TourismA tourist’s story By Kathleen Voss WoolrichIt’s been 5 yearssince I last saw youand I have missedyou so much. It’sdifficult for meto tell people mystory, the way I fellin love with you. Ihave a secret boxwhere I keep allyour old photosand have done thisfor years and years.Dearest AlgeriaThe suitcase in my closet hasnewspapers that I bought fromLondon that are over 1<strong>50</strong> yearsold which talk about your missingartifacts and the things you have beenthrough. There is a hole in my heart whereyou should be right now but are not.I met you in the Spring of 2001 on a trip toParis. I went to Paris as a teenager but hadnever been back before my mid thirties, Idecided to return. On a side street, near atrain station, I first found you. Your musicfilled the air and I felt myself dancingwithin. It was as if something had beenawakened and I was determined to findyou. I never had enough money to visityou but I dreamed of you. I met your sonsand daughters in the US and talked tothem and I began to dream of walkingwhere Albert Camus walked and whereAli La Pointe ran through the Casbah.In the winter of 2005, my great Aunt diedand I begged my mother to buy me aticket to go to Algiers. She surprised mewith 3 tickets and I took my family withme. I knew no one in particular therebut I decided that my teenage son andmy little daughter would accompany meto the white city. Dearest Algeria, I hadtruly missed you but I hadn’t met youface to face. I struggled to get out of theairport and to get to my hotel and even
when I got there, I was confused withall the traffic. I fell asleep in my clothes, Iwas so exhausted but my children wereready to explore. Over one week, wesaw the museum of the martyrs, wheremy son ran up and down the stairs andwas amazed by the soldiers. We atechicken in Kouba at Chicken Royale andit was the best chicken I had ever eaten.We walked through Tipaza and saw themonument and I dreamed somehowI could stay there forever. We went tothe zoo. I loved the stately palms andgardens and blue and white colors all overAlgiers. I decided that she was a city thatbelonged to me even though she was notmine, I could love her. I made a promiseto the pictures in the museum of themartyrs and looked up at them and toldthem that I would begin to tell the storyof Algeria to anyone who would listen.I went home and started a youtubechannel called www.youtube.comalgerianhistory and on that channel, Iuploaded traditional and contemporarymusic. I made documentaries aboutyou. Dearest Algeria, I even returnedseveral more times to see you butI have not had enough money norhave I been healthy enough to return.You belong to Algerians, beloved motherof Africa. I love you so. As a tourist, youprovided me with a beautiful canvasfor me to paint my dreams upon. Youare an immense book of dreams, ofcolors, of tastes and textures. You arethe gardens of Tlemcen, the mountainsof Oran, the Orange Groves of Kabilya,the boats of Bejaia. You are the bridgesof Constantine. You are the drums ofGhairdaia, the snow on the mountains,the lunar landscape of Tassilli N Ajjer.You, my dearest Algeria are a secretbox of pictures. You are for the touristwho can read about you before going,as there is so much more about youthan meets the eye. Renoir painted yourfields. Abdelkader rode across westernAlgeria to protect you. People died sothat you could be independent as youbecame free from from Colonial Rule.Dearest Algeria,Camus, Fanon, Yacine and Djaout areeverywhere I go when I walk down yourstreets. I can dream of you but I am nolonger a tourist. I am somehow part ofyour family now, my beloved Algeria. Iremain fi’l ghorba, even though it usedto be my home. It is still my physicalhome but my heart remains with you. Nolonger am I just a tourist, my beloved, mysecret picture box, my dearest Algeria.Love,Kathleen
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