In Marrakech, in a Hivernage hotel, last Thursday I met two Algerian sisters who were spending a few days of vacation in the red city. Coincidence worked out well: we were in the hotel lobby at the same time, they needed a little information, I gave it to them then, by journalistic instinct, I asked them where they came from, etc. The conversation ‘took hold’, as they say a mayonnaise ‘takes’. Anyway, we went to chat for a while over a pot of tea and various pastries in a small café on the corner of the street.
The first surprise, they told me, was the friendly welcome they received everywhere in Marrakech, even and especially after they introduced themselves as Algerians.
– It is true that we travel with French passports, but our interlocutors do not know that, one of them, H, told me.
The other (N.) adds:
– Our people are made to believe that the Moroccans do not like us, that they would be aggressive towards us. It’s quite the opposite. I really feel at home here. It touches me a lot.
A few sips of tea later, it’s H. again who speaks and gives a long speech punctuated by facial expressions that convey his annoyance and contempt.
– We really have leaders of unfathomable stupidity! Although Algerians, we live in France; we therefore followed all the attempts undertaken by Emmanuel Macron to bring Algeria closer to France. These official trips where he took half of his government… The hugs with Algerian officials… The smiles, the hugs, the pats on the back… The offers of economic cooperation… The credits… We have never had at the Élysée , since 1962, a head of state also favorable to our country. Our leaders could have gotten everything from him. All! All they had to do was be friendly and a little flexible, that’s all. But no. These… (she hesitates)… these imbeciles reacted by increasing their arrogance and aggressiveness towards Paris. Finally, Macron had enough. Gaining nothing by courting these scoundrels, he radically changed his outlook and chose Morocco. And as your leaders are finer and better diplomats than ours, they took the opportunity to get the maximum from him. Well done!
N. intervenes to moderate his sister’s words a little. Addressing me:
– Good for you, after all.
H. corrects himself:
– Yes, good for you, but I’m still angry. How could our leaders be so worthless and definitively discourage the French president who was best disposed towards them? It’s incomprehensible.
I just smile without saying anything, savoring a mini gazelle horn with pistachio (I discover this innovation which is not at all blameworthy); but within me rises this cry of gratitude towards the pathetic puppet of the laced men of Algiers:
– Thank you, Mr. Tebboune, thank you for being too (…)!
You will have completed it yourself, readers.
