encoded channels that scramble on a windy day!
My little cousin, who has the IQ of a garden pest and who is about 10 years younger than me, has a job that pays almost the same as me after tax!! And I know this because in Algeria everybody discusses salaries in cafés, restaurants, buses, doctor’s waiting rooms, everybody knows everybody’s salary, your mum will boast about it when her friends come around, your brother will inform his friends as a reference and your friend will tell her other friend your salary not to sell you short. Good catch!
My little cousin who’s name is Celia - since when do we have names like Celia? - I make a point of calling her Sellia to bring out the Arabic in her,
She lives with her parents – rent free - no bills, utilities or taxes are imposed on her, her boyfriend pays for her phone bill (flexi) because she’s only supposed to be calling him! - Chuckles - she drives a brand new Seat Leon and doesn’t have to pay for petrol because the company gives her coupons to pay for her “commuting” – honey, 15 minutes drive to work isn’t commuting!
Sellia is getting married this winter to the young man by the name of Massinissa who sends flexis to her phone, he drives a black Audi Q7, lives in a Villa in Hydra (with a pool), his mother is a gynaecologist and his father is a high ranking government official, naturally, Massi has a great job, his job title is “Superintendant des operations internes et chargé de synthese techniques” (What??) and he makes around £7000 a month. Good catch!
Sellia tells me I ought to move back to Algeria, she’d introduce me to some “interesting” guys (by interesting she means rich and speak good French) and have me married by next year, all I have to do is bring my booty, my charisma, IQ, fun and my fur coat she wants, another inflicted tax…roouuuh
I tell her I am angry, cynical, mostly moody, and lunatic
I don’t even own my own flat and I am 34 going on 35. The jig is up! NOT a Good catch
Dz-Chick…Chief Operating of interactions and data Guerilla!
Wednesday, 30 November 2011
Tuesday, 22 November 2011
Gentlemen I suggest you look away now….
I am going to discuss handbags, yes, you read correctly, Handbags, I want to talk about my damn handbag because I am…..well…it’s worth it! (damn you L’Oréal)
They say once you go designer, you can never go back, and it’s absolutely true, so the ladies out there who are still happy with their H&Ms and Zaras, I advice you never go down the designer path, because you will be experiencing substance abuse issues and within 3 years, you will be staring at your house deposit, sitting in your wardrobe stacked in cotton pouches like some treasure saved for the cold days, as it were! And one day you will have no job and no money and you can’t sell your bags because you love them so much so you keep them with you and carry them around and that’s how you become the ‘Bag Lady’.
Lousy attempt at raising the moral above, I admit, so I am going to try again…
The content of a lady’s bag says a lot about her personality they say!
Today, my bag is Red, designer naturally (show off, yes but name dropper, NO), has 4 pockets, all full of treasures, content is as follows (gentlemen I told you to stay away):
Perfume, 2 phones (I am well dodgy), makiyage (that’s makeup for you), umbrella, Book, elastic bands, pair of spare (clean) knickers, tangled headphones, lip balm, hand cream, cleanex, purse (also red but not on purpose), 2 sets of keys (I am the janitor), oyster card, work security pass, gloves, ballet pumps (that’s flat shoes for you), a bottle of mineral water and a box of paracetamol (you never know when I'll need to fake a headache), and finally a pen which I stole from work.
So there, what my bag says about me is that I am a girl! Nothing more, nothing less. Don’t attempt to analyse me through my bag’s contents because it’s not relevant, I am crazy and my bag doesn’t reflect that, I am a control freak and a little OCD, the bag still doesn’t reflect that and neither does this blog, so …I told you so stay away!
So why women carry handbags, across the chests, on their shoulders or their arms, in blue, red or black is not relevant here, of course we know the colour, shape and design say a lot about our personalities, but the real reason for the bag is that it represents our safety net, we carry a little piece of our lives and our homes with us, we feel naked without it and that’s how the bag lady came to exist, she lost everything but could never part from her beloved bag(s).
Dz-Chick….if she were a bag, she’d be a Mulberry Picadilly!
Friday, 18 November 2011
If this statement is true, then my days should always be brilliantly productive, fun and easy (because you know I am… well, FIT), but they’re not.
This morning I scared myself, my reflection was something out of “one flew over the cuckoo’s nest”, had bags under my eyes, hair that would put Ozzy Osbourne to shame and generally looked dishevelled like I spent the night in a tumble dryer, so undoubtedly my day was going to be diabolical…it wasn’t.
