‘What about the bride? Aren’t we going to meet her too?’
‘The bride and the groom, Odette, have been sitting in tents at opposite ends of the camp, hidden from each other, as is proper.’
‘That’s silly.’
‘It is how it should be. Come, this way.’
#
It was nearly midnight. The first ceremonial camel ride had taken place just before sunset, and since dark the women of the tribe had played music and sung songs to accompany the dancing of the slaves and vassals before them. The night was filled with the magic of firelight, the beat of drums and the sound of laughter. Colour was everywhere – in the costumes of the women, in the jewellery they wore, in the carpets they sat on. Even the men wore embroidered clothing for this occasion. The air smelled of wood smoke, sandalwood and musk, and occasionally, when a light breeze teased its way through the camp, a hint of patchouli and vanilla. Louis looked across at Therèse, sitting on a carpet next to Bahac, clapping her hands in time to the music, with Odette next to her, asleep with her head on mother’s lap. Therèse sensed his gaze, looked up and smiled at him.
‘So tell me,’ Louis asked Imez, ‘this soon-to-be daughter-in-law, what sort of person is she?’
‘The best kind for my son. She is his mother’s brother’s daughter. He cannot ask for better.’
‘Hmm. That doesn’t guarantee they’ll get on.’
‘You still sometimes doubt our ways, my friend. Even after all the years we’ve known each other. But let me tell you a story told amongst our people, which will explain…
‘Once the parents of a young man arranged for him to marry his cousin, but the young man didn’t love this woman – he loved another instead, one who had no blood-bond to him. So to make their son happy, the parents allowed him to marry both women.
‘Time passed, and it so happened that a heavy fine was imposed by the sultan on the young man.’
‘For what reason?’
‘The reason isn’t important. What’s important is that the young man was given a choice. He could either give all his livestock as payment of the fine, or he could have one of his hands cut off.’
‘Not a pleasant choice.’
‘No, I agree. So the young man asked both his wives what they each thought he should do. The woman with whom he had no blood-bond wanted him to keep his animals, and have his hand cut off. His animals were his wealth, she argued. But his cousin said Dispose of your livestock. We can work and buy more, but you cannot buy another hand. So it was that he learned that his parents had been right. It was best to marry someone with whom you have a blood-bond.’
‘And your son, he’s happy to marry this woman?’
‘He has a good relationship with her. He’s happy.’ The music stopped. ‘But enough of this talk. Come, it’s nearly time for the bride and groom to meet.’
They joined Marius and Gwafa and made their way to a sandy section of the camp, where the women were digging with their hands and with containers to make a little sand hill, just big enough for two people to sit on. When this adebel was finished, the women once again took up their drums and cheered and trilled as the wedding tent was brought to the site and erected, so that it stood unevenly, shorter at the back than the front, then a blanket was placed over the sand hill.
‘This is just the first tent,’ Imez explained. ‘Tomorrow, it will be erected in another spot.’
‘Papa! I’ve been looking for you. I want to go home.’
Louis turned to see his daughter running towards him, followed closely by Therèse. Odette reached her father and grabbed his hand.
‘I want to go home, Papa.’
‘What’s wrong, Sweetheart?’ Louis squatted down to the child’s level.
‘I’m sorry, Louis,’ said Therèse. ‘She woke when the singing started up again, and refuses to stay any longer.’
‘Hmph,’ said Marius, ‘I told you this would happen.’ These last few years he’d come to realise that Odette was totally spoiled, and he no longer thought her such a blessing. Therèse agreed with him, but Louis refused to see it – to him, the child could do no wrong. ‘You should have left her at home’, he said, and beside him Gwafa nodded.
‘Don’t you want to see the bride?’ Louis asked the child.
‘No, I don’t. Everyone keeps making too much noise and my dress is getting dirty and the women keep pinching my cheeks. I want to go home.’
Louis felt torn between his love of the child and his friendship with Imez. To leave now would be an insult to his friend, but he wanted to please Odette as well.
Imez guessed Louis’ dilemma – he’d experienced Odette’s moods before this, and though he disapproved of the way Louis spoiled the child, this was his son’s wedding and he wasn’t about to let Odette ruin it.
‘May I?’ he asked Louis. Louis nodded and Odette frowned at Imez. He ignored her and signalled to a young woman. ‘Take her to a tent where it’s quiet. Keep her amused then stay with her while she sleeps. Stay until her parents are ready to leave.’
Odette looked appalled. ‘But I don’t want—’
‘Odette, your parents are my guests. I want them here. If you do as I say, I will give you a beautiful bracelet.’
‘A gold one?’
‘Odette!’ cried Therèse, not only horrified at her daughter’s impudence, but also very much aware of the Tuaregs’ superstitious fear of gold. ‘Imez, please, no.’
Imez turned to Therèse. ‘Having all of you here these nights is very important to me and to my father. Allow us this pleasure. If it costs me a gold bracelet, I will consider it a very cheap price.’ He turned back to Odette. ‘Yes, a gold one. But only if you do not bother your parents again until the wedding is over.’
