Mr.Hacker Posted May 13, 2023 Posted May 13, 2023 In our series of letters from African journalists, Maher Mezahi writes about what looking for the branches of his family tree has taught him. Short presentational grey line On the outskirts of Skikda, an agreeable Mediterranean city along Algeria's eastern seaboard, my extended family owns a plot of land that sits on a slope. For my mother and her siblings, the land was an idyllic escape from their cramped downtown apartment that was synonymous with the mental grind of the school year. On long summer vacations in the countryside, they cautiously picked juicy prickly pears, carelessly built large bonfires and invented creative outdoor games to pass time with cousins. For my generation, visiting the land usually meant a day without a mobile phone signal and avoiding the orange-striped garden spiders that were the size of my palm. Nonetheless, all of us are unanimous in recognising the value of the land, mostly because of what sits on the slope's peak. A curving dirt path leads to the top, where our family cemetery sits in peace. Only the rustling of the fragrant leaves from an adjacent, majestic eucalyptus tree breaks the quiet. Every family trip to Skikda, without exception, is always punctuated by us visiting those who have passed on. A whole host of people who meant a lot to me now rest on the hilltop, including my maternal grandmother and grandfather. After taking a moment with them, I usually search for the resting place of my great-great-grandfather, Ahmed. Thick, green paint on the small boulder that serves as his tombstone indicates that he was born in 1845. It always hits me that this is the furthest I can dig back into my personal history. https://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-65026795
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