13
I myself watch for the last time these images of women
wearing apparels, the secret world of Arab women. I watch on one
side the walls of creme marble where calligraphies are chiseled even
in the most modest houses; they represent flowers and leaves,
whatever inanimate. The men on the other side wear floating,
immaculate gowns inherited from an other time, from the Seventeeth
Century, from the time of the last Prophet (Peace Be Upon Him.)
People’s heart since that time kept opened to charity and hospitality.
The hospitality of the desert is mythical, no wonder ‘Arab’
means ‘waste land’. The love for others came from this hospitality
for those who remember the hardship of the desert, for those who
never forget the tents stood on the scorching ground, battled by fierce
sand winds. Still today women take off their gold necklaces for the
visitor who comes for one day. Still in north Africa, story tellers are
paid in goods, still people know the generosity, the gesture that guides
no interest whatsoever. People still give because they are happy.
But for how long? Ibrâhim remembers his trip to Europe; he wrote in
his journal:
“To love the human being...
In north Africa the poor invites you in his miserable small place
made of mud, iron and cardboard, and he constantly reassures
you ‘My house is your house! Come to drink our mint tea, come
to eat semolina!’ And if the night comes, he will not let you go.
You will be obliged to stay. He will spread for you his best mat,
and Allah knows best where he will find a place to rest. And
when this poor fellow comes himself to Europe, he finds the
panel in the towns saying: forbidden to north Africans.”
2000-2001 ww.arttoday.com
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