I put the "I" in Single

Years and years I've been whingeing about being single and the plight that comes with, pissed off a few readers, got some interested, others irritated and bored myself with it. Then I thought what if I actually just came out and faced it.

I am single and am totally ambivalent about it, why aren't you?


It seems the only pressure I feel about being single is when I meet my married or to be married friends or those in a relationship. I get that nagging feeling which is lot like when I know I am supposed to do something but can't remember what it is and that makes me feel in trouble. So you understand NOT a good feeling. The rest of the time I am quite content and a bit triumphant like I've found the secret recipe to a long and happy life a bit like when you discover a glitch in a system that allows you to order things online for free but you don't tell anyone else for fear of ruining it for yourself (never actually happened).


What is so bad about being single anyway? My name is not single, I do not become "single", it's nothing but a socially constructed status, it is not an identity or something that you are or contract like a decease or a condition.


The pressure is mounting, it's palpable and frankly annoying, tired of the comments as snide as condescending like there's something wrong with you that you can't find someone to love you. With all your friends getting hitched around you and the growing a sense of self achievement and elevation that allows them to suddenly claim the moral high ground and the ability to dish out their newly acquired wisdom (presumably the wisdom descends on you upon placing a diamond or diamond-like ring on your index finger), they become the self-appointed gurus you should be looking to for guidance and ways to get a man to slip that much sought after Diamond ring on your fat finger (my long life dream!!). Well you know what? I have a diamond ring and I slip in and out of my finger every night before I go to bed.
So jog on...ya! it's 2019 - why are we still talking about this.
Arguably, financially I am starting to feel it doesn't make much sense, as I am always the friend or aunty who buys the engagement, wedding, birth, birthday gifts and countless cards (it's a big thing here in the UK) which is amounting to a pretty little sum (did the math - you all owe me big time!!), always celebrating my friends' life choices which are the choices condoned and validated by society. Not mine though...you will never find a card saying "Congratulations on remaining single" and unless it's a birthday (if your friends actually deign to turn up to your birthday party), nobody seems very concerned about celebrating you or your life, 'cos everyone has got a one of those...a birthday! and remaining single simply isn't condoned by the patriarchy so you are effectively a dissident!


Furthermore, nobody actually believes you are happily single, expect for the ones with the same "condition" and are all women. Of course it is all a ruse in an attempt to regain pride and avoid humiliation in the face of this “unwanted” status.


MIC DROP!


PS: this is a very old post I drafted but never published. Now it's out, funny how it remains as relevant as I am single.

Tit for T(w)at

Feeling rather perplexed as to Femen’s nudist activism. Notwithstanding my respect to Femen and their activism and struggle, notwithstanding my very liberal stands on sexuality and female sexuality or choice of, I keep trying to convince myself that using female nudity to attract attention over women’s rights and equality issues is necessary then I argue the opposite and refuse to see the necessity female nudity to claim equal rights or shed lights on women’s issue.
I even argued that if a man can walk around topless, why can’t a woman, then another voice in my head waves me off; yes but he doesn’t have hanging glands that arouse and are the subject of so many mythical and religious tales and dramas.

Would it be acceptable if men used nudity to claim freedom and democracy?
The latest movement from Ourgla (Algeria) here saw a massive gathering of young unemployed men demanding jobs and more attention, none of whom was showing an ounce of flesh of course it wouldn’t have served any purpose because nobody is chastising the male body AND I think it was quite chilly that day.

Arguably the female body is generally considered more attractive, aesthetic and more interesting than men’s and I would certainly not tune in to see any nude-men-walk (or women’s), and so it (female nudity) would understandably gather more attention upon revealing it, but to me resorting to provocative nudity in activism brings the intended attention but not without arousing the fury of the extremists, religious or not, the anti-feminists or whatever group was targeted directly or indirectly.

I for one, for all my sins and big mouth, cannot put my breasts on show for any reason or cause, perhaps I lack the bravery that Amina and Meriem have or perhaps I think it easier and more adequate to face inequality and prejudices with more cerebral or verbal ways and discourses that do not resort to nudity.

