Minds of one
By: The Broke Bookish Girl
Tags: Algeria, Hirak, Movement, Revolution

Art by S.H ,seen on artelier event. Oran

“All my wolves begin to howl

Wake me up the time is now

Can you hear the drumming?

There’s a revolution coming. “

The score- Revolution

Dzirya knew her eyesight was strange the moment she woke up. She checked the time on her phone . Friday .11:30 am . She noticed the sky was slightly gray for a late April morning , and the wind was whistling violently. She checked her social media newsfeed . The manifestations have already begun in the capital. The important facebook pages in the country started to share live pictures. « Dégage système ». « yetnahaw gaa » . Dzirya , a young algerian student knew where she stood. She was in favor of the movement that started on the 22nd of February. The algerian students adopted the movement immediately. It sparked a glimmer of hope amidst their gloomy reality. The algerian president “Bouteflika” has decided to go for a fifth mandate , after 20years of governance , preying on the richness of the country with his clan. The president was absent from all media appearances for 6 years after the stroke he had on 2013 . “ Where is the president? . Is he alive?. Who is taking decisions in his name? Who governs the country?” .people have wondered. Algerians have been patient for so long , doing so much for the country , and getting so little . Unemployment rate among graduated students have risen . They no longer found meaning in what they did, nor a future awaiting them. The illegal immigration, to the other side of the Mediterranean, was the last escape for them searching for a better future . Stuck in her facebook scroll of doom ,she felt overwhelmed as she remembered the day she decided to protest . On the 26 th February , all students brought the national flags , their slogans ,and wore the love of their country on their sleeves. Long live Algeria ,” one two three viva l’Algérie” was the anthem of their hearts. As they started to shout “ la lil khamissa ya Bouteflika” ,“No fifth mandate Bouteflika”, her heart began to race . A tingling sensation passed through her, she wanted to cry. She was crying . A lot of people were crying , in the hope of claiming back their beautiful country. They began to walk towards the gate of the university, one voice uniting them . She saw police officers gathering around the place , wearing their helmets , and holding their ballistic shields. Algerians had a history with police officers’ oppression . It was a critical situation. The students began to shout “ jish cha’b khawa khawa“, “ Army and people are brothers “ . They are one. They all break the same against the corrupted government. “Silmya ..Silmya” . They all started to shout . A peaceful protests we want them ,and they will be . The students started to give police officers roses , and water , and saluted them for doing their job. The police officers have been silently watching ,and observing them.Some of them started to cry. Dzirya realized it was strange for her uttering the chants of the protestors. She knew the moment she does, they will be real. It is happening. A riot ? , you wish. A revolution it is . A peaceful one . A strong one . Hopeful. Dreamy . A revolution of people .Algerians take pride in their 1954 revolution against the Frenchcolonialism . They were heroes who gave everything to break free . And they did . in the beginning of the 90s they suffered dreadful 10 years of civil war and blood shedding . They were healing when the president Bouteflika was thriving in his throne . They were scared all the time ,they started accepting all solutions given to them. Any solution. They stopped eating yogurt as recommended. They buried their truth. But they won’t anymore. People have realized that the power of people is much greater than the people in power. The latter will be doomed . “Silmya.. Silmya” ,she was sipping the chants . “ la lil khamissa ya Bouteflika”, she was tasting them. “elchaab yourid taghyir elnidham” , they infiltrated in her body until she couldn’t help ,but be part of THE VOICE . The voice of the masses in unison. If you tested the DNA of Algerians, Dzirya thought, the genetic code would transcribe: blood , sweat ,and tears. They continued to walk towards la grande poste, the heart of Algiers. The police was surrounding the place . The students continued to distribute roses, and bottles of water to the tired officers . Their voices echoed in all Algiers. People began to take pictures of them ,and sharing it in social media . They started singing the national anthem in one voice . Old people passing by were crying , seeing youth doing something , anything with nothing. Nothing but devotion to revitalize the country, nothing but wanting change. Her dad used to tell her that Algeria is the cemetery of the genius, of the creative. Her dad used to tell her she was a genius too. So she started wondering if she is ever dead without realizing it . Would the movement or Hirak bring her back to life?. Would it bring all the elite that left the country for better opportunities ?. Scientists , physicist , doctors , writers , producers , politicians … would they come back ?. Will we build the Algeria we wish to see ?, she wondered. Their future is uncertain , but the devotion is not ,Dzirya realized looking at the students writing their dreams for Algeria, their suggested solutions in post- its at the wall of la grande poste. Few days after the students’ protests, Algeria’s prime minister declared : “The peaceful protests where students gave roses tothe police was good. A very good thing . But let’s not forget that Syria has started with roses as well.”. Few days later , he was replaced with another one. The following weeks people have continued to protest peacefully on Fridays ,and get addicted to social media and news channels . You’d hear jokes like “I napped for thirty minutes to wake up and find the country in a shitty situation again. “ Bouteflika sending letters via the national television , the vice defense minister delivering speech to people , the elite discussing the situation on local and international politics shows . People began to learn more about the constitution . Yet confusion started to creep in , doubts eating people away. Dzirya -although her legs were tired , and her breath was out- always took a moment to watch all the people on the Friday’s protests ; people of all ages , of all occupations , and beliefs . They all have an idea of the Algeria they want . IT might not be the same to hers, or to the person walking besides her. But they all want a better country . They want dignity. That is the dream they share. Through her eyes , she saw people with kindness on their faces, burning flames of dedication in their eyes, bruised hearts , and brave voices. They seem one. They look one . A force no one can stop ,or tame . Ordinary people who only want a decent life , who want their kids not to cross the Mediterranean and die while trying to escape a country they long sensed as a prison .