So I had to rethink the opening statement, it had to do with something more powerful than ones attitude to his reflection in the mirror and everybody knows mirrors lie, so I had to admit to myself that it was none other than the ghastly hormones.
I am feeling increasingly resentful of these hormones that seem to have taken over OUR senses, this substance that determines our moods and urges, our pilosity and the blemishes that seem to sprout so timely before a date or an interview!
I find myself waking up everyday, wondering what my mood is going to be like, in fear, almost worried of the unknown, I have no control over it, lately I had to confess to being a lunatic and that sometimes (a lot) I talk to myself and I sometimes even think I am bordering on weird, I know I am talking for all women out there when I say this, how did we get here?
I remember simpler times when I woke up worrying more about what to wear (still do that) than about my mood, which was consistently chirpy, the times when I was a vivacious girl who was always always smiling, laughing or doing something fun, now I still hold the face with a lot of smiling and laughing but I fear that is just skin deep and that my happy self has been tainted with cynicism, disappointments and fears, so much so that my thoughts have turned morbidly dark.
You exercise, eat chocolate, meditate, detox, play music, think happy thoughts but the endorphin pumped through our system does not seem to be enough to overpower the negativity, only an intravenous of this so called “happy hormone” could work, unless the happy hormone got dumped, turned bitter and is on a vengeful quest! Then we have no hope in hell!
Hormones dictate our lives, attitudes and moods, throughout teenage years, adulthood and then through menopausal years! Where is the upside? You don’t get offered a seat on the train, you can compete in who can grow the best moustache (not me) and you don’t even get to be someone’s girlfriend, wife or mother!
I came to the conclusion that Hormones are in fact demons that inhabit our veins and whisper despicable things into our souls, they are evil but no exorcist can rid your of them and we all saw what became of Emily Rose!
Dz-Chick…morbidly; lovingly; bitterly; chirpily yours!
Tuesday, 15 November 2011
No one is forthcoming with any information as to what the purpose of the sprout is, the perpetrators don’t seem to be phased by it or by the attention (mostly laughter or puzzlement) they’re getting as a result of their facial disfigurement, very confused looks exchanged between the girls around the office but yet no answer as to what happened to the beautiful man who walks by our bank of desks everyday at 10am for his morning coffee, who ill-advised him to personify C. Chaplin! I feel like am walking through an FLN (1) bureau back in Algeria and want to shout! Where are your pot bellies!!
This reminds me of the time when all the girls on facebook wanted to confuse the boys and secretly agreed to announce on their status where they like to put their handbag when they get home, all the girls proceeded to posting the following status which baffled and excited men, who we all know have the maturity of 15 year olds (wink to a certain someone here);
“I like it on the bed” (really?), I like it on the chair” (my favourite), I like it on the radiator” (who does that?), I like it on the floor” (standard)! Yes we’re still talking about the handbag!
Or when we (the Ladiz) all agreed to announce a colour again as our facebook status, just a colour, pink, red, blue etc…men got further confused but it was none other than their bra colour in support for breast cancer research. I am just glad no one asked us to grow a monobrow for a good cause!
Well as it turns out, Movember moustache is an effort to promote men’s health and raise funds for prostate and testicular cancer, men sport the taches and women support their men by donating generously. So I stopped pointing and laughing at my colleagues and offered to sponsor their cause.
Dz-Chick….likes her man (which man?) non-moustachioed!
Movember official website - here
(1) Front de Liberation National
Saturday, 12 November 2011
Seriously! 4 years! What gives!!! And 3 exclamation points! Wow
I guess a holiday is in order, immediately if not sooner, but you know how it is, coming up to the end of year 2011, so many hard questions
What have I achieved this year?
Did I manage my anger, stress?
Did I do enough to be happy to turn 35? This one is out of line, nobody should be happy to turn 35 and to those who claim they are I say: MYTHO
Did I loose enough weight to fit into that dress I couldn’t afford? the one hanging in the “one day” side of the wardrobe?
Did I come close to meeting someone special? Answer is nope, unless you mean special as in crazy!
Will I make a “new year resolutions” list for 2012? NEVER
Will I look 35? Ask my surgeon in Harley street!
Will I ever meet someone lovely and kind and not totally crazy? I have more chances to meet Budha!
The point is, four years of writing has brought me so much criticism, many fans, many compliments, so many insults and a few admirers, some jealousy with a pinch of nastiness, the marks of a healthy blog I guess. I don’t know how long I am going to continue writing this blog, but if I do branch out, I will make sure to keep you updated.
Happy Birthday “Dilemmas of a single Algerian girl in London”, four already but you don’t look a day over 2.