However, not agreeing with female nudist activism does not in any way mean not supporting Femen’s struggle or for that matter showing my outrage at the Islamists who produced a Fatwa on Amina’s head to be stoned to death.

Amina’s posed topless on the Femen Tunisia Facebook group bearing in black marker across her chest and belly the following words in Arabic “My body is mine, not for your honour”, today Amina is reported missing and it makes me feel indignant and want to scream.

CASE IN POINT: did she not just stipulate that her body was hers and nothing to do with the honour of the country or indeed any other Tunisian person. Yet her action was seen as soiling the Tunisian honour and that of Muslims. Do these people not read? I am sure the message was written quite clearly over her chest …look for yourselves!

Patriarchal society is confusing and hypocritical, holding the “uncovered women ask for it” discourse, treating women like a thing of temptation to be exploited and enjoyed on one hand and strive to hide, cover, destroy and oppress it on the other, driving Muslim women to use Burkas and Hidjab as tools of self-defence and blaming their God-given bodies and hair for the harassment endured.
Why should we have to endure men’s overzealous testosterone and misogyny, why should we wear a burka or a headscarf or even feel the need to go bare breasted when they (men) can just tuck their tongues back in their mouths and busy themselves with more important business like the economy or dominos.

Dz-chick…show it if you can bare it!

Ps: yes I do know how to spell Twatt

Ban el Web

This article is written as part of the DZBlogDay, the topic was set by the organisers and this is my contribution and opinion on the “The Algerian Web”.

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Ban el Web

The Algerian loves the internet; he loves it to destruction, to infinity, to freedom, but not in the same way the Nigerian does.

Only the web gives the Algerian the freedom he so craves in his life, own land and country, he can be John, he can be, and a lot of the time is Maurice, he can be a doctor, he can be a rich business man, in love and ready to tie the knot, he can also be a troll and he makes the best of them.

Farid’s life consists of staying up until dawn, sleeping until noon, mingling with his homies and sharing a cup a coffee at the local café. Farid doesn’t have a job, he didn’t finish school and he has no prospects.

The first internet café opened in town, it’s dark, it smells of stale tobacco and a pungent faint body odour, the air is heavy with illegitimacy and shifty looks, all PCs are in use, young men hunched over their keyboards chatting to their Scandinavian blondes promising them eternal love and undying loyalty.

Upon connection, Farid transforms into a successful business man, he runs a prêt-a-porter shop for women in town. He is tall and handsome and believes it, as long as he’s connected. He lives his DZ avatar life to the full.

There are others, who aren’t attempting the love-to-escape route, who find comfort in hacking facebook and hotmail accounts and playing pranks on other web-loved-up candidates, 5 out of 24 hours can be spent tormenting a poor hopeful from Setif, impersonating a girl from Annaba who is cute, shy but interested, the other 19 hours are spent on the dismal not so virtual life.

Others, on a nobler quest are planning the Spring that never came, the big guys up in the watch towers have shut it down, facebook is blocked, a few YouTube revolutionaries arrested and the lovers miss their web-wives, the DZ web seemed pretty bleak until the smiling hacker Hamza Bendelladj  came along, some viewed it as a step-up, as feelings of pride and not so-discreet smirks appeared and defended it “there’s not such thing as bad publicity”.

But it wasn’t average Farid, Farid can’t hack worth a Dinar, he’s a sappy romantic who spends his living hours daydreaming about a life away from here or waiting to speak to his love interest, but sadly she’s 7 hours ahead and asleep.

Dz Web life is frustratingly and unfairly virtual.

In a world where, love is denied you, jobs are as scarce as teeth on a chicken, freedom is written not given, where rights are uttered not granted, where liberties are infringed, where visas are refused and the ships are guarded, there is no where to run and nothing to do but to become a Dz Avatar and dream of greener pastures and a better life and a blonde wife, with a freedom of movement beyond el houma and money in the pocket and peace in the heart, of a greener country and cleaner street, of a place where you don’t have to bribe your way into a public toilet and buy people to do their already paid jobs.

But the Web giveth and the Government taketh away.

Dz-Chick….Web-based, born and bred.

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.
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*what? It’s a word.

