ZIGHEN AYM - North African Author  and Blogger
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Goûter la bureaucratie au Ministère des Affaires Étrangères.

6/20/2020

 
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Lundi 15 Juin 2020.
Je me suis rendu ce matin aux Ministères des Affaires Étrangères aux Plateaux des Annassers pour légaliser un extrait de naissance ainsi que sa traduction en espagnole. Bien qu’il y ait un parking près des bureaux d’État Civil a l’intérieur du ministère, il était fermé aux clients. Un policier m’a suggéré de garer ma voiture de l’autre côté de la rue Khelifa Othmane près d’un bâtiment (Pour y accéder, il faut repartir, traverser un tunnel, faire demi-tour et retraverser le tunnel dans l’autre sens et espérer trouver une place où garer.)






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 Légende :
 0 – Où garer la voiture, 1 - Porte d'entrée pour obtenir un document pour légaliser un autre. 2 Parking pour l’État civil (maintenant ferme pour les clients), 3 - Bureau de l'État Civil

​Je gare ma voiture et traverse la rue, et j’arrive au guichet du bureau pour les légalisations et je me vois donner le numéro 35 pour pouvoir déposer les trois documents alors que le numéro affiche le no. 29. L’agent me demande d’attendre à l’extérieur. Une jeune et charmante fille de grande taille arrive derrière moi et obtient le numéro 36. Un jeune homme tenant dans sa main au moins cinq passeports et d’autres document obtient le numéro 37. Nous attendons tous à l’extérieur. Je vois le No. 37 en train de feuilleter ses documents. Il interrompt une autre cliente au sujet des timbres de taxe de 20 dinars qui doivent être collés derrière tout document qui doit être légaliser. Il lui en manque quinze. Et comme par hasard, la jeune fille en a beaucoup et lui remet quinze. Il la paie et la remercie. (Je commence à penser qu’il faut avoir sur soi peut-être plus que quinze timbres de taxe. Une centaine pourrait suffire pour année.)

Les clients avant moi se font appeler par les noms, se voient remettre leurs documents légalisés et partent. Je regarde le numéro affiche’ et il est passé de 33 à 36, mais j’avance et j’arrive au guichet et que moi j’ai le numéro 35. Je dépose mes documents et je retourne m’asseoir. Puis la fille avec le numéro 36 et le jeune au numéro 37 eux aussi déposent leurs documents. Et nous nous asseyons à une distance plus petite recommandée par le gouvernement à cause du COVID-19 (même pas un mètre).
Les documents sont acheminés dans des bureaux derrière le guichet pour légalisation et à leur retour, l’agent appelle le nom qui figure sur les documents et c’est ainsi que j’apprends qu’il fallait l'écouter pour recueillir mes documents.

Une dizaine de minutes plus tard, un nom est prononcé et la fille au no. 36 recueille ses documents et quitte l’état civil. Puis le jeun homme au no. 37  recueille les siens, revient s’asseoir sur un banc à l’extérieur, lit et arrange ses multiples documents en groupe. C’est à ce moment-là que je me demande que quelque chose ne fonctionne pas aux Bureaux de l’État Civil du Ministère des Affaires Étrangères. Je commence à m’approcher du guichet – tout en évitant d’énerver ces agents dont l’humeur peut passer à la colère que vous osez leur demander un simple renseignement. (N’avez-vous point vu ces agents de bureaux sourire et être gentils avec leurs collègues et puis soudainement froncer les sourcils et faire une grimace quand vous les approchez car ils n’aiment point être dérangés….) Mais avant que j’arrive au guichet, je remarque que le jeune au no. 37 m'a déjà devancé et essaye de rendre deux ou trois documents à l’agent – je n’entendais pas ce qu’il disait à l’agent. Je croyais qu’il indiquait que quelques-uns de ses papiers n’ont pas été légalisés. Mais, ce n’était point le cas. L’agent les reprend, les lit et je l’entends appeler mon nom, et c’est là que je comprends que les Bureaux de l’État Civil du Ministère des Affaires Étrangères sont désordonnés et que les clients doivent faire attention à ce qu’ils remettent et à ce qui leur est remis.

L’agent me remet met trois documents et répète deux fois ‘Asmah-ana’ (Excuse nous).
« Jamais », j’ai pensé et c’est pour cela que j’écris cette histoire. Je rattrape le jeune homme du 37 et je leur remercie pour avoir vérifié les documents qui lui ont remis avant de quitter les lieux.

« J’habite à Ait-Ouertilane (*), mon ami », me lance-t-il ?
Je me rends compte que ce jeune n’avait pas vérifier ses documents, il serait parti avec mes documents. Les Bureaux de l’État Civil du Ministère des Affaires Étrangères ne sauraient pas comment mes documents auraient disparu et, à qui par erreur, ils auraient été remis. Et en Algérie indépendante, le bureaucrate est roi, l’agent du guichet a toujours raison, et le citoyen est à leur merci.

Autant que je sache, je déclare sur l’honneur que les faits reportés ci-haut sont vrais et que c’est ma première expérience de la bureaucratie en Algérie depuis que j’y réside plus en permanence depuis plus de 30 ans.
 
(*) Ait-Ouertilane est presque à 250 km d’Alger.