“Wake up lazy girl, Dzirya’s mom said . 12:30 . How’d you be when you get married. What will people say “ .

“Oh come on moom. “, Im only 22, a typical Algerian mom , Dzirya thought .

“ It’s not for sheghol . On va vendredir ma fille . “

Vendredir is a word created by algerians for they only protest on Fridays . All categories of people. Vendredi is a French word that means simply Friday. Vendredir or to Friday , means to protest on a Friday in a part of a peaceful revolution. Some activists are signing petitions to officially add it to the French dictionary . Dzirya got up, made her bed , did her prayer ,and ate her late breakfast . As she was readying her flag , and making sure her battery is not low to capture every moment there was- for she was passionate about photography and capturing vulnerability in her work- she remembered the 8th March Friday , a huge event in the Hirak for all women to go out and speak their mind; share their political opinions , protest side by side with their fellow man warriors . She was walking with her parents . People made food for the protestors ,and put it on the streets , sandwiches, the traditional Couscous for everyone to share. Other citizens threw bottle of water to the protestors that have been walking for hours nonstop. Other citizens buying flags from people who have opened this small business during Hirak in a friendly environment . Her mom stopped for a moment . Dzirya looked at her and noticed she was looking at a group of people holding the pictures of the Harragas , from whom tried to immigrate but died in the sea , their bodies lost for good , their families grieving their loss still. Pictures of women ,babies , adolescents , families that have tried escaping all together . No official data has been provided by the authorities to estimate their number. They were singing their stadium chants . The Algerian stadiums have been the first place for youth to express themselves in. They share their wounds , their grief, their view of the country .

« ntya li ‘titini el courage…ou daawi elkhir rafedhom 3lik..bahr eltoufan dani dommage…ou mashi gherdi ana nbekik..ya yemmaaa…mektoubi win dani ..bin l Mouadj Rmani…wkilo ellah li kan seba..ou hatem l harba..daw koulech ..ouhna makach “

“ You are the one that gave me courage ..and all my blessings. The pounding sea took me alas.. I don’t want to make you cry..oh Mother , my destiny took me , in the depth of the sea it brought me ..may Allah punish those who were in charge and let us escape . They took everything and left us nothing” .

Her mother was crying , imagining possible scenarios could have happened to her elder son who always threatened he would escape like his neighbors did. Kids in the popular neighborhoods had it tough , Dzirya thought. A woman holding her son’s picture , who attempted harrga , moved by Dzirya’s mother empathy let the picture fall from her hands ,and came to hug her. They both hugged ,and Dzirya’s mother started sobbing in the wounded woman’s arms . They hugged each other so strong ,so tenderly , cried so much their eyes were swollen . Dzirya didn’t know what to do but cry. All the young men started chanting and crying . Tears , blood , and sweat , Dzirya thought. But also warmth ,generosity , and a history with suffering .

13:30 pm , Dzirya and her family left their home to Friday. Nervous, she was, her palms sweaty , her eyes were itching all morning. Thoughts were racing inher mind. Anxious thoughts they were.Would something bad happen this Friday?. She couldn’t know. The police officers have started to block roads leading to major meeting points of the protestors, using tear gas, water cannons to hold students back in their manifestations. The race debate has been brought back to the table as well. Algeria is a culturally diverse country. However here have been a lot of hate and rejection between people of different ethnicity. But people know now that their power is in their union. They know that the Hirak is the outlet for them to speak their truth, to create their future ,to break the wicked shackles. Dzirya knew that something was really troubling with her eyesight for real now . The people walking besides her looked different . They no longer seemed one . She saw someone who was chanting in a language she couldn’t fathom . I think that’s what they call amazigh, she guessed. Someone’straditional clothes were so big to witness, that is a mozabite, she concluded.. She saw a dark haired woman , with brown eyes ,and a light tone skin , that must be an Arab ,she confirmed. She closed her eyes to see better. Illusions?. Hallucinations?. A nightmare?. She started panicking. But if I am labeling them?. Why are we even doing this, she was on the verge of tears. She thought of a painting she has seen the morning before that described Algeria of the Hirak to her. A giant humanoid shape ,filled with smaller ones of different colors . She thought that is the representative model of the country. She was scared to open her eyes again. She took a deep breath. “One two three viva l’Algérie “ ,she heard . “ One two three viva l’Algérie “ . Her heart was relieved . In cautious gestures, she opened her right eye . She saw her family looking at her strangely. “Are you okay?”, her mom asked .Open it, open it . She opened her left eye fast, trying to convince herself with every reality there was, believing her people are strong. They would vendredir, then cleanup the streets as they do every Friday. The people besides her looked “Algerians”, she thought. They come from different backgrounds ,but have the same name. Different minds of one. They’re making history, she smiled.” I’m okay …I’m okay”. Singular identities is the illusion. she proudly walked with them, and her voice joined the multiplicity of the voices around her, wrapping her up to be one. “One two three viva l’Algérie”, she screamed for the whole world to witness.