Through Little Kabyle

( Originally Published 1923 )

I LEFT Algiers the morning of Nov. 13th, my baggage, trunk, suitcase, and cameras stowed in the tonneau of a small French touring car. The chauffeur was a Frenchman and did not speak a word of English, which assured me that my thoughts and appreciation of the surroundings, would not be interrupted by need-less conversation. It, of course, also meant that I could not give spoken expression to any burst of enthusiasm or feeling that I might experience.

We traveled eastward through a level country, the country lying between the Atlas Mountains to the south and the Mediterranean Sea. It was a fertile, productive land, devoted almost entirely to vineyards covering hundreds of square miles ; great estates with fine buildings grouped among eucalyptus trees and surrounded by their vineyards, perfectly cared for. White clouds hung over the mountains and flecked the sky. The roads were good and we rolled along speedily, constantly passing Arabs in their white robes and turbans ; or there rushed past us great lorry-like busses, double-decked affairs crowded with huddling Arabs, their robes fluttering in the breeze. Occasion-ally by the road-side might be seen a low, tattered tent made of patches of gunny-sack or some other equally dilapidated material, the only home of the wandering Arab and his household. The little villages we passed through were splendid, modern-appearing places attesting the progressiveness of the French. Arriving at the foothills or highlands, the fields were in places carpeted with daisies and marigolds, and occasionally patches of wild blue flag were seen.

We arrived at Tize Ouzou, the first of the Kabyle villages, and here entered into the lovely landscape of Little Kabyle with its magnificent mountain scenery, its clustering olive and fig trees, and its productive fields clinging to the sides of great steep hills, emerald green as if the budding spring were here the eternal season. We followed a splendid road winding its way to the higher levels and often we saw several loops below us, the road as full of curves as a fluttering ribbon. It wends its way zigzag like a bolt of lightning, climbing, climbing, to Fort National, an important central town in Kabyle. It is stated that this seventeen miles of difficult road building was constructed in seventeen days by thirty thousand French soldiers.

At Fort National, we found plenty of local colour. A single street, with a gateway at each end, flanked by shops and dwellings, constitutes the town along with the adjoining fort. The street was filled with a surging mass of natives in their customary robes, reminding me of a parade of night raiders or the Ku Klux Klan. The Kabyles are considered a hardy, industrious people ; they live in the highlands and mountains, while the Arabs occupy the plains or valleys. A. MacCallum Scott gives a good description of these Berbers in his very interesting book, "Barbary." "The Kabyles or Berbers are the native stock which was here before the Arabs, before the Romans, before the Phoenicians, and which has retained its own language in spite of all subjugations. They are an industrious and hard working people, especially in agriculture. Goodness knows what is their racial origin. They are scattered very wide, from the Djurdjura to the Atlas Mountains, and even to the bases of the Touaregs, far in the Sahara. They are not Negroid though a slight prognathous tendency indicates an admixture of Negro blood. They are not Semitic like the Arabs. Apart from their costume they are as European in appearance as you or I. Suitably dressed they would be indistinguishable from the natives of any French or English village. They are of the Mediterranean race which inhabited the country at the time when Africa and Europe were joined by land bridges at Gibraltar and across Sicily, when Western Mediterranean was an in-land lake, and when probably the Sahara was a sea cutting them off from the rest of Africa. They were to be found in Italy and Sicily and they even penetrated to Britain and Spain, where we call them Iberians. The Greeks of the Islands were of the same stock, but the Greeks of the Mainland were quite a different race. In my view these Kabyles are Europeans, and, if the French occupation continues, in the course of a century or so they will be indistinguishable from the French. The religious barrier will probably be broken down. They are not orthodox Mohammedans as it is. They are very lax and they go in for many practices which are not Mohammedan, while the French on their side are very tolerant, if not indifferent in religious matters."

The women, like the men, have almost a uniform dress, a dark cotton material with a touch of red and yellow, and a piece of cloth, silk or cotton, bound about their heads, usually black and red, or yellow and red, adding a bright touch to their otherwise somber make-up. Nearly always, a few small designs are tattooed on their faces and they are given to wearing exceedingly large hoop earrings, brace-lets, necklaces, and so forth. They make at-tractive pictures, indeed, when walking erect and carrying huge water jars; but it is quite impossible to secure a picture, for they absolutely fight shy of a camera. I jumped from the car and actually raced after one, camera in hand, while she ran down a hill hanging on to her huge, filled water-jar and disappeared into a hut beside the road.

The children looked bright and healthy in spite of the unsanitary, unventilated condition of their homes. The villages with their tangle of narrow alleys were usually just off the main highway and crowning or clinging to the side of a hill. I was so entranced by the beauty of the landscape that I did not actually enter any of these little villages made up of clustering, low adobe houses with red tiled roofs and low doors, and without windows or chimneys. Light and ventilation are apparently of no consideration in the house plans of these huts, the inhabitants getting their supply of both when in the open. It is stated they are filthy to the nth degree. I was content to enjoy their picturesqueness and charming setting from a road-side perspective. I was informed that the population of Little Kabyle is more dense than that of Belgium.

