The Call of the Earth
Connecting with Ancestors Through the Land
June 2025
Since the 2022 COVID-19 pandemic, I have frequently returned to visit Algeria and live for several weeks and sometimes months in my native village of At-Abdelmumen (Ait-Abdelmoumene) located near the towns of At-Douala (Beni-Douala) and Iwadiyen (Ouadhias). One of my favorite pastimes is to walk south for about 35 minutes from our house along an inhabited hill ridge where, to my left and across the vale, is the village of Taguemount Lejdid [1] with its concentration of houses perched on a large hilltop and facing west. Below them, orchards of olive trees and private gardens filled the hillsides.
General view of the valley and Djurdjura Mountains from Mokrane's village
An early riser, I start my walk from the Tizgui [2] neighborhood of At-Abdelmumen, which was inhabited more than half a century ago and where our house sits on a hillside that accepts the light of a sunrise. I usually walk to the water tower on the ridge, from where I can bathe my eyes in the beautiful scenery of the valley that separates the hills and the Djurdjura Mountains. At its foot, I see the Agouni Gheghran village, singer Slimane Azem's birthplace. If I look a little higher, I manage to see only a few houses in the village of At-Argan (Ait-Argan) embedded in the mountains. Further to my left, I admire the numerous hills with villages set on their summits that extend to the horizon to the east. In the early mornings in winter and spring, fogs hide the entire valley and reveal a few sparse hilltops. As the sun rises and warms the water droplets, I get mesmerized as they waft up slowly and beautifully between two adjacent hillsides, caressing the trees and bushes that stand in their way.
To the left of the young olive trees, the early morning fog wafts up into the hills from the valley.
Both sides of the inhabited ridge where I walk have been destroyed by several fires. What I see are burned hundreds of cork oak trees (Akaruc guilef), and bushes such as memorial roses (Tuzzalt), tree heathers (axlendj), and broom shrubs (Azzu). Today, nature has proved its strength and healed itself because it always reclaims its land after a fire: The shrubs have fully regrown, and the cork oak trees that have resprouted as portions of their burnt trunk reveal the extent of the fire. Yet, many fir trees have not survived. Two of them, large and tall, fell onto our path on a western hillside in front of us during a hike with three friends.
On each side of the ridge, owners of some areas have taken the destruction of their forested areas as an opportunity to reconnect to their land. On the eastern side of the ridge, three areas that start from the hilltop down to the winding vale have been cleared of bushes, large stones, and burnt trees by hiring skilled personnel who operated a track-type excavator on these steeply inclined fields. In fact, in 2020, I was amazed by one operator’s skills in controlling the vast and heavy Huyndai track-type excavator to clear a 60-degree inclined land for hours.
On each side of the ridge, owners of some areas have taken the destruction of their forested areas as an opportunity to reconnect to their land. On the eastern side of the ridge, three areas that start from the hilltop down to the winding vale have been cleared of bushes, large stones, and burnt trees by hiring skilled personnel who operated a track-type excavator on these steeply inclined fields. In fact, in 2020, I was amazed by one operator’s skills in controlling the vast and heavy Huyndai track-type excavator to clear a 60-degree inclined land for hours.
A Hyundai excavator clearing a portion of an adjacent 30-degree-inclined hill in 2020
On December 12, 2024, I walked near a cleared area on the inhabited ridge and met its owner, Mokrane Bouceffa, who was gathering stones. My curiosity led me to learn that he is a resident of Taguemunt Lejdid and a retired civil engineer who worked in Hassi-Messaoud in the Sahara Desert for many years. His inherited area had not been farmed for about 60 years, resulting in a forest of bushes and cork oak trees. In the meantime, it burned four times. The first fire was in 1983, and the last was in 2021.
After retiring from his civil engineering job in the Sahara Desert, he regularly looked at his land on the opposite hillside. He remembered his grandfather farming it in the 1970s when it was a sizeable grove with olive trees, cherry trees, fig trees, vines, and of course the acorn trees whose acorns the family fed to the animals. In dire times, the acorns were ground into flour and mixed with semolina to make bread (agrum Ubelud). His grandfather also had a few cork oak trees whose cork he harvested to make beehives.