He nodded to the woman, who looked displeased at having to miss the celebrations to baby-sit this badly behaved French child, but she took Odette by the hand and led her away. Imez told himself he would have to buy two bracelets – a gold one for the child, a silver one for her baby-sitter.
‘Hmph. Now do you believe me when I tell you she needs a good spanking?’ Marius asked Louis.
But before Louis could answer, Imez interrupted. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘they’re bringing the groom.’
From a far end of the camp a group of young men approached. Amongst them was the groom, veiled from head to toe, only his eyes visible. They walked slowly toward the tent, singing Qu’ranic verses, and when they reached the tent they circled it three times in a clockwise direction. Then they led the groom into the tent, and when he sat on the sand hill the young men squatted around the outside of the tent and joked and laughed and spoke amongst themselves and to the groom, but he didn’t answer, as custom demanded.
The air filled with the beat of small drums and the sound of women’s voices singing. A procession of young women entered the camp from the opposite direction, in the middle of which was the bride, even more closely veiled than the groom. The women walked in such small steps that it seemed they were barely moving. They reached the tent and they too circled it three times, but in an anticlockwise direction this time, then stopped before the entrance. The drums and the singing stopped whilst one of the women led the bride to sit behind the groom, then began again, louder this time, whilst the bride and groom were ignored and their guests sang and beat drums and danced in the firelight.
Goat meat, pungent with garlic and spices, had been roasting over coals for hours, and this was now sliced and served on beds of couscous on which was ladled a rich tagine of vegetables, and the guests ate then sang and beat drums and danced some more.
Louis watched Therèse sitting amongst the women, laughing and swaying to the music, clapping her hands, and he thought of their own wedding so many years ago in the little church in Ampère, and how pretty she had looked with a crown of jasmine in her hair. They had been through a lot, the two of them, and most of their life together hadn’t been easy, but in all that time, never had he reason to complain about her.
Imez
followed his friend’s gaze and guessed Louis’ thoughts. ‘She is a good woman, your Therèse. Bahac speaks highly of her.’
‘Therèse speaks highly of Bahac.’
Imez nodded. ‘Come, they’ll be dancing till sunrise. Let me show you the bride wealth and dowry.’
‘Of course. But where’s my father? I haven’t seen him for a while.’
Imez laughed. ‘Our fathers are too old to sing and dance all night. They’ve gone to my father’s tent to sleep.’
He led Louis to a tent set aside to display the gifts given to the couple by both the bride’s family and the groom’s. In a makeshift pen beside the tent were three young camels, five donkeys and a number of goats.
‘The goats and donkeys are from her family,’ Imez explained, ‘the camels from mine. Two females and one male, so they may breed.’
‘A very nice gift.’ Louis knew the value of camels to the Tuareg. He looked inside the tent where oil lamps burnt. Displayed on colourful carpets were a number of tent mats, three large, highly decorated skin bags for storing possessions, intricately carved brass platters, wooden eating bowls and spoons, storage containers, a large woven carpet and some smaller ones, five donkey saddles, and a splendid camel saddle. ‘The families have been generous.’
Imez nodded. ‘They have everything they need to start their life together.’ But then he thought how these gifts assumed his son would continue the same life as his father, and he knew that this was not what his son wanted – after the obligatory first year of marriage living with his wife’s family, his son intended moving to the city. ‘Tell me, my friend, what news of your sons?’
‘Antoine’s still in medical school.’
‘Well, a doctor in the family is useful.’
‘True. Gilbert and Francois want to come back home. They’re not interested in anything but farming.’
‘And why d’you say this as if it’s a fault?’ Imez laughed.
‘Therèse has her heart set on all her children getting a university education. She’s upset that her eldest and youngest sons both reject higher studies.’
Imez nodded. From the campsite the music changed to a calmer rhythm, the voices grew softer. The air no longer smelt of food. ‘I’m not sure she should be,’ he said at last. ‘It may be a good thing if they came back.’
‘Why would you say that?’
‘She may not like the ideas they’d come back with, if they continued their studies. Schooling can lead to problems.’
Louis was surprised at Imez’s reasoning. Like Therèse, he now believed strongly in education.
Imez noticed his friend’s puzzled expression. ‘I sent my children to school, as you know,’ he explained, ‘partly because of your insistence, but also because I’ve benefited from learning, thanks to your father’s kindness when we were boys. But do you know my little Amayyas came back from school the other day to tell me that I was wrong, that we couldn’t have been here since Herodotus, because our ancestors were the Gauls? My sons aren’t French, and I’m not rich enough, nor influential enough, to insinuate myself into the colonial system to the point where they could be one of the rare few chosen to get a university education, but to be honest with you, Louis, even if I could, I wouldn’t do it. I’ve seen the condescending way the French treat those évolués, the way they mistrust and fear them – even the term ‘evolved’ is an insult. As if they were monkeys that had climbed out of the trees. So no, my sons won’t go to university, but at least they can read and write, which is more than what ninety per cent of the Muslim population can do. But with reading and writing comes ideas; now that they’ve glimpsed another life, they question our traditions.’