Dz-Chick ….just like her blog, doesn’t look a day over 25!
Ps: haters: I know it’s hard but please try to contain yourselves! It’s a four year olds' birthday for Gods sake!
Tuesday, 1 November 2011
Thursday is like a cool chick, everybody loves a Thursday, she wears a skirt above the knee and has a lot of charisma, is playful and inviting, she tells you to “come out to play” and you would often oblige, she is relentless and leaves nothing for poor Friday who thinks he’s everybody’s best friend but in actual fact, he’s the dregs of the week, Thursday has sucked out the energy out of everybody and with “I can’t wait for Friday to be over” spends his day reminding people how cool he is because he’s bringing the weekend, but nobody cares, they’re all hangover and waiting for him to go away, besides Saturday has already stolen his thunder.
Dz-chick.....in the mood for cool Thursday!
Monday, 31 October 2011
In an ideal world (mine) people would be satisfied with a nod, a glance or a smile and wait until preferably after lunch to address me, never call my extension, only contact me by email, do not pretend to give me pressure with such things as ASAP and at your earliest convenience because to me that means: after I come back from the gym ON Tuesday , also refrain from asking for a read-receipt because you know I will never give you that satisfaction of knowing, when talking in the office, speak at a low volume that is acceptable at the cinema or the library, being on a trading floor is no excuse and when I am having my lunch at my desk and say sorry I am at lunch, I am usually not joking.
When later on you meet me at the water fountain, if I stand behind you queuing up it is not your queue to ask me about my weekend or give me the weather report because I really don’t care, I always carry an umbrella and spare pair of knickers
If you catch me on a good day, I promise to tell you how my weekend went as quickly and unenthusiastically as possible so that you can start telling me about yours, because we all know that’s really the goal, I promise to listen, nod and say wow cool if you make it quick so I can go back to my desk and mong
Fellow considerate, polite and interested parties; I ask you; should I consider it a rhetorical question from now on or bore you with my weekend details until you never ask me again? Or just suck it up and be nice! This is definitely a rhetorical question, I already know which way am going…
Sarah: how was your weekend?
Me: I don’t really want to talk about it; it gets a bit repetitive after the 2nd time
Sarah: well who did you tell; I’ll go and ask them
We both laugh because it’s ridiculous
By Thursday, comes the next question “any plans for the weekend?”
Are you just being polite or do you really care about my weekend? and if my plans are awesome, are you going to invite yourself along? Are you going to be jealous and start making up some story about “ice-skating in Somerset house with Will and Kate?” or my favourite “I was in Paris for the weekend” is that right? Did you get the Eurostar from Victoria then? Did you see the Coliseum?
By Friday, it’s a freaking circus of happy people and I am the clown, I am happy but only smile on the inside, I NEVER ask anyone if they have plans for the weekend because I don’t particularly care but I will happily chat to people as long as I get to talk about myself avoiding small talk because small talk is a waste of time and is only cool when I do it like: soooo you’RE tall!
This Mondays favourite water fountain subject: Clocks changing followed by Halloween talk– oh dear lord!
Dz-chick....strong coffee please!!!
Friday, 28 October 2011
He sits there with two Café Nero cups, one jingles with coins and one I hope has coffee in it but never got close enough to find out, I often make a point of stopping and offering a chocolate bar or a banana or some change with a “promise you won’t spend it on booze?”, but over the years any naïve effort to donate gets eroded by cynicism and distrust and you wound up saying muttering a wimpy cowardly sorry
How many of us walk by a homeless person every day and how many of us give generously or give at all? And moreover do you even notice them or have they become part of the background for you like the red telephone box or the Big Issue guy.
I often think, if I lost my job and had no money to pay rent and no where to go, would I not become homeless? How many out there are one pay-check away from being homeless?
Nobody is safe from homelessness; we might be lucky we have friends to count on and still have parents we can run back to, but a lot of people are not be so lucky and empathy is not everybody’s cup of tea…
What have you done to help a homeless lately? Do you feel it’s your duty to help? Most people believe the people on the street are homeless by choice or as a result of their substance abuse and addictions or for being ostracised by their friends and families, we are too busy judging instead of helping them.
Though we judge them and ignore them sometimes, we do have a kind of relationship with them, there is always a local homeless everybody gets to know, squatting by the cash point near Tesco or by the Tube station, cuddling up to his dog, the dog has a dummy or a cuddly toy and they sit there with their sad faces, making us (maybe it’s just me) melt at this sight and dig a little deeper into our pockets or lunch boxes. When you think you’ve given enough for the day or not in a charitable mood, you say sorry and it always amazes me how they remain polite (in London anyway) and smile and say thanks, God bless. Thank you for acknowledging them.