We continued on to Michlet where I spent the night. The road from Fort National to Michlet passes through magnificent scenery and is referred to as the Switzerland of Africa, especially that part known as the Kabyle of Djurdjura, which I visited and found surpassingly beautiful, unequaled elsewhere in all Algeria. It is a landscape of incisions in the earth, deep, narrow valleys rich in vegetation, carpeted in green, in the midst of the Djurdjura mountains, whose slopes are clothed in verdure of cedar and forests of cork-oak, their peaks of granite standing out in bold re-lief against the clear sky or enveloped in an ever-changing, purple haze.

One is surprised when traveling in what is looked upon as a remote country to find at his disposal a hotel though small, yet clean, comfortable, and with good cuisine. Thanks to the Transatlantic Company's system of hotels in Northern Africa.

The wife of the hotel manager at Michlet acted as an interpreter between myself and the Kaid of the village whom I met in the evening. He spoke only French. I found he had traveled in Europe, was well informed, and of polished manners. Such privileges and enlightenment, however, seem to be confined to the men, the women being kept in ignorance and the better class confined to their homes, the slaves of their husbands. The same lady recounted some interesting household gossip. It appeared that just at present the wife of the barkeeper of the hotel was ill but he had refused to have a doctor saying—"If she dies I get a newer (younger) one." The general caretaker of the same hotel, a man of sixty-four has had during his career, five wives; one died, three he sold, the last of the three he had purchased for five hundred francs and sold for two thousand francs, and with the profit he had purchased his latest, a young woman whom he prizes very highly, at least for the present; but give him time, and he may add another chapter to his matrimonial romance.

The following morning I arose early and witnessed a glorious sunrise over the range to the east. Finishing my toilet I left the hotel and wandered through the village and the market, following the narrow lanes leading along the steep hillsides and enjoying the freshness of the early morning, the long shadows cast by the mountains, retreating before the on-coming day,—an hour or more of uninterrupted enjoyment of the surrounding landscape, dotted here and there by little villages nestled on the hill tops. It seemed a serenely peaceful place, from which was excluded the cares of the great outside world.

Very few people prefer visiting remote portions of the globe. It is, however, in these unfrequented places that one gets new impressions quite apart from the ordinary routine of existence. It is also interesting to note the influence exerted upon such places and people by the modern order of things brought by conquering Europeans. After all, all things are relatively small or great by comparison.

After a meager breakfast following the feast of early reveling in nature's beauties, we were again on our way. We continued to pass through miles of just such country as I have previously endeavored to describe. In many places the road was hemmed in by cactus hedges and often was blocked by a flock of sheep or goats or both, attended by their shepherd, who succeeded in driving them to one side permitting us to pass. We passed village after village beside the roadway, and steep trails intersect the highway leading off to the other villages seen on nearly every hill-top. It is surely a picturesque country, intensively cultivated, and any area that is lost due to the ruggedness of the steep hills, is by the same reason compensated for, as every square mile of actual territory is cultivated on both sides, the hill and ridges nearly always being tilted forty-five degrees or more. We descended into a rambling valley and later again ascended and passed through miles of forests, mostly cork-oak, and it was no uncommon sight to see huge, gray monkeys disporting themselves in the trees.

Cork is the external bark of a species of evergreen oak (Quercus suber). It reaches a height of about thirty feet. Algiers has approximately ten million acres of cork forests representing about one fourth of the productive cork area of the world.

In the gathering of the cork bark, it is customary to slit it with a knife perpendicularly from the top of the tree trunk to the bottom, and to make two cross incisions, one near the top, and the other near the bottom of the tree trunk. It is then stripped off and soaked in water, treated, flattened out to dry, and later packed in bales.

In the course of eight or nine years, the same tree will again yield a crop of cork. The first stripping takes place when the tree is about fifteen years old and the cork is then of a poor quality. The quality of the cork improves with each successive stripping; and the trees continue to live and thrive under the operation for one hundred and fifty years or more.

The beast of burden (other than the woman) is surely the donkey, ill cared for and abused. They haul or carry loads that are incredible and some of these animals are so small that the feet of the riders sitting astride them nearly drag on the ground. One wonders where all the people are bound for, group after group of wandering Arabs or Kabyles with long lines of patient little donkeys, for each man, at least one donkey which is pulled or pushed to one side as we pass.

It was in the afternoon, after a most enjoyable ride through an attractive country, that we again glimpsed the sea and the city of Bougie, the seaport of lower Kabyle, beside a beautiful harbor encircled by mountains. We entered through the gates of an old medieval wall into another modern city largely of French construction and with all the improved sanitary conveniences. One cannot help but recognize the splendid, efficient manner in which the French have cared for the general welfare of these north African colonies. The square or esplanada in the center of the city commands a fine view of the harbor, the mountains beyond, and the quays, which, as you lean over the balustrade, are seen at least a sheer one hundred and fifty feet below. To the left is the great promontory of Cape Carbon jutting out into the sea and forming one side of the harbor, while on the other side are seen the stern heights of the encircling mountains including Mt. Babor and Mt. Tababor rising sixty-five hundred feet above the sea level.

