Back home to Tiaret

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It's a several hours drive south east to Tiaret.  We pass one of many public baths, open to women on Mondays and Thursdays and to men on Tuesdays and Fridays, or some such thing.  Djelloul asks Rock, "It's very nice.  You take steam bath, get all clean, have a good massage.  Would you like that?"  "I'll pass." said Rock and Djelloul laughed.

We passed a place called "Fenne Land" Funny land?  People streamed in.  Ah yes, Women's Day.  Time to go to an amusement park.

 We head east along the plains.

 Then South where the mountains rise, ready for us.

And through the town of the River of Peace.  This time I'm able to take more pictures.

These storks are really home-bodies.  So blessed to see them.

 Light lowers as the mountains near.  It's sunset as the white-knuckle drive begins, but Djelloul is happy to let me out and run down the road to catch this shot.

 And then we're home, and the streets are quiet.

 And a lovely dinner waits us, cooked by Khaldia and her neighbor and cousin, Fatiha.  We insist that she eat with us, and she's happy to do that.

In the living room in Djelloul's comfy home.  We're settled in to watch a movie with Jack Nicholson.

Djelloul has two of these expensive traditional cloaks, one belonged to his father.  

 OK, time for a little orientation.  This is Algeria.  It's huge.  Huge.  4 times the size of Texas, the largest country in Africa, 2,000 miles across.

 See this small detail?  This is essentially the land we've covered.  Oran is obvious, so is Tclemsen where the cave was..  Look down the necklace loop and Ain Sefra is around where the end of a long pendant may be, tucked in the Atlas Sahara.  Tiaret is the town circled way to the right, to the east and deep in the mountains.  Miles off the map on the coastline is Algiers.  So that's where' we've been

 Here's a satellite view of the country's area.  We meet a woman later who has traveled way down to the North, and I'll share her story, but it's obvious from the time we had and the desolation of the landscape, that traveling further would not have been easy!

 The next morning I'm up early, to the sound a rooster and the students outside the High School.  Fascinating to watch--the students.  Djelloul says that the law of the land is that women may wear the Hajib, the scarf covering, only if they choose.  Among this crowds were lots of girls in tight jeans or leggings and tasteful sweaters and tops.  The girls all stayed to the left, the boys to the right, with puffs of blue smoke rising in pockets where a few of the boys lit up.  The girls were absolutely color or fashion blind in their choice of friends -- greeting each other with the Algerian kiss on both cheeks twice.  So girls  of any race in Hajib squealed with joy to see their friend with flowing hair, and vice versa.  There was a couple or two who met on middle ground, clearly liking each other but touching only a sleeve or a hand, briefly.  They had a lot on their mind.  Only 15% of students can get into college, based on a mult-day exam.  So studies are uppermost in thought.  

 Later I went with Fatmah to the market.

It reminded me of Gristedes in Mt. Kisco in the 50's.  Except with blue plastic bags.  Banning blue plastic bags cannot come too soon for this country.  Going back to baskets would be a huge step into the future.

Later on I watch Fatmah prepare couscous as we get ready to go to the post office to mail postcards.

 The doorbell rings -- or rather sirens.  It's Fatiha's father, who wants to give Djelloul several pictures of old Tiaret and meet us.  We're happy to do that.

 Here's the old post office -- notice that the telephone and telegraph were part of the post office -- and working for the telephone part of it was a job that Fatmah had for years.

 Also a time to do laundry.  Everyone has washing machines.  Dryers and lawnmowers were in no evidence.

 We didn't realize the terrain of the city until we walked all the way, sometimes taking short0cuts through stairways.

 And here's the post office.

 Fatmah met friends everywhere.  It's a real home town.

 We still had no good postcards of Tiaret.  We finally went into a photographer's studio.  I took this picture of one of his back drops as we waited for them to be developed.  He was very proud of his printer.  Made in America! He said.

 On the way home we couldn't resist this scene.

 An alternative to the shops of long beaded dresses.  Maybe this is where the school-girls shopped.

 Then we were off on an adventure to find the father's old house.  We'd seen Heja's house, the apartment in the complex on the hill.  Aparrently the story is that Djelloul's dad had a lovely house in a nearby area.  It was where Khaldia and Fatmah grew up.  Djelloul had never been there.

 On the way we find this tall tower -- A distinguished, well-dressed man saw me taking the picture and came across the street smiling.  Djelloul got out of the car.  This is a water tower, apparently, built by the Italians, as was the whole community.  Djelloul had no idea.

The stork on his next liked it fine.

 We pass this market of fruits and cloaks, just like the one Djeloul tried on for us.

 Down a small walled road, Fatmah is directed to the middle door.  She bangs the knocker several times and waits patiently.  The nighbor makes a call on his cell phone.  The door opens and we're invited in.

The family is delighted to meet us, and shows us all around freely.  

 Djelloul points out where all the gardens were in the extensive back yards.  His father had people to care for the garden, and it was kept up beautifully.

 Here's the lovely daughter, home for the 2-hour lunch break.  She's in 9th grade.  She also shows us around..

the hall,

the living room

her room

her little sister's room

the bath

the garden doors

And kitchen.  Fatmah remembers doing her schoolwork at this table.

 It was soon after their father settled his family in the temporary apartment, planning to move them to Algiers or Oran where they would have more opportunities, that war flared up and he was called into action.  But Heja was grateful to be near the retreat of the farm where she could hide her family from his enemies.  A few months after Djeloul was born, the father was killed.

Djelloul wanted to take us to see another farm, a big one that raised sheep, cattle and horses.  I declined, so Rock took the camera.  He said the farmer objected to taking pictures of the sheep, for fear that people who saw them would give them the evil eye.  Everyone please smile at these sheep.  He had no objectios to pictures of the house, the cattle or the horses.  He was very proud of his horses.

The next day we'll go climb a mountain as promised.  The most memorable day of them all.