Beaver painting by Shardcore 

The Algerian Imago Mundi

I’ve been staring at this map for a while now, trying to make sense of it. As much as some parts of it are sarcastic, predicable, funny even, it remains extremely ignorant.

First thing that should jumps to you head, is to enquire: WHO the hell do you think you are? Then comes a series of other thoughts, sighs, some infuriating, others just humorous and endearing, but mostly I’ll have to stick with shock horror.

Let me take you through this “hilarious” version of the world according the average deluded, ignorant and quite funny (in a fucked up way) Algerian.


- Let’s start by the centre of the world and of this map. Really where else? Algeria.

Algerians are strong believers in the evil eye and hence it literally says 5 in your eyes, which of course you should know refers to the hand of fatma  which is the symbol of the evil eye warding annulet or whatever it actually meas. Of course Algeria is green because it’s so prosperous, I can only presume.

* To its left you’ll see the Red Morocco (I assume because of the Red Moroccan flag but who knows) but I will have to contact the author Kamel Labiad. Our reference is “We close borders on them, because they always beat us”, yes Algerian-Moroccan borders have been like revolving doors, closing and opening due to may political and sometimes outrageously silly reasons I cant quote any. Don’t ask me. As for the “they always beats us” that’s just defeatism my dear Kamel, it’s so middle class.
* Just below that you see the little amber land of Western Sahara aka POLISARIO – just to piss off Morocco. Need I say more?
* To the right of prosperous Algeria, you see Tunisia, it’s also green and labelled simply and concisely “summer” hence that’s where a large number of Algerians head every summer for their yearly vacations. Nothing more, nothing less.
* Then comes another green land, though it ought to be pale and yellow, Libya. The only reference for it is GADAFFI and that’s it quite rightly, when have you every heard of someone else from Libya besides Gaddafi? Ok maybe that psychotic son of his. Did you know Gaddafi has his own wax work at the London Mme Tussdauds Museum?
* Ah no too fast. There’s a Yellow land next to Libya is a once upon a time great land called Egypt, our sources coming mostly through and from football it says “we’re better than you”, because even when Egypt wins we are still better than them. That’s just the way it is.
* Besides these amazingly important countries, the rest is of course BLACK as night, anything sub Saharan is black and is AFRICA.
* Safe for the little brown corner on east Africa where it says Hunger and drought and of course South Africa right on the edge of the African continent, who are seen as “slightly more civilised blacks”. That’s fighting talk.


Notice how colours start to cheer up as you head northward towards Europe?
* Everything in Western Europe is refereed to as FRANSA, the source of all civilisation, I think we ought to add “where bananas come from” safe for Marseille which is of course the 49th province of Algeria. Really France ought to hand it over.
* Germany in randomly or not, Orange, as you MUST know, Algeria played Germany in the Football World cup in 1982. They will never EVER forget it, by that I mean, we will never let them forget it.
* The huge purple land is our 3rd /5th hand weapon dealer, Russia, in bracket is: where we buy hand me down weapons.
* Below that, the red land of communist China, I am guessing…
The red land of the Chinese spreads as far as Australasia and all the way to Turkey and parts of Eastern Europe, of course they are Gog and Magog, they must have turned everything on their way to CHINA or devoured them all.
* AL QAIDA is thrown in the middle of it all in purple, presumably where Afghanistan is supposed to be but off by a few hundred miles, of course not eradicated by the Chinese, because….yeah.
* If you are any good at Geography, you’d know where India is.  My job is just to explain what it says: Janitou. An old Bollywood movie telling the story of a young handicapped orphan child in India called Janitou. Back in the day (70s) Algerian TV played this film every Thursday afternoon (beginning of the weekend) and everybody knew the words to Janitou, it became the co-dependant national anthem of Algeria.
* The red land there where Saudi Arabia is supposed to be is of course “The Muslims”, the holy land of Islam and where Islam is claimed.
* The small blue dot clinging to it is “The dammed Jews” and in between brackets it says “temporary state”, is it temporary or imaginary state?
* Japan is in the pacific, sitting in yellow and labelled “the real Chinese” which I think is random, or maybe they have been better represented in the movies than the Chinese, with martial arts and other stereotypes and generalities I don’t feel like listing.
* Australia is green and called Europe, because obviously it’s another green, prosperous land to be conquered or illegally immigrating to.

