Tuesday 30 October 2012

The Algerian Man

Upon a beautiful evening in London, I witnessed Hala Ali, a Strong, beautiful, fiery and inspirational Saudi Woman reciting a poem she entitled “Mr. Khaleeji Man”.

This is my tribute to her poem and my own version with the Algerian man

The Algerian Man

His identity wages wars, his religion is his weapon

He is black, he is brown, he is ginger, he is white! What? That’s a blunder!!

He is mixed, he is pure, he is African from the North

He supports the Polisario, he fought and fights still, Palestine Palestine

Then stands alone in his own war, dying at the hands of his own

No one comes, no one sees, all alone he beseeches 

He beseeches the lord all mighty; he beseeches the Generals and the Maquis1

He cries for the proclaimed independence, he screams for the acclaimed freedom

No one hears, no one comes, all alone he beseeches

Comes Bouteflika and his posse

Changeth the constitution and the law

Cometh the reconciliation and the percuss

Yo! Bouteflika, you might as well join the circus

He proclaims Algeria stands in glee and so the Terrorists go free

Mushroomed a bridge, then a highway, my Algerian man still sleeps in the gateway

His pleasures are small; his pleasures have no choice; his pleasures are pleasureless

Bouteflika swears the money is in the bank, he has yet to see some francs!

He showers sitting down, using a bucket and a dam

He borrows a houbla2 from his sister, eats her warm bread, spread with his mamma’s handmade jam.

He studied law, he studies tech, it’ll all come in handy holding up the walls

He hangs around the houma3, whistling at the girls passing by

When it gets a bit much, he’s put away for 18 months, it’s not the army, it is the waiting room.

From the gateway of the houma, to the waiting room, to hell on earth

No one comes, no one sees, all alone he beseeches 


Ah Algerian man

With his tight trousers around his crotch and his thinning hair around the top.

With his mamma and his sister and the shrine to their Chorba4

He is macho, he is a chauve, he is chavy. He’s horma5

He is brave, he is fake, he is honest, a minx! he is MIX!

Is he Arab? is he Berber,? is he European? Neigh Mediterranean, his nationality is a sham.

Hell is getting warmer, the sirens call, Europe awaits…

He takes to the boats, following the sirens’ chants; half of him drowns along the way

The sirens take hold of him, the sea swallows him, his mamma, his mamma, how she cried

No one hears, no one comes, all alone he beseeches

Algerian man, arrives in Europe, Ah the splendours, the land of cherub. 

But my Algerian man, he is black, he is brown, he is Muslim. He is different

Nobody wants him, nobody cares, all alone at Europe he stares

Starts anew; sweeps the streets, up the ladder,up he goes

Time elapses and he misses his pastures

He dreams of the Chorba, of the couscous and the Dolma

His mama on the phone, he cries about the Ghorba6, then marvels and laughs, this is my army, this is my waiting room

He is alone; he is a MAN, his hair still gelled, his pants still tight

He looks for Mrs Right; her skills are the Chorba, the Couscous and the Dolma.

Mrs Right ain’t so right, for she can’t cook worth a damn

With her manicured hands and her MBA brain, she can cook by the gram as long as Delia dictates

She has wind in her hair and a dress cut down to there, Barry Manillow sang about her

She doesn’t say “yes sir”, she doesn’t say “yay master”, the Algerian man in his cocoon, his mother is a saint his sister is a goon

Mrs Right, she don’t measure up, her mouth is too big, her hair is too wild, her hips swing in shapes that make him sway, her lips are full, her eyes shimmer with pride, she is a temptress, she is fly, she is simply too much and this Algerian man runs a mile

SIGH! Algerian man, Algerian man, Algerian man

His mother promises a princess from the east, her fingers are slender and her lips Oh so sweet

She can cook his bloody Dolma, she can steam his efing CousCous, and she will throw on a Jebba7

Makes him feel like a King, Algerian man oh how you sting

He wants her educated, he wants her blonde, he wants her Algerian, he wants her strong

He wants a Muslima, he wants a whore, when he gets both, he goes AWOL

This Algerian chick is sick of your games; make up your mind or go to hell

Marry your cousin and call it a day, she will comply, she will obey, She'll wear the Jebba indoors, and the Burka out

Are you Salafi now? Or are you just sly, is it to run a business is it to sell bras

Your beard is too long, your trou are too short

You think yourself superior, your think yourself so strong, you walk around sporting the ridiculous costume, Halloween is so last year, mate don’t you know?

