TOULOUSE, France — Sitting around a table strewn with steaming cups of mint tea, a dozen women were sharing memories of their summer holidays in their homeland, Algeria.
Malika Haï recalled sweltering days spent with her cousins near the beaches. Samia Tran described the cheerful family dinners around traditional dishes.
And Zohra Benkebane, almost an hour into the conversation, was the first to burst into tears.
“We all have a lump in our throats,” Ms. Tran said as she hugged her sobbing friend. “It’s too hard. We need to go home.”
For many French citizens of Algerian descent whose families migrated across the Mediterranean in the second half of the 20th century, summer holidays in Algeria are a deep-rooted tradition. Every year thousands of people venture off toward what they commonly call the “bled” — a word derived from Arabic that refers to the countryside.
“Leaving for the bled is a form of holiday routine,” said Jennifer Bidet, a sociologist at the Paris Descartes University who estimated, based on official statistics, that 82 percent of French people of Algerian origin had spent at least one holiday in Algeria during childhood, while 34 percent returned every year.
But with the Covid-19 pandemic still raging, Algeria is keeping its borders tightly closed until further notice. That effectively forbids vacations that had become a cornerstone of the cross-cultural identity of many French-Algerian families, much to their dismay.
“Holidays in the bled are a cultural bridge,” said Mustapha Benzitouni, a 45-year-old French-Algerian. “It allows people to rediscover an identity through their parents, through their belonging to a people, through their belonging to a culture.”
Perhaps nowhere has the Algerian travel ban been felt more acutely than in Toulouse, a city of about 500,000 people in southwestern France that was shaped by waves of immigration.
Hundreds of Toulouse families of Algerian descent are now stranded at home, unable to afford, or simply unwilling, to spend summer vacations anywhere but Algeria.
“It’s sacred for us to leave,” said Ms. Haï, 58, who, like many Algerians of her generation, mixed Arabic and French when speaking. “During a normal summer, in July and August, the neighborhood goes completely empty.”
The neighborhood to which Ms. Haï referred is Le Mirail, an impoverished area outside the city center that is plagued by drug trafficking and where about 30,000 people live in dreary apartment blocks. A large majority of the residents come from Algeria, with other families from Morocco and Tunisia, who also often visit their homelands in France’s former North African colonies in July and August.
Unlike Algeria, Morocco and Tunisia have recently reopened their borders to tourists and their citizens living abroad, meaning some of Le Mirail’s residents can go ahead with their summer plans.
For Algerians, though, the travel ban means parents need to come up with alternative plans for idle children.
“Spending the summer here is impossible, there’s hardly anything to do,” said Djelloul Zitouni, 38, a father of three who was playing with his children on a small playground nestled in the middle of Le Mirail.
Like every year, Mr. Zitouni — who migrated to France from Algeria 14 years ago to work as a driver — had planned on spending August in his hometown, the coastal city of Oran. “Eleven months of hard work for one month of dreams,” he said.
This year Mr. Zitouni said he would try to “get by with the children,” taking them to the local swimming pool and a few days at the seaside.
Worried that bored teenagers could lead to trouble, local community groups and the authorities have tried to alleviate the doldrums by organizing activities in Le Mirail.
On a recent afternoon, dozens of families, mostly of Algerian heritage, gathered on large plots of grass bordering a small lake in the neighborhood to take part in painting workshops, water games and dance classes.
But Soraya Amalou, a volunteer, had no illusions that these activities could make up for the loss of a genuine summer escape. “Spending holidays here means no holidays. In this neighborhood, you suffer from tiny apartments, from insecurity, you suffer from everything,” she said.
By contrast, summer vacations in Algeria, which Ms. Haï likened to a “breath of fresh air,” are much anticipated all year long, and the rituals leading up to the trip — from the tickets booked well in advance to the suitcases filled with presents for the cousins — have shaped several migrant generations.
The French colonization of Algeria, which lasted from 1830 to 1962, forged lasting, yet complex, ties between the two nations, which Benjamin Stora, a historian of Algeria, described as a “very special relationship of both hatred and fascination.”
The Coronavirus Outbreak ›
Frequently Asked Questions
Updated July 23, 2020
What is school going to look like in September?