Good Morning in an Elevator in Bangalore.

11/20/2019

 
     On my fourth day getting into an elevator to the sixth floor in the Whitefield, Bangalore, I was in the back and next o me stood several men and women heading also to their work. None had a uttered a word, and I am sure they are all nice people and they have friends and family members. For several seconds, I thought about breaking the silence, but I refrained.
    “Who am I to break their daily routine of silence in an elevator to work,” I thought.
    Then I changed my mind and said:” Good morning everyone.”
   They all answered, “good morning”, looked at me, and smiled. A girl on the left smiled and asked if I was from India, and I said, “I could be, but I am from Algeria.”
    “What is your good name,” she asked.
     I showed her my employer badge and pronounced my name.
    “We, in India, do not greet people we don’t know,” she explained.
    “You can change that and greet people whom you don’t know,” I said.
     I planned to add “that’s how you know more people and make new friends.” I did not have the time. The elevator door had opened. We were at the sixth floor, and I needed to get out.
    I hope to run into at least one of them at lunch today tomorrow when I come in and continue the discussion

How Sham found courage?

11/19/2019

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Once upon a time a beautiful girl with long black hair did not have courage. Many things in life scared her; In fact everything scared her. Doubts and fear seemed to roam her world like wild horses roam open plains.  The dark scared her, walking in the street scared her, and riding a two-wheeler scared her too.
"How could I go on leaving like this?" she thought.

Then one day at home and, while on the phone with her mom, the lights went out because of a power outage and the small room she was in went dark. Her heart started to beat. Then her smart phone died, and her heart beat even faster. In the pitch dark room, she started to feel anxiety and she did not think she could survived being the in the dark for many minute. Death could come any minute. She did not want to scream and ask for help. That would be shameful to do so, Having no choice, she waited and waited, but nothing happened and she continued to wait.

When the light finally came back, she realized that she survived the dark and understood that she had to control her fear to live and that the only solution to her fear is courage and that the moments she spent in the dark alone proved she had courage, which she did not think she had.
    "I possess courage. I am courageous," she thought.
   "What if I get a tattoo of courage to protect my back so that I can move forward in life," she said to herself in her room.

The picture below shows the Korean sign for courage that she tattooed on her back. In her right hand next to her wrist rests a small tattoo of her heart to express the love of herself.
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Suma, Thanks for Your Masala Puri

11/12/2019

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As I waited in at the modal station in Normal for a bus that will take me to O'Hare International Airport on my second journey to India, I met Suma, a native of India. We started to talk when we both thought the Peoria Charter bus to Chicago had arrived. No, it did not. It was the Trailways bus to Denver. 
We returned inside the station and sat next to each other but on opposite benches. 
We had broken the ice and started to inquire about each other work and employer. (I will keep that private).  Still, Suma did not waste time and worked diligently. We were both in software development and we shared very short demonstrations of our projects to each other. 
 
Our impatience grew and the bus from Peoria had not arrived. Suma shared a picture of her son, and I showed how the picture could be cropped so that the focus becomes on her son instead of the door, the alarm o’clock on the cupboard.
 
She showed me a picture of her wearing a beautiful India saree. Next to her stood a man wearing an untucked shirt and a pair of jeans. What a contrast! I abhor the picture of a woman that spent time prettying herself and put colorful clothes and matching jewelry next to a man that really does not care how he appears. The worst is a man wearing a t-shirt on which I Love NY or something else is written and standing next to a beautifully dressed woman. I told Suma to demand that, from now on, her husband must to wear traditional Indian clothes or a suite and a tie. She laughed.

Why don’t many men care how they look in pictures with their beautifully dressed spouses? Pictures are better when all family members are neatly and nicely dressed and groomed.
 
At 10:35 AM and almost an hour late, the PCC bus finally arrived, and we got inside after the driver placed our suitcases in the luggage compartment. Once inside, I asked Suma to sit on a seat on the opposite side of mine, and she graciously accepted.
 
I learned that Suma first got a BS in Pharmacy but later switched to information systems in graduate school. That interest in medicine resulted in her cosmetic and hair stylist sideline jobs. She even worked in a beauty salon. She showed me two black, beautiful, and long hair styles she did. One was of her niece in India.
 
When our discussion turned to food, she said that she has brought Masala Puri with her to eat if she got hungry. I jokingly said that if she would have to share it with me.
“No, no,” you can have all of it,” she said.
“Maybe half,” I insisted.
She pushed her lunch on me and I started to feel bad for taking her food and worried she would get hungry later. I ate all of her delicious homemade Masali Puri, and I thought that I was going to India and my journey started with eating India food cooked by an Indian woman whom I did not know two hours earlier.
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Every Day Cool Ass

12/2/2018

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As I drove in the mountainous region of Kabylia, Algeria, my eyes caught sight of the road sign below.
"Fast Food" has become a common word that restaurant owners use to attract customers. Yet, the mixture of languages can lead to a funny sign
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1.  "Fast Food" is in English.
2.  "Sardine" is a French and English word and my favorite dish when I travel back to North Africa.
3.   Although it is pronounced "Cool Ass", "Kul Ass" means "Every Day" in Berber. 


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