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northafricanus · 6 years

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The English speaking Algerian.

There is no arrogance in being an Algerian who is not from France. There is, again, no arrogance in being an Algerian who is not in Algeria. It is a different experience with different opportunities presented, handled by people of a similar culture. And that’s just it: it’s different.

Here lies the problem that is coming to the surface for many Algerians who are displaced elsewhere in the world; and in particular the Anglophone world. A disclaimer is much needed as I begin writing this, too: I write from my experience, my conversations, and my readings only. I appreciate that what I am about to share can be shared with other groups of people. Take what resonates with you, absorb what you didn’t already know, and hopefully engage in a different way of understanding identity.

For many years, the immigrant identity of an Algerian outside of Algeria was always linked to that of the French experience. I cannot, and will not, speak on behalf of the French-Algerian identity as this is an identity that is so heavily politicised, ostracised and for many, misunderstood. As of late, Algerians from the Anglophone world have slowly come to surface. Albeit, never as strong as the French, but they are making a mark slowly but surely.

Identity is an extremely politicised sentiment and the actual act of identification, naming, labelling and wading through what your identity may be is tarnished with politics. To be and to realise your being is politics.

As an Algerian who has grown up in England, UK, the identity from day one was assigned to me of British, as well as Algerian. I can’t remember a time when I was not mindful of Algeria, and the strong awareness that I was far away from a society that looked like me, perhaps shared names with me and shared the same form of religion with me. Having said that, I was also lucky enough to never feel lesser because of this in England. I was very much British with my English (and accent), my education, my appreciation for queues and organisation, and apologising profusely when it is not at all necessary. As much as these sounds like stereotypical British traits, they are actually something that come to surface when I am in Algeria. And vice versa. I will feel extremely Algerian in Britain in other situations.

Through various conversations growing up, it was always apparent that being an Algerian from England was quite the novelty. Alas, I spoke English (ki chghoul ta3 BBC), and this in itself was very different. Algerian darja (the Arabic language variant spoken in Algeria) is laced with vocabulary borrowed (or should I say, forced) from the French language. So naturally, there was an assumption that I understood all of the French words I was using when speaking in darja. However, and quite funnily as I look back, I hadn’t a clue. Sure, I was studying French at a young age and read French, but I never made the link between what I was saying in darja, and how it was French. So, when someone in Algeria was aware that I was ‘from abroad’, their initial assumption was that I have come from France, and so they began speaking in French.

Utter panic and horror fell over me.

I would mumble in darja that I don’t speak French. The speaker was always a little confused, and moved away. Until someone said ‘hadhou jow min lengliz!’ (these came from England) and that’s when the cooing and ahhing begin.

A novelty.

I think I remotely remember singing the nursery rhyme that every British child will know of ‘twinkle twinkle little star’ on the Casbah stairs as a 6 year old to some friends I’d made and they thought this was utterly brilliant. Looking back, how I’d made myself into an English language star was truly by pure luck.

Fast forward to the teenage years, an already bewildering time to say the least, and one’s sense of identity is yet again put under the lens. Adolescents are critical of themselves at the best of times, so can you imagine this awkward, quiet, Algerian who happened to speak English trying to navigate her way through these years? Luckily, I’m here to repaint that picture in all of your minds, for better or worse.

At first thought, my teenage years were not a time where being Algerian was a forefront thought. Rather, I was Algerian every summer (and Ramadan), and British during the school year. Other than that, I spoke darja, again, when needs be to my family on the phone (after trying to avoid the cringe-fest of family phone calls, it was always me out of my siblings who would bite the bullet and take the phone) and I’d support the Algerian national football team whenever they played.

It then became slightly estranged when I realised that my Arabic, was different to their Arabic. You know what I mean? I had always been enrolled in Arabic classes since the age of 6; writing and reading and the children in my class were from all varying backgrounds and shade of ‘Arab’ speaking countries. I had Lebanese friends, Libyan, Sudanese and Kuwaiti. But why wasn’t the Arabic I was reading and writing, the same as the one I spoke to my family? Why did I say ‘laabas’ for ‘how are you’ instead of ‘kayf el-hal’ like the other Arab speakers?

Language is a form of identity. I was confused, again.

But I digress. The language lessons and the Casbah trips only really contributed to a healthy view of self in the long run. The beauty was that I was not conflicted with having to shift myself from British or Algerian. I could indeed be both and no one was bothered. Was this this Britain effect? Britain, especially among its more diverse cities such as London, Manchester and Birmingham is known for having a wealth of cultures living and working together. Now, one is not saying that it’s all peace and harmony and love. By nature, humans will chalk ‘n’ cheese their relationships often with people they don’t know or understand. However, as an experience, I only saw negotiating between the two identities as a skill. After all, identity is a fluid concept and if I master the movement of it, wasn’t I the winner?

At some points, I feel much more in touch with Algeria and other times, I feel more British. I cannot, by default, say I am more this than that, or deny one side of it completely because the reality of my existence doesn’t allow for that. What it has encouraged though, is a self-appreciation and move away from (self) ridicule.

Is there an Algerian identity crisis for those who are outside of Algeria? (and not in France) A quick Google search suggests that people are still masquerading with the French identity and to find an identity that is Algerian in the Anglo-world is hard to come by. I will always remember reading the articles, blogs and watching documentaries of Algerians in France, and never really being able to relate. And also having a sense of ‘but what about me? (us)’ as the English speakers existed, but also didn’t exist.

As social media increased, so did the discovery of Algerians from all over the world. And I was one of them. I was allowed to share a part of my identity that I only ever really experienced within the realms of my own home in Britain, and in Algeria. I could be whatever I wanted to be online, share whatever made sense to me, and it was all in English. However, the Algerians who spoke English, at first, were far and few. Then it increased. The majority within Algeria. This was already a small success. Then slowly followed the Algerians from the English speaking world.

Then the meme was created. How I love a meme. So much communication in such a small image and space. And then with this came the ‘Arab vines’ string of videos (that I laughed at, a lot), and the ‘You know you’re Algerian when…’ series. I enjoyed these. Until they were posted in French. Then, once again, I was shut off because it wasn’t me. Or my brother. Or the Algerian in Australia or Canada (the English speaking part, anyway). I could see Anglo-Algerians clutching at straws to relate and laugh and share these memes, but it eventually led to a break away and a creation of a different experience entirely.

This is still the case now. Twitter and Instagrams from fellow Maghrebians in English, from the UK, USA, Canada and so forth really have forged a bond of jokes and relations and it was the language that bonded them.

And I still grapple with what it means to be Algerian.

The Algerian identity can be a chaotic one, from whatever route you choose to take it from.

#language #identity #algeria #britain #english #arabic #french #darja

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