The North Pole sits in a white lump; the South Pole is labelled “the north pole of the south” …as I type this, I feel almost silly really covering this.

The American continent is spilt into 5 parts, Canada/Alaska become one ice bucket in what is labelled “too cold”, the US of A is in red and labelled “sons of Christ and movies” for obvious reasons, Mexico in brown (I wonder if the colours are actually relevant to these misconceptions) is labelled “Kassandra” and this is perhaps not as obvious to you, it is in fact in reference to a Mexican soap that was broadcasted in Algeria that was dubbed in Arabic.

Then Ronaldo for Brazil because everyone in Algeria can tell you where Ronaldo is from, funnily enough they can also tell you where Maradona, Thierry Henri and Beckham are from, because Football is a national affair you understand.


The yellow part of Latin America is where “Pepero and the golden Eagle” reside, I have a vague recollection of this cartoon shown when I was a kid back in Algeria, and I think Pepero was from South America somewhere.


And finally let’s not forget about Great Britain in dark blue, which of course says “Manchester United” the greatest football club ever until Barca came along? I don’t really know or care about football

The above are not my opinions or those of the author or the picture Kamel Labiad, but those of the below average Algerian who views the world through their TV sets, cartoons and soaps, through football and old history taught in school before he left (school). The Algerian who thinks anything outside of his territory is alien, negative southward and positive northward, expect for South Africa, it’s a special case.


This is not an insult to Algerians, to Blacks or Chinese, this is just the poor and obvious ignorance of a segment of a certain nation, and how they view their imago Mundi, and I don’t think the Polish, French or American imago mundi would be so much different. I would love to see the American one in fact.


Dz-Chick….in my imago mundi, I am the earth.
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listen to janitou you'll love it, the whole of Algeria does. Here

Wipe that glass ceiling woman!

made by dz-chick (like obviously)

One distant day (thank god) when I was looking for a job, after several interviews, many versions to my CV, three rotating suits and about 15 rejections I managed to land a job. The fifteen rejections were based on my being overqualified for the job, how can I be overqualified for a job when I am just out of University? I knew deep down it was because I was a little cocky and too strikingly beautiful for the female interviewees who always seem to be focusing a little more on my hair or my hips than on my CV! But don’t get side-tracked with this little anecdote, our plight is with men. 

Somebody somewhere, mentioned that women, who spend a good deal of their lives studying, can be "too much", they change (change is bad), their mentality is altered (to the worse) and become too logical, analytical and demanding to keep a relationship going and the emotional rollercoaster that men will put them through, in other words she’ll wake up, look at him and say Eh ben merde alors! Or in other words (English ones): why don’t you go fly a kite!

Somebody else of equal chauvinistic characteristics and less intelligence also mentioned that women who are mentally emancipated, successful and independent will never be truly happy.  

I DELCARE! 

It seems there is a consensus on women who over-achieve, further their studies, earn more, speak one more language than HIM, have strong personalities (oh that old chestnut) and who are confident are deemed problematic and the issue turns from compatibility to compliance. 

Some men get frightened and choke, they’ll tell you are very special, very clever, fantastic, and beautiful…by this time everyone is waiting for the BUT……“you have too much life experience” and there it is. Is that euphemism for old bag? I wonder... 

Now, we’re overqualified for men as well as jobs.

As a result, women turn to SWANS (not the feathery type) - Strong Women Achievers, No Spouse. They reach what we call plight of the high- status woman, women at the top who seem to have it all. Widely successful career, high flying lifestyles, great physical attributes (acquired naturally or otherwise), health and blinding social lives but remain poor to average on the romantic scene.  

Everyone seems to instinctively know this, but do you ever stop to think why? 

It’s almost as though men deliberately choose less androgynous, less successful, weaker and less independent women to prove to the SWANS they can’t have everything after all.  

It is also a known fact that men compete with women at work and seem to think that is enough, at home they would prefer someone easy, less challenging and right down sedentary, to share their lives with, make babies and generally get bored together. 