Beyond desiring to obtain a general impression of a town and especially to sense the atmosphere and character of its inhabitants, am never so much interested in the cities as in the country-side. It has been said that man made the cities, but God made the country.

We. departed early in the morning for a drive through the Gorges du Chabet en route to Setif. We traveled for several miles along the sea to the east of Bougie over a splendid road which in places was cut from the solid rock and overhangs the sea a hundred feet or more below. In some places these mountains rise directly from the sea and are covered with verdure, while those in the background lift their granite peaks to more than a mile in height. The narrow strips of land lying between the mountains and the sea are intensively cultivated and covered by luxuriant vineyards, diligently cared for and still decked in their green leaves. One would not recognize the season of the year as November, for all the trees and forests are still green and in full leaf. We crossed small rivers carrying their mountain water to the sea, and after following along the sea for about fifty kilometers we turned beside a river and through a mountain pass into the very heart of the rugged mountains of the Gorges du Chabet.

It was a glorious morning, the air very bracing, the sky flecked with white fleecy clouds, a lovely day in which to enjoy the wonderful scenery before us. The road is a perfect piece of road building, the dangerous curves around sheer rocks being carefully guarded by stone retaining walls. Interest is added by the sight of an occasional big grey monkey or two, which inhabit these parts. The mountains become very rugged indeed and can hardly be surpassed in splendor. They enjoy the ad-vantage of being seen for practically their en-tire height as one is but little above sea level as he views their sheer, bold, rocky face rising almost perpendicularly, in places to heights of from five thousand to six thousand feet and almost obliterating the sky. It must be borne in mind that while our Rockies are much higher, more than twice the elevation, on the other hand, we usually view them from plateaus or heights of from six thousand to nine thousand feet. The road from which one may enjoy this splendid scenery follows along a narrow, deep ravine from which the rock strata rises abruptly, in places vertically, or nearly so; and in this chasm flows a stream of water, adding charm and music to the wild scene. It is claimed that the rugged beauty of these gorges has no equal in all Africa.

Leaving the gorge we passed through a great grain growing district. The rolling country, by contrast with the rugged mountains we have just passed through, presented a lovely pastoral scene—great, smooth, rolling, hilly country, with no trees except occasional clumps about farm houses, or those which had been planted along the road side, a common practice of the French thus to ornament and shade their splendid highways. The fields are fertile, and everywhere one observes plowing, sometimes, as in ancient days, with a crude, crooked stick, to which are hitched oxen, or donkeys, or a combination of both. Modern equipment is also seen, great plows, to which are harnessed strings of horses, turning over the soil. The country reminded me of portions of Wyoming or Colorado, and is specially well suited to the growing of cereals. Great straw-stacks most carefully constructed and plastered with mud to protect them against the weather, may be seen clustered about the farm buildings scattered throughout the land.

Setif, a prosperous growing city, is in the center of a great agricultural country and is situated on a plateau which is about thirty-five hundred feet above sea level. It is quite cold during the winter months, and often snow abounds. It is strongly fortified and garrisoned, and is surrounded by a great wall. Beyond the hundreds of square miles of flat or rolling agricultural land, the mountains are seen rising on the horizon in every direction. We entered through one of the four gates of the wall, drove to the center of the city, and lunched at a good hotel.

Leaving for Batna, we had fairly to pick our way through an avenue that ran full with natives that swarmed the street leading towards the market square, a swirling pool of humanity dressed in turbans and flowing burnouses. These Arabs, although dark of skin, must in no way be confounded with the East Indian or the Negroids of Africa—they are a distinctly different type and present, as a nation and as individuals, much that is peculiar both in their mental and physical development. They are of a brownish color and their features express intelligence, dignity, and pride. They are courteous, temperate, and hospitable. They possess a religious soul, but one that I imagine is readily responsive to superstitious fears. They are always dressed in burnouses and turbans, and their salutations consist of a hand-shake usually followed by the kissing of the back of the hand or embracing and kissing each other on the shoulder. Eugene Fromentine writes that "A striking, indeed unique, feature of the Arab is that under no circumstances does he appear ridiculous; he is poor without being indigent, unwashed without being repulsive. He is grave, he may become violent; but he is never silly nor coarse. He is always picturesque in the best sense of the term ; he is artistic though he may not show it otherwise than by his attitude. Even his vices are monumental. His morality, judged by our European standard, no doubt leaves much to be desired but at any rate his divagations do not reek of alcohol. His is the dignity of silence, and one of his favorite maxims is `Speech is silver, silence is golden.' His features are striking, his language measured, his courage absolute. Inaccessible to the fear of death, his impassibility in face of suffering is proverbial. He is savage, uncultured, ignorant ; but his imagination runs riot. His innate resistance is such that in spite of pro-longed contact with the degrading aspects of an alien civilization he has preserved his distinctive characteristics almost intact. His customs, his superstitions, his national costume have resisted the disintegrating influences that have been brought to bear on him by a conquering race, and the passive resistance that has stood him in good stead for the last thousand years promises to preserve his racial individuality for a future when the shackles shall once again have fallen from his wrists."