WORDS Henry Longden

“Whether you are Islamic, Christian, Algerian or a foreigner, the Algerian people will invite you into their homes to celebrate the break of fast,” our host told us, “It is inherent to our cultural and religious traditions to warmly welcome guests and foreigners.” We were being entertained outside his mud-built house which had acted as a respite from the 48C Saharan heat for the past 13 hours.  We were situated in the middle of an oasis, in a city called Ghardaia, where palm trees shoot up from the endless expanse of desert that spreads for hundreds of miles around. The city’s existence is a miraculous thousand year tale of Arab-Berber culture, fearsome climate and stunning geography. A mirage to the European influenced culture of the North. A walled city constantly fighting external influence.

We had been travelling around Algeria during Ramadan for the previous two weeks and had encountered a generosity that is incomparable to the lifestyles of Europe and North America. Visiting Algeria has not been easy since the civil war in the 90s. Troubles in Mali and terrorism in Eastern Algeria has perpetuated a sense of fear for tourists. Visas are (reciprocally) expensive and applications are made difficult. Yet the country is a one hour and €70 flight from Barcelona. When we arrived it was clear that people were delighted to have us in their country. People we met took days off work, organised rooftop parties and drove us wherever we wished to go. The presence of a dictatorship was clear on the streets, but there was a notable joy and freedom among the individuals we met.

Using Couchsurfing as a way to understand the country’s customs when we first arrived, we ended up  being informally introduced to a far reaching friendship circle of hosts all around the country — we never felt alone in Africa’s largest country. The night before we left our host in Algiers we expressed our regret in leaving to see a city called Constantine, further along the Mediterranean coast. We awoke to find our host had asked a friend to drive us the 400km trip and another to host us for the duration of our stay. One host told us, “Tourism is not a very developed industry in Algeria, and so people are eager to share their culture and showcase their country to strangers.” A sense of pride underlaid the generosity that was extended to us — people jumped at the opportunity to bring outsiders into their culture.

We spent our first day wandering around the quiet streets of Algiers, few shops were open, the twisting streets of the Casbah (old city) seemed to be abandoned, and we soon realised that we would be unwittingly enduring Ramadan’s no food, drink or smoking due to the city’s opening hours. Suddenly, from the beaches to the mountainous outskirts of the city, speakerphones erupted with the call to prayer (adhan), signalling the breaking of the fast. An excitement took over as people scrambled to the bakers, then to street food stalls and finally home to feast with their friends and family. Our host was being “welcomed” by another family for his meal, leaving us in an internet cafe to go and find some food for ourselves. Before leaving, a man and his group of friends ushered us across the road and into one of their houses, they managed to explain to us that it was their responsibility to take people in who were breaking the fast alone. As with most Algerians, our hosts spoke very little English and at first we felt embarrassed with the little we could offer while they lavished us with food. However, international language soon began with conversations consisting of naming footballers, impersonating Zidane’s infamous red card and wailing “Rooney” and pointing to the ugliest person in the room. We sat on the floor as delicious deep fried parcels of goat’s cheese and spinach were served on earthenware plates alongside bowls of soup, couscous and stewed vegetables.

After the meal, with all language barriers forgotten, the men bundled us into their cars and started climbing the winding streets of Algiers. Eventually we arrived at the gates to the city’s highest park, a stately garden whose boundaries fall away down the mountain that overlooks the sea and old town below. We scaled a wall and crawled between sparse barbed wire, and finally perched ourselves on a balcony, sitting above the city that was finally coming to life. We played dominoes, smoked shisha and drank mint tea for the rest of the night.

During the meal they had competed for our attention equally; but as everyone got used to each other, it now became clear that the female in our group was ignored. This was especially strange after they had been so inclusive of us previously. What was most concerning was the sense that it was so ordinary for them to act in this way. They were clearly very generous, and were concerned for our wellbeing, but this didn’t seem to extend to all interactions. Algerian women are not integrated into the same roles as men, so it was in fact habitual, but it was strange due to our expectations. When we moved onto Constantine in the East of Algeria, our host Ramy defended a new attitude for Algerians; “The new generation is strikingly more open: women tend to undertake long studies with the aim of obtaining ambitious jobs when they finish.” He told us that women made up a majority in his University, and that it was unfair to see Algeria as “somewhere like Saudi Arabia”.

Constantine is a dizzying city which seems to have fallen onto the edges of two mountains. We were shown around by two members of Couchsurfing who patiently walked us across eight bridges that straddle rapids and forests 150 metres below. One night our hosts took us to a traditional Arabic music concert in the city’s theatre, walking from the bustling square into the soft carpeted stalls, the French architectural influence was handsomely present.

There is a proud resistance to change in parts of the South. Our next and final stop, Ghardaia, is situated in the Saharan M’Zab valley and is one of five cities that UNESCO has seen to exemplify the Berber culture, which has been overwhelmed by a growing Arab majority. This of course is what makes the area so interesting for tourists, both the customs on show and its shelter from Western influence. A 10 hour taxi gently eased us into the desert landscape and climate. Just as the call to prayer started we were passing through the walls that stand between the city and the outside world.

We were taken around the protected sites’ white washed streets and randomly protracted square buildings by a tour guide who strictly instructed us to resist taking pictures of anyone. What we found inside the walls was a tradition far more peculiar than the geography or architecture. Married women wore long white garments which covered all their body, face, and left exposed a single eye. It had been one of the factors that drew us to the city, but when I walked past the cloaked women, and saw stiletto heels and plimsolls poking out from underneath their enveloped bodies, it was difficult to get outside of our socially conditioned perspectives and understand why and how this was accepted. To us it was difficult to embrace the culture we had sought without projecting our own understanding of freedom. This had been an aim when we first chose to visit a North African country during Ramadan, before it had seemed alien, now we were confronted with it as a lived experience.

So as we sat for hours under the clarity of the Saharan night, the thought of tourism in Algeria was an ambiguity. Here we were the outsiders. We were the outsiders not needed in a country rich in natural resources, yet we were welcomed with a generosity and pride that we had never witnessed before. We had come seeking rich tradition and uninfluenced culture. But when we found it in its richest form, I had struggled not to criticise it from a Western perspective. It was only through challenging this construct through a greater understanding of Islamic customs that I could see the two cultures in tandem rather than tension. Tourism often progresses liberal attitudes in dictatorships, and we found this among the Couchsurfing community. Yet we felt that if the country was to fully open its borders then a haven from Western bias would be lost; and the country’s cultural and religious traditions may no longer be so warm and welcoming.