If you think this is crazy, wait for this, in 2004, researchers at the University of Michigan published a study in the journal Evolution and Human Behaviour, which, loosely summarized, found that the men in their sample prefer to marry a woman whom they considered to be a subordinate, rather than a woman they considered to be a superior or a peer. 

So what makes you ‘wife material’ you ask? Well it all depends on the guy, obviously what makes you wife material in India doesn’t apply to America, France or Algeria (in Algeria they call it the Kriti Bezzaf syndrome*), though what these men do have in common is that most (some) of them are looking for women to play fetch for them, pundits claim there are definite types of women that men marry and being too successful, independent and feisty aren’t some of them.  In this supposedly egalitarian age, is there truly such a thing as ‘wife material’? Too independent and free, intelligent, too sexy, too attractive, everything is preceded by a “too” or a “very”, as if you one of the criteria to being ‘wife material’ is being average across the board. 

Stern stuff! Perhaps on some deep, evolutionary level, men probably believe the strong, independent, successful, sexy woman will probably not stick around, will never settle for him and/or is deemed a threat. It all sounds a bit schizophrenic, when a men’s manhood is threatened and insecurities are awaken, an analytical mind will be seen as difficult, the sensitive soul will be seen as weak and a sexy woman is seen as a whore. 

On the other hand, very accomplished women often have high expectations, some of which are not wholly realistic and often chosen to match the women’s status and accomplishment which only makes their acceptable dating/marrying pool even narrower.

Now we get to the Independence Conundrum; the term 'Success' is nebulous and is not necessarily related to independence, some men reiterate that ‘Successful’ means she has earned her independence. As much as feminists would probably hate me for it, I'll have to agree but insist this is simply applicable to men as is it to women.  


Being this feminazi, independent, successful woman seems to have become the source of every single woman’s predicament, as it seems men conscientiously or unconscientiously through their choices continue to reject the idea of a super woman and what we thought was our strength becomes in fact nooses around our necks. 

So what next? How to tackle this schism? Would you ask women to yield? Women who have come to believe that marriage is a modern slave trade, woman who believe that men are the enemy, women who convinced themselves that man is obsolete and women who have perhaps aged a bit, lost hope and found it convenient to think the above and blame it on ‘success’. Am I the devil’s advocate? Perhaps. 

After reading the above, you’re probably waiting for the answer, well, sorry to disappoint you ladies, I reckon just loose a couple of pounds, take the time to be honest with yourself to understand exactly what you are projecting and understand that although you CAN do it all alone, it doesn’t mean you have to and women who are single by choice, yes that may be so, but is it yours (choice)?

Whilst SOME of the above may sound like it was forged in the blazing flames of bra-burning feminism; that is not the subtext. It is really all about finding me a boyfriend.

Dz-Chick…an ambivalent feminazi!

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* you've studied too much syndrome - of course I made this up!

Hen(na) nights!

The women mill around dressed in their best, donned with enough gold to destabilise the world economy and enough silk to set the house on fire, tunes from Naima Dziriya blaring from an old CD player in the corner, it is loud, so very loud. The women screech louder to be heard, all smiles and laughter and admiration for eachothers attires and jewellery.

It’s Wednesday, the night of the Henna, a few days before the wedding, all the women gather around at the bride’s house, the Algerian version of the Hen night.

The bride walks in one of the many dresses she purchased for the wedding, her hair so intricately styled it looks untouchable, make up looks slightly less extravagant to the naked eye but on close inspection looks about 10 mms deep, you can actually smell it.

The bride walks in escorted by two young girls holding two long twisted candles, the women ululate incessantly; she sits on a throne of red velvet cushions embroided with golden threads.

An elderly relative dressed in a serwal Chelka (traditional trousers-skirt I guess) and a silk scarf around her hair is mixing a bowl of henna, she adds an egg, some rose water and sings a Henna lullaby to commemorate the ritual, a dollop of the mixture is put in the middle of the right palm and spread in a small circle, then a silk mitt is used to cover the hand. More ululations explode in the air, a feel of bliss and romance fills the ether and the bride’s mother sheds a tear, traditionally because her daughter is leaving the family home, but everybody knows it’s the lullaby, so damn sentimental.