Europe doesn’t want to know about your beard, your fatwa and your needs

Stay in line, hold your principles, respect your woman, buy longer trousers and stop crying about your mother’s clone you want to marry, you know full well that’s not so savvy

Only then, this Mrs Right will show her face and maybe then and only maybe can she magically cook up a mean Chorba that will put your mama in a corner


Ah Algerian Man, who stayed behind

Algeria is yours, we left our share, it may be small but it’s all yours

Make something of yourself, make something of this place, head held high, honour in place, as long as the Chorba is still on the stove

Oh how your issues seem so different, we worry about Mr and Mrs Right, yet you worry about who to fight

You stand alone, you fight and you fight, with a lack of a seen-enemy, you turn on each other

I stand witness to this palaver

No one comes, no one sees, all together we beseech

Beseech Allah all mighty, beseech our dignity to stand all together. All against this corrupt power

Someone once said, Algeria will return our love one day

One day we will feel her love, warm on our skin, its sun so bright and its skies even clearer, its streets even cleaner and our hearts set free

Oh Algerian man, let’s not fight, you are my father, you are my knight, you are my brother, my man and my cousin, we’re in this together, accept it and you shall find your siren before you cross the seas and the make for the waves, for Algeria is your siren and I AM ALGERIA.

1 – Short for Maquisards meaning Guerrilla
2 – 200 Algerian Dinars referred to as Houbla
3 – The neighbourhood
4 – Traditional Tomato Soup
5 – Honour
6 – Diaspora
7- Algerian house dress

Tuesday 16 October 2012

He controls me, he controls me not

They control the world, politics (by starting wars and talking bullshit), they control the economy (mostly by starting wars), public opinions (again by talking bullshit) and they even control what we wear, if you think about it, the biggest and most influential designer names are men YSL, D&G, MJ etc…that’s right ladies, MEN.

The saying “behind every great man, a greater woman” was only said to avoid feminists blowing hot and burning more bras. Let’s face it chicas, men are in control and we are merely hanging on, fighting our way through, trying to mark our way up to that famous glass ceiling remember?

Why do you think feminism came to exist? And just one more rhetorical question for you, mostly to avoid any protesting comments, why do you think there is no such thing as a Manism* movement?  

In terms of relationships and romance, again I am afraid men tend to be in control, as much as you hear boys saying how it is always up to the woman, the last word is always hers, for a drink, dinner, sex, a date or marriage, she has the final say.

Don’t be fooled ladies, we all know most men get badgered into proposing to their girlfriends when they can’t take any more hinting or shoving towards the jewellery shop then she'd go and rave about how it was so impromptu and how she had no idea it was going to happen…gush gush bloody gush. 
BUT…If he decided not to pop the question or ask you out for that drink or dinner, what can you do? Take the step? And if you had the guts to do it, what if he said “euu sorry I am kind of busy” and thought “slut”, do you think you are that thick skinned you can take rejection the same way men do? I think NOT.

So past the first drink/date, in most cases, who do you think is really in charge? Apart from the very few cases, men usually hold the dice and are in control of when and what happens next. 
Women are martyred at the hands of these fastidious players, players who become such because we allowed to be, because weak and desperate women allow them to be in charge of their emotions, decisions and of their lives.

Women who are so desperate to land a man, they’ll do practically anything, lower themselves to the gutter to have a date, change everything they could about themselves and their lives if they had to. If he likes blondes, she is blonde and if he prefers brunettes, she’ll turn brunette so fast he won’t have time to say “I am a prick”, she’ll lose weight, starts to like “The Simpsons”, supports Arsenal and Top Gear becomes her favourite TV show.

But what does this man do for you? He doesn’t go on a diet because you’re fat, he doesn’t change his style (life or otherwise) to please you, and he doesn’t pretend to be someone else or speak in a softer voice when around you. 
Men are graced with that natural rough beauty where unshaven and unwashed is actually considered stylish, like the new Shoreditch style you can spot in and around east London with all the twat features walking around in their vintage old jumpers and dirty hair, calling it shabby chic, how about shitty chic?.