You know what I think, I think the homeless community in London specifically hold secret policies about how to be a London homeless, they seem to all be in agreement about how to treat us “punters”, they know being rude or ungrateful wouldn’t work, so their “elders” must have sat down and decided on what’s the best way to do it, after all a homeless person can only be saved by person who isn’t.
You might have had a different experience walking down Edgware road or some other street where a number of beggars (they are not actually homeless) who work the streets cradling babies and begging for cash to supposedly buy nappies and milk or get a train home or save enough for a night in the shelter etc… when you say sorry they either follow you until you cave in or they slur profanities or even spit at you (that’s assault you know), these organised gangs of professional beggars I do not empathise with or even acknowledge, because there have been reports (according to Westminster Council) of growing numbers of professional beggars who earn up to £300 in tax free cash a night to supplement their day jobs or re-do their kitchens (daily mail – I don’t read it I promise). Thus ruining it for the genuine homeless and needy people who actually in the streets freezing to death, but if you are a well-meaning giver you have to learn to make the difference and make sure your hard earned money is being put to good use.
Dz-Chick …. cursed with empathy
Wednesday, 19 October 2011
Latest life changing decision, purchase a flat in this impossible market turmoil, rent it, pack up and leave, move back to Algeria…as I fantasise about this with a friend from work over a cup of coffee in the kitchen, she confesses that all her friends are doing the same especially in view of the recent termination of their employment and their barren love life, they unanimously decided London was the issue. “we just can’t meet anyone”, “there are no men available”, “men are not interested in relationships anymore” despair… as I stood there looking at her, my mind wondered back to my fantasy apartment, “yeah stone grey walls would be so cool” I start thinking about the walk-in wardrobe when she yanks me back to the topic at hand, annoyed I inform her of the veteran status I acquired on the subject. I am the original single girl.
I have been raising the issue since Eisenhower… or since 2007, but have yet to come to any kind of solution as to this predicament, but surely when you live with something for so long it becomes like second nature, l fear single women will mutate and grow male genitals to compensate for the lack of men in their lives/systems like that kind of amphibians (frogs to be precise) that jump gender if in a predominately female population as a life saving or procreative instinct, with all the chemicals we consume and all the hormones pumped into our system through everything we consume, it could happen, it’s all part of evolution*
To conclude, if you are single and don’t seem to see an end to your dilemma (if you consider it a dilemma), don’t come complaining to me, do something about it, go back home and marry your cousin, change sexual allegiance or move to Utah and jump on the polygamist wagon or give priesthood/nunhood a go but don’t come to me for advice. I am the case study.
Dz- Chick …..let the soul of my relationship-dream RIP
Monday, 3 October 2011
|Couple on park bench by Heidi Mallot|
Upon a beautiful Indian summer day in London;
The wind in their hair, the sunshine on their skin, their eyes locked in a loving gaze, their fingers tangled and bodies in a tender embrace;
Me; sleeping on the warm and moist grass at a stalking distance, lips pursed tight on a flat line, my gaze burning into their backs through my sunglasses, I feel my toes digging into the ground, my toes hurt. Is it a pang of jealousy I feel, I wonder, or perhaps just irritation at the display of affection, I ask myself what is so annoying about public displays of affections, I wonder, if it wasn’t that it reminded me of what I don’t have. They’re a couple, I am not….Ok I am bit jealous.
I too want to embrace someone so lovingly, I want to have someone to love, to call when I am upset and vulnerable and ask for a hug or have something funny to say like the day my friend got utterly indignant because the shoes in the Vintage store were all used, or the day my boss asked me why I was talking to him in Arabic when I said “ca marche”
Then, it annoys me to hear couples use the “we”, “we can’t come”, “we don’t like Thai”, “we liked the movie”, “we’d love to see you”, since when being in a relationship has made people joint at the hip and their brains mashed together, what is wrong with being two individuals but with shared lives, beds, holidays, house, accounts etcetera.... Is it a misconception that men long for that separate togetherness and find needy women as attractive as cholera or is that an urban myth I clang to, that that has led me down this doomed path to perpetual singledom.
I want to be the girl who never says things like “we’ll try to make it” and who has her own car, apartment and keeps her maiden name, and I long to be with someone, who shares her Indian summer days in the park, her life, her plate, her thoughts, her everything. perhaps the answer really does lie in the question.