After the bride, it’s the bride’s younger sister to have henna applied to her hand and then every other single girl present, all hoping to follow suit and get married before her one day.

Mint tea is served accompanied with one of the hundreds of almond cake variety there is and everybody is on a sugar high. Music gets louder, everybody starts showing off their best dance moves they learnt in the belly dance classes they’ve been taking or copied from the latest Assala* music video.

The aftermath; no hangovers, just a load of makeup to remove, physical damage is minimal if you don’t count the ear drum perforation and the odd injury sustained through the customary evil eye.

Afterthought: 

Would have been good to get a bit drunk!

A night wasted of my life I’ll never get back!

I am super jealous happy! 

Meanwhile, in London, about half a dozen girls go out to town to celebrate Sally’s hen party, the hen posse are dressed in coordinated dresses, with legs that start here (around my breasts) , and array of perfumes, fake tans and make up to cause a sense-seizure, they’re loud, so very loud.

As they enter the restaurant gaggling, in their coordinated pink sashes “brides maids” and the bride’s L plate, veil and flashing tiara, all the punters stare and think “oh no…it’s about to get loud in here”.

Dinner and drinks are served; and out comes the penis shaped straws and an a giant inflatable one that sits next to the bride whilst all the girls pose for pictures with the centre piece, loud and incessant laughter fills the place, within 2 hours, everybody is sufficiently drunk and collectively the girls hold enough alcohol to set the house on fire. The mother of the bride leaves after dinner and the girls loose their inhibitions – yes only now! 

To the relief of the punters and waiters, dinner is finished and the girls move on to the next venue, a night club, their tacky limousine awaits and they all get in without showing too much cleavage or knickers. The pink posse enter the bar, the lonely boys at the bar rejoice at the prospect of an easy pull with blondie no. 2 or 5 whichever…

They dance around the club grinding against every single guy available, as if the pink sash is their license to behave like total tarts with no judgment passed; they’re just here for their friends’ hen party after all! Give me one of those sashes I tell ya!!

A few gallons of novelty cocktails and questionable shots later (drunk through the penis shaped straws naturally)…TROUBLE! A few scenarios go like this: 

One passes out in the club toilet and has to be rescued by the “mother” hen, this might be the bride’s actual mother but we already decided she sensibly and thankfully (who wants to go clubbing with their mother anyway) left straight after dinner, so she’ll probably be rescued by the toilet attendant who’ll most probably charge her the costmary £1 because she had to use a splash of her perfume to wake her up.

One or two might go home with someone and wake up somewhere dubious, but mostly the girls will stumble out drunk onto the street to hail a cab, the limousine company probably refused to hire out for afters for obvious reasons…cab drivers won’t want to take them because they’re too drunk and disorderly and don’t want to risk the puke in their cabs. 

The aftermath, the group is dispersed, major hangovers, headaches, losses occurred include handbag, oyster card, jewellery, phone and with any luck the flashing tiara.

After thought: 

Should have gone to a spa and traditional English tea like normal people.

Had a brill time!

How much did it actually cost?

Oh my head hurts!

Having experienced both celebrations (the latter only from afar), not passing any judgment, only commenting on the cultural differences of the celebration.

Hoping to experience an amalgamation of this celebratory event between the Algerian and the British traditions. 

Our Diaspora here will perhaps create a halfway style of this cultural phenomenon that is fun, fabulous and classy, keeping the best of both worlds. No bingo games allowed.

Dz-chick…sending hints to her soon-to-be-bride pal! I am not wearing pink velour!

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* Lebanese singer

The Others

A few years ago, when I was going about my life as the only Algerian girl in London, when it was rare to meet a fellow Algerian in the street, in the park or at the supermarket, I believed I was the only one here, whatever I would or would not do, I would be the first, PHD in Maths and further maths or a Masters in Superhero science or a BA in Mickey mouse history wouldn’t matter, with no home-biased competition, I would be the first and therefore I was on top, so suddenly the drive to compete or be the best was less prevalent. I was already IT.