After retiring from his civil engineering job in the Sahara Desert, he regularly looked at his land on the opposite hillside. He remembered his grandfather farming it in the 1970s when it was a sizeable grove with olive trees, cherry trees, fig trees, vines, and of course the acorn trees whose acorns the family fed to the animals. In dire times, the acorns were ground into flour and mixed with semolina to make bread (agrum Ubelud). His grandfather also had a few cork oak trees whose cork he harvested to make beehives.
Mokrane, standing next a young olive tree and its support wall.
For almost fifteen years, Mokrane would gaze at his ancestral land and feel the need to honor his ancestors. He would imagine the earth calling him to return to beautify it by planting olive trees. Day after day, the call of the earth grew stronger. He often remembered the old days when people lived off the products of their land. He also remembered being a middle school and high school student and joyfully running home after classes to help his mother harvest olives in another field. He also enjoyed setting traps to catch thrushes and starlings.
Mokrane realized that the advent of machinery would speed up the clearing of his land. He indicated that stones that served as delimitation borders (Tilisa) were sometimes not easily visible, making it hard to know the limits of a land, which amounted to two and a quarter hectare. To clear the land, which otherwise would have been almost impossible, he jumped on the opportunity to rent an excavator and hire an operator. Still, clearing his hilly land with a surface of 150 m by 150 m and a 60-degree incline in some areas took ten days. It included uprooting the trees and bushes, dragging down the large rocks, and creating a zigzagged path from the bottom of the land to the top to allow easy access for the planting phase of the olive trees. To alleviate the time-consuming work of preparing 650 holes for the young olive trees, Mokrane invested in an earth drilling machine to prepare the 25-cm-diameter holes with a 40-cm depth.
Although a government agricultural agency could have offered him free olive trees and would have reimbursed him for the cost of planting them, Mokrane decided to avoid the bureaucracy and necessary paperwork. Instead, he bought his olive trees for a green house in Baghlia [3]. He indicated that, unlike fruit trees that require a lot of regular watering, olive trees are self-sufficient, except for the first two years they might need.
When I met Mokrane in December, he regularly came to his land on weekends to tend to his olive trees. He explained that the work did not end for him after he planted them. It was still necessary to gather additional soil support by building a short stone wall (Tigremt) around each young olive tree. Although Mokrane had already pruned them to shape, his next steps include providing them with humus and fertilizer, and removing weeds when necessary. Watering them is usually not required unless they show signs of weakness.
Mokrane realized that the advent of machinery would speed up the clearing of his land. He indicated that stones that served as delimitation borders (Tilisa) were sometimes not easily visible, making it hard to know the limits of a land, which amounted to two and a quarter hectare. To clear the land, which otherwise would have been almost impossible, he jumped on the opportunity to rent an excavator and hire an operator. Still, clearing his hilly land with a surface of 150 m by 150 m and a 60-degree incline in some areas took ten days. It included uprooting the trees and bushes, dragging down the large rocks, and creating a zigzagged path from the bottom of the land to the top to allow easy access for the planting phase of the olive trees. To alleviate the time-consuming work of preparing 650 holes for the young olive trees, Mokrane invested in an earth drilling machine to prepare the 25-cm-diameter holes with a 40-cm depth.
Although a government agricultural agency could have offered him free olive trees and would have reimbursed him for the cost of planting them, Mokrane decided to avoid the bureaucracy and necessary paperwork. Instead, he bought his olive trees for a green house in Baghlia [3]. He indicated that, unlike fruit trees that require a lot of regular watering, olive trees are self-sufficient, except for the first two years they might need.
When I met Mokrane in December, he regularly came to his land on weekends to tend to his olive trees. He explained that the work did not end for him after he planted them. It was still necessary to gather additional soil support by building a short stone wall (Tigremt) around each young olive tree. Although Mokrane had already pruned them to shape, his next steps include providing them with humus and fertilizer, and removing weeds when necessary. Watering them is usually not required unless they show signs of weakness.
A helper, Hassan Noufel (left), and Mokrane (right) take a break for a picture with
the hills of Taguemunt Ledjdid and a portion of the Djurdjura Mountains in the background.