- It is unlikely that many schools will return to a normal schedule this fall, requiring the grind of online learning, makeshift child care and stunted workdays to continue. California’s two largest public school districts — Los Angeles and San Diego — said on July 13, that instruction will be remote-only in the fall, citing concerns that surging coronavirus infections in their areas pose too dire a risk for students and teachers. Together, the two districts enroll some 825,000 students. They are the largest in the country so far to abandon plans for even a partial physical return to classrooms when they reopen in August. For other districts, the solution won’t be an all-or-nothing approach. Many systems, including the nation’s largest, New York City, are devising hybrid plans that involve spending some days in classrooms and other days online. There’s no national policy on this yet, so check with your municipal school system regularly to see what is happening in your community.
Is the coronavirus airborne?
- The coronavirus can stay aloft for hours in tiny droplets in stagnant air, infecting people as they inhale, mounting scientific evidence suggests. This risk is highest in crowded indoor spaces with poor ventilation, and may help explain super-spreading events reported in meatpacking plants, churches and restaurants. It’s unclear how often the virus is spread via these tiny droplets, or aerosols, compared with larger droplets that are expelled when a sick person coughs or sneezes, or transmitted through contact with contaminated surfaces, said Linsey Marr, an aerosol expert at Virginia Tech. Aerosols are released even when a person without symptoms exhales, talks or sings, according to Dr. Marr and more than 200 other experts, who have outlined the evidence in an open letter to the World Health Organization.
What are the symptoms of coronavirus?
What’s the best material for a mask?
Does asymptomatic transmission of Covid-19 happen?
- So far, the evidence seems to show it does. A widely cited paper published in April suggests that people are most infectious about two days before the onset of coronavirus symptoms and estimated that 44 percent of new infections were a result of transmission from people who were not yet showing symptoms. Recently, a top expert at the World Health Organization stated that transmission of the coronavirus by people who did not have symptoms was “very rare,” but she later walked back that statement.
Mr. Stora said that “returning to the bled” was a way for French-Algerians to “reconnect with a national filiation.”
But while French-Algerians can be made to feel like they don’t fully fit in with France, they also “are badly regarded in Algeria,” Mr. Stora said, where they are seen as French citizens whose Algerian heritage is but a detail.
“They treat us like French bourgeois and raise prices as soon as we arrive,” said Ahmed Adjelout, 72, who was waiting in a travel agency in downtown Toulouse in the hope of rescheduling his July 22 flight to Oran, which had just been canceled.
Mr. Adjelout, a retiree with a beret thrust upon his head, recalled how he would be called “an emigrant, a stranger” by Algerians whenever he returned to the country he left in 1967.
“The paradox,” Mr. Adjelout added, “is that in Algeria, we’re seen as French and in France, we’re seen as Algerians.”
This ambiguous situation — straddling two cultures and belonging to neither — can make building an identity a challenge for the estimated 2.5 million people of Algerian descent in France, especially for second- and third-generation immigrants for whom Algeria is merely a summer getaway.
“It’s tricky to deal with both sides, the French and the Algerian, no culture really welcomes us,” said Fatiha Zelmat, whose mother, Naouel Matti, has taken her to the ancient stone alleys of Algiers, the Algerian capital, every summer since she was born — except this year.
Ms. Zelmat, 21, said she had fond memories of her time in Algeria, but she also condemned a more conservative culture that forbids women from smoking or wearing shorts.
“I have mixed feelings about Algeria,” she said.
Ms. Bidet, the sociologist, said that for some young people, spending holidays in Algeria — where they can afford activities that would be far beyond their means in France — is an opportunity to escape the poor social status to which they are normally relegated.
But, she noted, this reversal of social hierarchies is only temporary and does nothing to address the problems of integration they face in France.
Ms. Matti, who covered her hair with an elegant white veil, said that young people of Algerian descent like her daughter were integrated neither in Algeria nor in France, where they often grow up in deeply socially segregated neighborhoods like Le Mirail.
“Our children stop going to Algeria because they don’t feel they belong there,” Ms. Matti said. “But where will they go instead?”