To my family I was the hero, there was nothing I couldn’t do, they have total and utter trust and pride in me, and I ate it right up.

Then a few more years later, when I woke up form my glory daze (pun intended), and stumbled across a network of Algerians living in London, graduates, professionals, highly educated, smart and interesting people…I was pleasantly surprised and shocked at the same time, I am not the only one?
I thought I held the National flag here!

A sudden panic takes over you and the realisation that whatever you have achieved, someone else did it better and all the years of delusional eminence come crushing down on your average sized brain and your mediocrity rushes up to the surface.

I had to investigate these intruders and find out in what parallel worlds we have all been living all these years, and discovered a brilliant albeit not a very large network of young Algerian professionals, graduates, researchers and artists etc… who have been living in the same world-apart dream, probably in the studies phase, integration phase or the wow phase AKA the tmakhli3 phase, a lot of these individuals were obviously busy building the foundations for their new lives or careers, most of whom never crossed path, to their/our knowledge at least, or perhaps they crossed paths but refrained from direct interaction due to the famous Algerian sense of mutual suspicion and judgment.

You: Who goes there?
The Others: Euuuu a fellow Algerian Academic
You: That cannot be, I am the only Algerian Academic here. Imposter.
The Others: Yeah and I am Stephen Hawking
You: hmmmmm

Now if we attempt to analyse the cause of this, we can argue the following:
Algeria is relatively underrepresented in the UK and the host population is generally ignorant about the Algerian culture, geography or demographics, which makes the rapport ambiguous as they (Algerians) remain somewhat of an unknown entity with no known cultural references as is the case of the Italians with Pasta, the Egyptians with the Pharaohs or even the Olive Oil which is now linked to most Mediterranean cultures except that of Algeria. Instead Algerians feel stigmatised with Terrorism which they feel angry about since they were the victims and not the perpetrators.
They feel they have to fight for their culture and presence in the host country, always arguing what is Moroccan and what is Algerian, what is N. African and what is Middle Eastern, Berber or Arab. They may feel belittled and insignificant in the face of a world that does not seem to acknowledge their importance, their contributions or their talents, they certainly may feel frustrated about their culture being highjacked and unrecognised, which pushes them to over-achieve, compete and perform to prove they are worthy, capable and developed young people who are no different to any of their counterparts out there.

In the process of becoming Algeria’s super heroes, Algerians scrutinise each other and remain very suspicious of each other, they generally hold a low and quite negative opinion of their compatriots, they blame each other for the bad reputation Algerians have acquired on the international scene, evidence of this is clear when certain Algerians tend to stay away from the community if any and from anything Algerian generally, when abroad, which makes forming a community more difficult or at least a lengthy process.

Algerians in the UK remain a smaller group compared to other more established and cohesive ethnic groups, to which they may belong or feel they belong. This ambiguity about not belonging to the Arab world or to the African world, has been discussed in very few researches, Dr. Caroline Nagel (a Researcher and author from the University of S. Carolina) has highlighted the effects of belonging to the ‘Other Other’ category in the UK census as “a feeling of marginalisation in the UK discourse on the politics of race” but we should stop here and not divert too much from the topic.

Having said that, in the last few years, and this has probably not been documented yet, we notice that few associations have sprouted here and there, mostly with hidden agendas and armed with the old FLN mentality, these as you might have guessed have been created by the over 50’s and have yet to have any real affect on the community or creation of;

What is really interesting is how the Young Algerian Elite group that flourished and stabilised after years of studies and research, are now in stable and permanent professions and lives, have taken the initiative to create a cohesive community and rapport that is built on mutual understanding, trust, empathy, music, literature, academia, culture, integration and the odd political focus.

Such associations are to name a few: The Algerian Solidarity Campaign http://algeriasolidarity.org/ who despite their very political outlook and mission, remain a prominent community reference for the young Algerian professionals in London who gather at every event and mingle, talk of politics, culture, Music and the mother country.

