This same Ernesto also recalled it publicly: in Algeria, everything is happy, even pain.
If there was an event still unknown until recently, but sublimated by the enthusiasm and goodwill of an entire people, it is this 19th session of the Mediterranean Games. Yesterday evening, Oran and the whole of Algeria made many tears shed, but of joy, finally.
Supposed to visit the newly liberated land for three days at most, a certain Ernesto Guevara had finally convinced himself to stay there for more than a month, and three times, as Algeria knows how to be terribly endearing to who knows him. return his love.
Its land, red with the blood shed by those who, only yesterday, believed in a future so great that a new man would emerge from it, has since known only tears as its only fertilizer. We are unanimous in making this observation: since our independence, we have alternated between spleen… and oblivion. The spleen, of a paradise marred by so many mistakes and selfishness. Oblivion, the time of an ephemeral joy of which we are among the most beautiful emblems.
Strangely, some will say, the Algerian is fundamentally happy. Everything is an opportunity for him to dress in his most beautiful adornments in the heart, to make his happiness trumpeted, to smell his love and to dream of his greatness. His life is not the happiest, however, but he believes, again and again, that he can exorcise pain by self-sufficiency, sometimes, or by leaving, often. This same Ernesto also recalled it publicly: in Algeria, everything is happy, even pain.
This time, finally, Oh my God, love is not sad
But if there are wounds that cannot be healed for one evening, pretty plays of light and a few well-used modern tools, there are others that have delighted the memory of a nation open to the world. Yes, this opening ceremony of the Mediterranean Games was an absolute success, and yes, of course, we must rejoice over it, again and again, and let it be known.
Because this party was above all ours. To us, people misunderstood here, and despised there. To us, who suffer on our land, and to us, who suffer from not being there. She was so ours that she reminded our country that it was absolutely immense, in its diversity, immense, in its wealth, and immense, in its potential, which has nothing to envy to the greatest nations.
For one evening, Algeria looked the world straight in the eye, and she didn’t have to blink. Her dances and her songs, her finery and her smiles, all were a wonderful festival where laughter and applause thronged over hill and dale. I myself have been a victim, on more than one occasion, of these pesky winds of sand and their dust which unfortunately came to lodge in my eyelids. Annoying!
A tear of joy
Because this ceremony was not trivial. We must not forget that our land had refused itself to the world. Wrapped up in her case of internal pain, where the laundry was not washed either in the laundry or in the family, she had ended up convincing herself that she absolutely did not need anyone and that no one would have to interfere. she.
This is how immense was my joy, my pride, my happiness to see Albanians, Bosnians, Slovaks, Libyans, Egyptians, French, Italians, Portuguese, Spaniards treading our land and so many other co-Mediterraneans for whom I ended up convincing myself that we were the only ones entitled to go to their house, and not the other way around.
Immense, too, was this damned ball which reached my throat for the time of a brilliant, elegant national anthem, sublimated by an orchestra tuned to perfection and which allowed itself a few additional notes intended to reinforce, even more, the grandeur and the clamor of a Qassaman won at the price of blood, again.
Because we are quick to lift our wanderings, we must live up to our successes. From start to finish, the ceremony kept its followers spellbound. Enhancement of cultural heritage (literary, musical, landscape in particular), sublimation of the incredible spectrum of this country-continent that is ours, everything was there, finally, and everything was beautiful, above all.
One night time
Seeing the national flag waved, fluttered and waved, in the stands, on stage and in an absolutely remarkable drone show, made me think, for a moment, that Algeria had finally joined the concert of the greatest. That finally, she would never be able to lower her eyes again. That she would finally free herself from her chains and spring forth, resplendent, in the eyes of the world.
Mohamed Aziz Derouaz’s speech, meanwhile, reminded me that there was still a long way to go, but that he was terribly endearing. This immense handball coach was perhaps not the most comfortable in a literary Arabic that he does not master perfectly, and probably also moved by the solemnity of the ceremony, but he was obviously forgiven. For one evening, strangely, all were, without exception.
Yes, Algeria will certainly not wake up as a superpower. Yes, yesterday’s crises persist and will surely continue tomorrow. However, the space of one night, of a party, of such a beautiful moment, we were once again extremely proud of today, not only of yesterday. For one evening, we were happy, dignified, grown up. For one night, I stopped living elsewhere, living far away. For one night, my dreams took shape and resisted the awakening of my eyes. Great is my gratitude for this moment which must now only fuel our extreme ambition for tomorrow. From now on, and for a long time, I cannot forget that in Algeria, too, we finally know how to laugh after having known how to cry.
Translated from DZfoot
