Algeria from within

by R. V. C. Bodley

The Village Nègre is worth a visit, and if a horrible curiosity appeals to one, the dervishes who eat scorpions and glass and pierce their faces with nails can be seen without difficulty.

Not far away is the oasis of Sidi Okba, which is a good example of a southern town for those who have cut across from Bou Saada. It is famous for its mosque, where lies buried Sidi Okba, who was killed here in his last battle against Koceila, the Berber chief, in the year A. D. 682.

As far as sightseeing, this is about all Biskra can produce. If, however, one is in this cosmopolitan oasis in the early spring when the races are taking place, an entertainment is provided which will not be forgotten. The Arab chiefs in this district are wealthier than most of their colleagues, due to the richness of the date-palms; and owing to the proximity of Europeans, they are given a great deal more to entertaining than others. The bash agha of the confederation of the Zibans keeps open house, and even in the deadest season never dines alone, but calls in his friends from the street to share his repast. At the races he outdoes himself in hospitality, and it is entirely owing to him and to his relations that the meeting is such a success.

The races consist of three quite separate performances. The first are so-called flat races, which consist of a wild gallop round the course for Arab horses of all ages and sizes, mounted by turbaned bandits who just go “all out” for the first place. No pulling here.

The second are the officers’ steeplechases, where one sees some nice horses and some quite good racing.

But the third event, which in reality embraces the whole affair, is the fantasia. The Arab chiefs from all the surrounding land muster their tribesmen, who all come mounted, armed to the teeth, and as wild as children at a birthday party. This kind of irregular cavalry is known as the goums, and in time of war it is levied to fight for France. During 1915 a contingent was fitted out and sent to Flanders, where it behaved heroically. At the Biskra races the goums make a very brave show, too, in their flowing burnouses, sitting bolt upright in their high-backed saddles, their guns across the bow and the curved scimitar beneath the left saddle-flap. There is a mounted band consisting of two men with raïtas and one with a tam-tam, while at the head of the column rides the caïd, clothed from head to foot in scarlet and purple, his feet in embroidered red leather boots resting on massive silver stirrups, while beside him rides a retainer bearing the banner of the tribe.

It is a splendid and majestic sight to see these wild men of the south passing slowly before the improvised grandstands. After the orthodox racing is over, and after the bash agha has entertained endless guests at lunch and tea, it is the turn of these nomads to show what they are worth. There is a stir in their ranks, then suddenly two men dash down the course at a furious speed. As they approach the stand they rise in their stirrups and fire their guns and fly on. The women, in gaudy taffetas, raise high tremulous cries. Two more men follow, and then another two; then one man alone who carries two long guns which he fires together, tossing them in the air as he disappears in a cloud of dust. A larger group of horsemen flash past, the air resounds to the crack of the guns and the cries of the women, but they are gone before one has realized that they have passed.

A pause. Then all of a sudden a tall figure in scarlet and gold is seen detaching himself from the other goumiers; he sets his horse in motion and comes whirling down the course; behind him rides his standard-bearer, so close that he seems to touch. Behind him again four retainers in blue burnouses gallop in hot pursuit. As the caïd approaches the stand he turns sharply and, aiming at the center of the crowd, fires. The color-bearer dips the standard, while the retainers, bending forward, draw the curved scimitars which flash in the setting sun as they wave them above their heads and sweep on in a whirlwind of dust, while the cries of the women rend the air.

Oh, it is a brave spectacle, the fantasia, and makes one realize how far separated are we in Europe from these wanderers of the south.

There is an Arab proverb which says that “Love lasts three seconds, the fantasia three minutes, and misery lasts for ever!”