The first Algerian radio in the UK, www.rihetbladi.com or The Caravan of Andalusi Music association etc, is another example of these newly created community groups that serve a purpose for inclusion and cohesion, to give the Algerian community in the UK a foundation and a platform for communication and strengthening their relations, and to raise awareness amongst the host nation about Algeria and the Algerians, and of course so we all stop thinking we’re the king or queen of everything, other people have done it before you and realise that other Algerians have also studied in renowned universities and obtained PHDs, speak English as well as you and are all under 40 or thereabouts. We’re all flying the flag and as it turns out it is you who are the others.

Dz-Chick…humbled by her fellow Algerians

Links to read: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Algerians_in_the_United_Kingdom
A very interesting piece of research to read: http://www.icar.org.uk/9567/navigation-guides/algerians.html

Smile-it-forward

Another dreadful journey on London underground this morning, amidst all the armpits, newspapers cutting into my cheek and stale beer stench, something strange and wonderful happened, someone smiled at me, it was puzzling at first, then uncontrollably my facial muscles contracted and produced a smile (a beautiful smile at that) and we both acknowledged eachothers’ wretched position, from that point on, I forgot the smelly armpit, the leftover curry and the bad cologne and just wore a faint smile on my face that relaxed my tense muscles and I thought: it’s not that bad

So I went on about my interminable journey to work, my facial muscles relaxed and poised, I smiled at the next person who held my gaze, she smiled too and then it hit me…

It’s infections, you can catch it like the flu, it spreads like it was airborne and changes the atmosphere. It reminded me of a movie I watched once that made me weep like a child “paying it forward” based on the novel by the same title by Catherine Ryan Hyde starring that little cutie pie of a boy who started a movement called pay-it-forward, whereby he does one act of random kindness to three people and instead of having them pay him back, he asked them to 'pay it forward' by helping three other people, who would then each 'pay it forward' by helping three other people, who then go on to do the same in the hope of changing the world, of course the little boy died and it was all very sad and Hollywood like. 

I started reading on smiling, the physiological and emotional side of it and I became fascinated with smiling, in Islam, it is said that a smile in the face of others is considered charity or a good deed, and I thought that was so beautiful and I can see how a small facial contraction as it were can have huge effects on a whole group of people, a bit like a butterfly effect.

So I take it upon myself to always smile and smile back when people smile at me and sometimes you don’t know why you smile at some and not others and no it has nothing to do with being attracted to that person, notice how it is always women who initiate the smiling, old people smile, children smile and sometimes they stare at you in fascination (in my case it must be due to my striking beauty), don’t get me wrong, I am not walking around like a smiling moron flashing my teeth, the wrinkles are just not worth it, I endeavour to draw the line at a faint smile but certain people you cross on the train or the shop insist on sharing a thought or a joke with you, so again you smile (showing teeth this time) and nod in agreement but secretly hope it'll be the end of this chapter, but it usually never is!

Notice how it’s always women who smile at other women, children or older people, never at men, a women smiling at a man could be perceived as an open invitation or forward flirting and vice versa thus people of the opposite sex seem to refrain from this odd behaviour, unless there is an actual attraction but seeing that we live in England and males behaviour is fuelled by beer, women will continue to smile and support each other, I don’t want to hear anyone whinge about what a waste it is a lot of beautiful women are lesbians though.

In Graph 1.1 above, I have demonstrated clearly and with obvious elegance and skill, how this is going to work for the recently lobotomised and the ones who don’t’ speak English (no correlation between the two).

I smile at three people a day, in turn these same people, will each smile at three other people and so on and so forth and we watch the wrinkles grow and good mood spread…maybe this will shift the energy around us and ……(insert more Anthony robins crap here)…making our worlds better.

Are you cringing yet? Well you should be.

The point I am trying to make is: smile it really isn’t that bad.

Despite all your cynicism, frustrations and hormonal imbalances, smiling is the only thing that is consistent and can alter all the negative feelings you may have and it really is an inexpensive way to change your looks, I mean have you ever seen a smiling face that was not beautiful?

See? Beautiful

Dz-Chick…smiling always :-) but with good anti-wrinkle cream 

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NB: Do not attempt to psychoanalyse me through the handwriting - you don't know it's me.
Also, the last picture gives me the icks!