Algeria from within

by R. V. C. Bodley

Street in Bou Saada

As the afternoon draws on, flocks of goats can be seen wandering slowly in from the barren hills. They have a public shepherd, paid for by the town, who is responsible for the animals up to the gate of the city; at this point he leaves them and the goats, separating themselves, go independently up the narrow streets to their respective homes. When they reach the door they butt it with their heads or tap with their hoofs until they are let in.

The doors of the houses in the Mzab, and especially the locks, are very curious. The door itself is usually made of heavy planks studded with nails and closed with a lock usually associated with a prison gate. This, however, is a modern institution, for the native key is unique in the world. It consists of a piece of wood about a foot long, at the end of which is arranged a pattern of nails. This piece of wood is pushed into a kind of deep slot running from the doorpost diagonally toward the door. From the wall and running into the door is a wooden bar or bolt on which is a pattern of nails corresponding to those on the wooden key. The proprietor slips in his piece of wood until its nails coincide with those inside and then he pulls, the bar gives and it is possible to open the door. It is, I suppose, the origin of the latch-key, as no two combinations of nails are the same, and it means absolute safety to the designer of the piece of wood.

At each turn the traveler is experiencing something new, and though he has seen a series of strange customs common to all the cities of the Mzab, the most curious, which is peculiar only to Beni Sgen, has been left to the last. For some reason, which at present it has been impossible to fathom, there are practically no shops in the holy city, and everything is sold by auction. This sounds quite incredible until, climbing down the steep streets, one comes suddenly into a triangular “square” about fifty yards long. At one end on a raised platform sits the caïd, surrounded by his counselors, while all around squat men of venerable countenance dressed in white robes.

In the middle of the square are a few goats, some camels, a mule, a heap of charcoal, while the auctioneers solemnly carry round the goods to be disposed of, stopping before each person to hear his bid, which is said in a whisper. So he proceeds round and round until the required price is attained. He may be selling a costly carpet or a bottle of pickles, a piece of firewood or some embroidered shoes—it is all the same. The goods can pass only to the highest bidder. Moreover, as the price can only be raised half a franc at a time it often takes days to acquire the object required. Sometimes one sees a man riding round the square on a mule or a donkey which he wishes to dispose of, but it is all the same, and the richest Mzabite can not alter the procedure for untold cash. The spectacle of this auction market is one of the most impressive sights in all North Africa. An atmosphere of an old world, long past and forgotten, is before us, and as one looks at the faces of the men one can not help being reminded of scenes from the Bible, and the legend of the lost tribe springs up unconsciously.

The colored burnous of the Arab has vanished, the bustling merchant of Ghardaïa is no longer before us, there is calmness of demeanor, a whiteness of clothing which speaks of ages and ages in the dim realm of history when Europe was a land of wild beasts and the Britons painted themselves blue.

At times one is almost inclined to cry out:

“But this can’t be real, this is got up for me, it is part of Wembley; in an hour all these men will be settling down to chops and beer in the nearest pub!”

But it is not so. Every day, except on great feasts, year in and year out, for two hours before sunset these silent old gentlemen assemble before the caïd and purchase what they can by auction, and when it is over they repair to the mosque before retiring to their homes to eat a silent meal prior to returning to bed. The Mzabite is not a gay personality, and he takes life very seriously. Unfortunately some of their more ancient characteristics have disappeared by the appointment of civil caïds. In the early days of the French conquest of Algeria these people surrendered to the invader before they had even thought of pushing as far as the Mzab, and they still have a separate treaty with France, making of the country a sort of independent little republic exempt from all obligations to the main Government. They kept all their religious dignitaries who ruled the whole confederation as they had done for centuries before, and the caïd-ship was not imposed on the tribe till after the whole of Algeria had been pacified. Lately the French seem to have rather forgotten their old friends and have voted conscription. This caused great consternation until it was discovered that there was a subparagraph permitting a Mzabite to send an Arab in his place to serve. The authority to spend a thousand francs to find some poor loon to shoulder the rifle brought back the smiles to the smooth, round, white faces, and the placid atmosphere returned to the busy shops of Ghardaïa and to the silent streets of the holy city.

Generally speaking nothing has changed since the foundation of the cities, and even if in some far-off day the railway reaches the Mzab it will probably only have the effect of stimulating trade. The haunt of the children of Carthage will remain as it was when their forefathers imposed their commerce on the whole of the Mediterranean basin as they are now beginning to impose it on the easy-going Arabs of North Africa.