Dz-chick....wants her cake and eat it too
Tuesday, 27 September 2011
From a diffrent angle, Polygamy has been viewed as a solution to low births and low marriage rates,
as was the case in Russia when Ultra-Nationalist politician Vladimir Jirinoski suggested legalising polygamy as a solution to nationality problems in Russia "if we helped just five per cent (of these couples) we would have around 200,000 extra births per year", he said.
Others like some Muslims in the UK use polygamy as a mean to collect benefit from the government by having multiple wives and marrying them through the spiritual ceremony "nikah", whereupon these wives are considered single mothers and are therefore entitled to a full range of "lone parent benefits". Although the government is aware of the issue, as concerns have been voiced from the predominantly Asian communities where these practices are taking place, cultural sensitivies stop politicians from addressing the problem.
Other polygamists or bigamysts (two wives) find themselves in this situation due to their illegal alien status in the host country, the plygamist would marry a women who would grant him the right to remain, and as soon as allowed to return home for a holiday, would then take up another wife, with very high chances of abandoning the first wife or keeping both unbeknown to either parties.
God may have allowed Polygamy and I am no one to argue, but it is being used for means that are outside of its rightful time and mean. Women are treated with very little respect, exchangeable and divorceable and used as statistical tools, to produce babies to boost numbers, to reap benefits from the welfare system and for men's pleasure and divertissement.
Being a Woman, a Muslim, Algerian and a UK foreign National, I find myself insulted by the very concept of polygamy and I would lobby against it in Algeria and here in England and so help me God if anybody else "proposes" again this year!
Saturday, 10 September 2011
You want to learn Algerian? hmmmm
This is not an impossible task but it sure is not an easy one.
First you need to learn Arabic then learn French then have some knoweldge of Berber, then you need to forget all that you've learnt about grammar and syntax and start conversing in all three languages at once and never appologise for it, and never make sense to any other but Algerians and perhaps other North Africans, namely Tunisians and Morrocans who thankfully share a bit of our Burden-Gift.
So you would say things like: Azul, Ca va chwiya? Hamdoulah. wenta bien? ok Ciao a bientot, oui oui Bye
A phrase containing no less than 5 languages, would you say this person is talented or a multi-tongue illiterate? or Trilingual Illiterates as they call us in the confidential report released through Wikileaks (see below).
We Algerians are either extraordinarily talented and gifted for languages or we can't master one language completely and fully.
A real linguistic indigence we suffer from, not many Algerians can start a sentence in the same language they finish it in, even the one who claim to be "Arabisant" will undoutedly use a couple of words like "ca va" and think they just spoke in Arabic.
It may seem all fun and cool to speak 3 to 5 langagues at the same time, but it is not fun when you find you can't express yourself in any of these languages alone. Have you ever wondered how this came to happen? have you ever stopped to think what the ramifications of this are?
Despite the Goverments best efforts to "unify" the national language, declaring Arabic Official lanaguage and Berber co-official. French though not an official language, is regarded as de facto co-official language as it is widely used by goverement officials, newspapers etc... having three official languages and perfecting none is where the dilemmas lies.
Not a huge number of Algerians will master all 3 languages, some master Arabic, some French and only the berbers will speak berber, even though it is taught is a number of schools, it remains largely marginalised and underdeveloped.
So I tried to do some research on the subject, and it reaped no result, there is no Algerian phrase book or a guide to the Algerian language, a dictionary would be out of the question.
Having considered writing a phrase book myself, I realised what an arduous task it was going to be and prompty gave up (probably also due to my a-peut-priste side). Algeria being so large, wide and diverse boasts so many dialects, accents and idioms it would take a team of people and a couple of years to finish. By that time and with all the new linquistic additions and introduction of English words and so on, my project would be irrelavant.
I won't pretend to offer solutions or a conclusion, I can barely go three words in Arabic without uttering two in French but I fear for the desintegration of our language (bomb dropped). I will strive to finish my stences in the same language I started them in, I think that would be a good start or perhaps teach my children Arabic or is it Algerian? or French? (this is going to be harder for me than for them, I am just not going to have children)
I will leave you with the Algerian slogan that embodies everything said above all in 4 languages:
A MUST READ: What Wikilaks has on the subject: http://www.cablegatesearch.net/cable.php?id=08ALGIERS1121
Tuesday, 6 September 2011
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Had some doubt on the subject before, but I now know, my hunch was right, estate agents are scum. They all have the same voices, wear chea...
A few girls at work have discovered the latest testament entitled “why men love bitches” http://www.whymenlovebitches.com/ , a book that...