An Excerpt.
From "Who Completes the General's Face?"
Dear Reader, nothing of individual original thought, but just a passage from a novel to the Moroccan novelist, Abdulkarim Jouaiti, through his lens with the history of his corner of the world, Beni Mellal, nestled in the Atlas Mountains.
There’s not much I could find for him in English, or even French, but this article - which can be read through the help of the in-browser translators - can give the reader a glimpse of what is at stake. Anyways:
“You thought you came with your light to illuminate our darkness, but in truth it is you who came with your darkness to eclipse our light.”
When Yuri was listing for him what France had given the mountain people - peace and security, the road, the bridges, the law, the doctor, the teacher, the hospital, the courthouse, the daily merchants, the electricity, the lower villages - Zaid was smiling, and said to him: “We never asked you for any of that. You boast of what you have accomplished for us, yet you conceal the price of it. You never disclose what lies upon the mountain, and we are the ones made to pay for it - so what is the tribute owed to you?”
And when Yuri was pulling out his notebook to record the important information Zaid had told him about the tribe, or whenever this latter would visit him at the center, and he would see him writing reports and unfolding a detailed map of the region in his research about the Aït Bouli tribe - Zaid would smile with a sardonic edge and say to him: “You think you will come to know us in this way?” Yuri would shake his head in assent, and Zaid would reply: “No. When all is said and done, you will know nothing of us except what you imagined you knew about us.”
Yuri pauses and he asks him: “Why do you think?” Zaid answers him with the same sardonic smile: “Who comes to learn, does not bring weapons and fire, and does not build these hideous stone towers with their ramparts full of archers.” Then he pointed to the map: “This map shows you where every tribe is, every peak, every valley — but it withholds the mountain from you. It withholds from you what is written before your very eyes. It does not show you the secret paths, the caves, the small water springs. It does not show you the short passages. It does not show you the grazing grounds, the footprints and the tracks of those who crossed by night — nor does it show you where you may find rest, shelter, and safety. It is a dead sheet of paper, on which there is neither doum nor lavender, nor oleander nor rosemary nor juniper, nor the smell of ferns and smoke, nor grilled corn and ghee… The mountain is far greater than your map governor, far greater.”
One night, Yuri forgot his notebook and pen at Zaid’s. In that early morning, he brought him his pen and notebook. He gave him the notebook and left the pen between his fingers to toy with. Yuri noticed, and so said to him: “Does it please you?” Zaid scratched his nose as he always did when he meant to say something unsettling, then said slowly:
“I don’t know whether it will understand me — when I see it in your hand as you write things, I know they are about us. I see it as the gunpowder rifle, it makes a loud noise it takes aim, and falls silent when it fires. What you achieved with gunfire, you are accomplishing with words…”
Another article I found about Jouaiti’s novel I’m reading is this one, where it lays out the different themes of the novel, and how it compares to Juan Rulfo’s Pedro Paramo.
Till the next one..
📷:
📚: Abdulrazak Gurnah - Theft.