Other women who remain single after a certain age, but do not come to a resolution with their single status, become so resentful of it in fact, they become bitter and the worst thing is…they don’t even know it. They just give off this bad vibe that drives away men and repels friends.  Another kind of single ladies out there, have their criteria all wrong, they like a man because he’s nice to them. They don’t realise HE IS supposed to be nice to them.  These intelligent women with the MBA brains and abundant talent and wit, can be emotionally retarded, are reduced to liking a guy because? He is nice to them. It’s upsetting. 

Love and Respect in your relationship is not an upgrade ladies, it’s a basic requirement. However, I understand that women became conditioned to receiving the not-so-nice treatment they had endured, experienced, and come to expect, which in itself is engendered through the psychotic, needy and stalking behaviours of these very women. 

If you look around, your MBA brain will reel backwards at the number of beautiful, successful and outstanding women who behave like total desperadoes, chasing, stalking and begging not-so-special men who of course treat them with total disregard, disrespect and utter piss-take. 

Ladies (you know who you are), as ever I don’t hold the answers, but what am I if I cannot point out a few of your blunders, here are 11 pointers for you…

1 - At the restaurant, order what you like not what he “thinks” you should have. If he suggests you have salad, then he thinks you’re fat.

2 - Don’t be so dull and agreeable. Have an opinion and express it, avoiding to use fuck or bugger. 

3 - Smile, laugh, glow, don’t show your depressive side so quickly, let him bite the hook first, and then you can go crazy on his ass.

4 - Don’t compete with him. Men are pathetic creatures who are scared of competition especially from women. Don’t talk about your latest exploits and mountain climbing and solo travels, this will emasculate him. It’s too easy to do.

5 - Be elusive, keep some mystery (and your knickers) about you, don’t tell him everything including when you washed you hair or waxed your beaver.
6 - Don’t encourage the sex conversation, he’s going to want it, if you yield, you are a whore, if you don’t you’re a tease.

7 - Do not mention age, marriage, children, nieces, nephews, family or a friend’s wedding, don’t tell him about your imposed time-line and how many kids you dream of having.

8 - Act confident but not overly so; do not fish for compliments and constant reassurances that he’s having a great time and for God’s sake, don’t ask him if he’s bored.

9 - Don’t over text, call or email, don’t leave a 5 mins voicemail and if he doesn’t call, don’t call his mate or his work. Because we all know that when men attempt bold gestures it's considered romantic, when you do it, it's considered desperate if not psycho.

10 - I always say just relax and be yourself but that obviously only applies if you’re a normal cool chick, if you are aware of your stalking capabilities, it is advisable not to be yourself.

11 - Don’t tell him how cool your name sounded with his surname, because you know you’re tried it, you’ve scribbled it on your notepad and said it aloud to see what it sounded like. 

The list goes on, but I can’t be bothered to finish it, you’ll have to content yourself with the 11 “words” of Dz-Chick wisdom, cast in the fiery chasms of her mind.

But know this, with all the advice you can get, all the power, beauty, intellect and strength you can muster, men remain in charge not because they are stronger, more powerful or more intelligent but simply because women allow them to be, they (women) yield to their demands and control because most women are hardwired to depend on men for support and protection for them and their children and men are hardwired to do all they can to make sure that any children born to them are actually theirs.
It is that basic, evolutionary and it is all about their manhood. 

To put it simply; men will always attempt to control women and women will almost always submit to that control. So yes it is up to him to text, call you back, ask you to marry him, perhaps the only thing a woman is in charge of is putting out or to put it more graciously; consenting to sex, even if this control can be taken away from her when a man decides to claim back control.

Men may be in charge of this world, successful, powerful and hold the dice but like someone once said “women may never be as powerful as men because they have no wives to advise them”

Dz-Chick…fan of odd numbers and broad topics!

NB: due to the broadness of the topic, a second parter will follow as soon as I can be bothered.
*what? It’s a word.
Beaver painting by Shardcore 

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