‘You can’t blame education for that; they’re not blind, they were bound to compare—’
‘I do blame education – I blame the education they’ve been given, that doesn’t allow them pride in who they are. I blame the laws that give them a taste of a better life, then stops them achieving it. If they knew nothing but our old ways, they’d be happy. Amayyas’ not much older than your Odette, but already he comes back from school with ideas. He told me that when he grew up, he wouldn’t be a nomad, a trader. He doesn’t want to ride a camel or a mule – he wants a motorcar. He wants to live in the city.’
‘Maybe he will.’
‘And do what? Oh yes, your government allows us to get an education, but the education we receive stops just short of giving us the qualifications we need, to allow us the jobs that would earn us a decent living. The young men of my tribe are torn between two cultures – they want to leave the old ways, but have nothing to go to. Meanwhile, their children starve.’
Louis knew what Imez said was true – he saw it every day. Nepotism was common amongst the French, and he’d seen many of his own countrymen in positions they were totally unqualified for, whilst Algerians with more common sense and intelligence were only able to get the lowliest of positions, with their basic wage thirty times lower than that of the pieds noires.
‘It won’t always be like this,’ he said, more to give Imez hope than because he believed it.
‘Won’t it? But this isn’t the time for such talk – you were telling me about your other two.’
‘Not much to tell, really. They hate the city and want to come back home.’
Imez smiled at the irony. ‘Are you going to let them?’
Louis nodded. ‘Gilbert’s twenty. He’s old enough to take over from me. His brother will help.’
‘Take over? What are you going to do?’
‘I’ve been offered a position in Constantine – in charge of what they now call “Indigenous affairs”. I’m thinking of taking it. Maybe there I can help change things for the better.’
‘And Therèse? What does she think?’
‘Therèse hasn’t been truly well since Odette was born – no, since the war, really. I think living in the city will be easier for her. For my father also.’
Imez nodded. ‘My father too was finding our way of life difficult. He’s been much happier since he bought his house in our village – I think it’ll be the same for your father. But enough of this talk, this is supposed to be a happy occasion. Let’s go back to the wedding.’
Shortly before sunrise the singing and dancing of the first day stopped, and the guests went to their allotted tents to sleep. When the camp was totally quiet, the bride and groom rose from the sand hill and – still without a word to each other – returned to their individual tents at opposite ends of the camp.
#
The day was already hot when, at around eleven o’clock on the morning of the second day, the wedding tent was taken down and reassembled, properly this time with twelve poles. A new sand hill was built inside the newly erected tent, and this tuf-adebel was covered with coloured blankets.
The campsite became busy as more goats were killed and put to roast over slow burning coals, and the air was soon filled with the rich aroma of garlic, cumin, coriander and mint as small boys basted the carcasses as they cooked. In another part of the camp women fried nut-filled pastries in hot oil, then dipped them in a honeyed syrup flavoured with orange water. Guests walked around, laughed and talked with each other, caught up on news and sought coolness in the shade.
Around midday the groom came to sit inside the wedding tent, accompanied by young men, but unlike the previous day, this time he led the procession. Friends and relations gathered around him, but still he did not talk to anyone. The sun grew hot and dazzled the eyes. Conversations slowed. Therèse and Louis went to spend some time with Odette, who made a point of snubbing her mother and telling Louis what fun the Berber woman looking after her was. She no longer wanted to go home.
Again, late in the afternoon, another camel ride took place, and Louis and Marius took part on camels provided by Imez, while Therèse joined the women getting the bride ready for the last part of the ceremony, hennaing the soles of the bride’s feet where it had come off during the night.
Just as the sun set the bride
was brought to the wedding tent. This time she sat beside the groom, and the guests played drums and sang and feasted some more as the night cooled and the stars appeared one by one. Gwafa pulled Marius into a group of men dancing, and Louis laughed to see his father try to copy the steps of the dance.
With the coming of morning the wedding ceremony was over, and the guests went to say goodbye to the bride and groom, then packed up to go home.
#
Louis and Marius stood by the car with Imez, waiting for Odette to be brought to them. Therèse was already in the car, leaning back against the seat, looking tired.
‘Will they really stay in the tent for a whole week?’ she asked Imez.
‘Seven days, as is the custom.’
‘Imez, I was good,’ Odette cried as she ran towards them. ‘Now can I have my bracelet?’
‘I do not keep gold bracelets in my camel’s pack, little one. I’ll have to bring it to you.’
‘But you said—’
‘I said I would give you a bracelet, and I will. But I didn’t say I’d give it to you today.’
Odette was about to protest, but Louis opened the back door of the car and quickly helped her inside. ‘Tell your son I wish him happiness,’ he said to Imez.
Imez nodded. ‘If Allah wills it,’ he answered.
As the car left the wedding campsite, Imez thought that he would miss his friend when he moved to Constantine.
18
Nicolette looked at the woman sitting across from her at the Excelsior Café and smiled, but if the woman returned her smile under those veils, Nicolette had no idea. She sighed. She didn’t really want this ‘guide’, but Steven had insisted. He wasn’t leaving her to wander the streets of Constantine by herself, he’d said that morning, and so had arranged for Massa, the wife of a friend of his, to help her in her search. Just how many friends did he have in this country, Nicolette had asked, but Steven had just laughed and said it came with the territory.
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