Mokrane is not alone in connecting with his ancestors' land. In fact, his uncle, who owns an adjacent plot of land, has planted a similar number of olive trees. I too feel slowly connecting to my ancestral land where, in my young days, I used to lead our sheep and donkey to graze, harvest olives in the winter, and pick up fresh figs and prickly pears in the summer. Cutting hay in the summer was the hardest task. Lately, I have enjoyed getting up in the morning in the spring before sunrise and cutting grass with a sickle for a few hours a day, and pleasantly discovering colorful insects such as white spiders, mantis, stick insects, and green crickets. This year, I have hoed a small patch next to our house, cleared it of the stones, and planted one kilogram of fava beans, several rows of shallots, and a few heads of shards
View from Mokrane's House. The cleared area includes Mokrane's land on the left and his uncle on the right.
My first garden in Algeria after planting the fava beans in January 2025
The movie Last Train to Lisbon [4] states that many people feel the need to return to their birthplace to find a part of themselves they left behind. Perhaps this need is not only the call of the earth conveyed by the sounds and sights of nature but the quiet labor that roots us to it. As I dig, plant, and listen, I draw deeper into something ancient and personal. The soil under my feet feels like a reminder of lives lived before me, of stories told in silence. As I breathe and sweat, I only do as my ancestors once did the same day after day.
Each morning becomes a ritual, not just of tending to plants, but of grounding myself. The morning birdsong and jackals’ cries at night are not just nature’s music but echoes of belonging. There’s a stillness in the land that speaks louder than any words. I glimpse a kind of truth in the rhythm of days shaped by wind, rain, and sun. It’s not grand or dramatic but quiet and enduring. The land doesn't shout, but it never stops speaking. And in listening, I am slowly learning how to answer the call of the earth.
GPS LOCATIONS:
Mokrane’s Land: https://maps.app.goo.gl/FYpF2yYaZ62i4LRb8
Tizgui Neighborhood: https://maps.app.goo.gl/J58ktjA3ymPSKdzBA
Taguemount Lejdid: https://maps.app.goo.gl/XvLpdZ81rXYLayhN9
NOTES:
[1] Taguemount Lejdid is the birthplace of Mohand-Arab Bessaoud, a war of independence revolution, the author of Happy The Martyrs Who Have Seen Nothing in 1963, and the founder of the Academie Berbere in Paris in 1966
[2] Tizgui means Forest in Tamazight.
[3] An olive oil brand produced Kiared Huilerie from the town Baghlia snatched the 2023 gold medal at Japanese Olive Oil Prize competition.
[4] Night Train to Lisbon, directed by Bille August (2013; C-Films, and Studio Hamburg Production: Wrelin, Germany: Wrekin Hill Entertainment, 2014), DVD.
Each morning becomes a ritual, not just of tending to plants, but of grounding myself. The morning birdsong and jackals’ cries at night are not just nature’s music but echoes of belonging. There’s a stillness in the land that speaks louder than any words. I glimpse a kind of truth in the rhythm of days shaped by wind, rain, and sun. It’s not grand or dramatic but quiet and enduring. The land doesn't shout, but it never stops speaking. And in listening, I am slowly learning how to answer the call of the earth.
GPS LOCATIONS:
Mokrane’s Land: https://maps.app.goo.gl/FYpF2yYaZ62i4LRb8
Tizgui Neighborhood: https://maps.app.goo.gl/J58ktjA3ymPSKdzBA
Taguemount Lejdid: https://maps.app.goo.gl/XvLpdZ81rXYLayhN9
NOTES:
[1] Taguemount Lejdid is the birthplace of Mohand-Arab Bessaoud, a war of independence revolution, the author of Happy The Martyrs Who Have Seen Nothing in 1963, and the founder of the Academie Berbere in Paris in 1966
[2] Tizgui means Forest in Tamazight.
[3] An olive oil brand produced Kiared Huilerie from the town Baghlia snatched the 2023 gold medal at Japanese Olive Oil Prize competition.
[4] Night Train to Lisbon, directed by Bille August (2013; C-Films, and Studio Hamburg Production: Wrelin, Germany: Wrekin Hill Entertainment, 2014), DVD.
