Zira, flower of the mountain

Part 1: Initiation

Part 1: Initiation

Zira’s eyes drifted to sleep, her head dropped onto the wooden counter and she jerked awake. She stood up; she was meant to be working in the shop not sleeping. It wasn’t fair though, her sister Mila, whose turn it was to run their father’s shop, was at home enjoying a cozy afternoon nap, and here she was fighting to keep awake. Mila was the older one almost eighteen now, and she was meant to be the responsible one, not the lazy one. Zira was only sixteen, but she was taller and more sensible and mature than her sister who made a game of every situation, always pulling pranks and betting, which reminded Zira of the challenge she lost to her sister that got her working the shop today instead of Mila in the first place. Mila was bored that day, it was a weekend; they had done all their chores, cleaned the house, fed the chickens and the horse, prepared the dough for bread come the evening meal and hanged the laundry. So the two sisters sat down relaxing under the shade of the old fig tree by their house. Their house was small and made of stone with a small garden at the back that had olive, apricot and lemon trees. They had a small barn for their horse Honey, a couple of goats and a dozen chickens; all the animals sought shade inside the barn or below one of the trees that day. It was a real blessing to live this far out in the middle of nowhere. Their village was tiny surrounded by hills and vast, difficult terrains. It was good because the French invaders preferred plains and large fields. Most people in bigger towns to the east and west of the country who used to own large fields of wheat and grapes had lost their lands to the French occupiers and they were forced to work their own lands as servants. While the French built grand farmhouses for themselves, the natives lived in small barns.

Zira took a deep breath of the dry air, they still had their home and they were no servants, they were blessed. The sun was shining and the air was really hot, Zira’s hair stuck to her sweaty face and her thin dress felt inflamed on her skin. She picked a fig from the ball between her and her sister and started eating it, fanning some cool air over her face with a fan made of cardboard with her free hand. Despite the heat, Zira enjoyed those quite afternoons in the shade of their fig tree. Her sister couldn’t stop fidgeting though. She looked at Zira with her mischievous eyes “let’s play a game”. “No” Zira sighed “Not one more of your silly games, please, can you not enjoy a quite afternoon … Look around you, enjoy the peace while it lasts”.

Zira glanced around her, this was the most beautiful view she has ever seen, she thought, hills upon hills covered with grass, dotted here and there by small stone houses and farms just like theirs. Walled by a chain of enormous mountains to the north, looking over the land like a king over his subjects. The Djurdjura Mountains looked so peaceful from this far that day; no one would guess that battles were fought on those slopes, maybe even right now. Those mountains were the pride of the nation, for their heroes, the resistance fighters resided there. Zira had seen many of those men and women, they would pass by at night and Zira and her family, would hide them, feed them, clean their clothes, load them with supplies and send them on their way. It was dangerous, for if the French soldiers caught them, they would burn Zira and her family alive in their small stone house. But it was worth the risk; it was their small act of resistance. Zira had always thought it was not enough though and that they should do more to free their country. The French soldiers had a barrack a couple of miles outside their village; it was the base from which they fought the resistance. Sometimes they patrol the area with their planes, rarely do they venture out here in their jeeps, and when they do the results were catastrophic. Zira had heard of neighbouring villages burnt to the ground. The soldiers would kill the men, rape the woman and then gather them with the children and execute them all in cold blood. Zira thanked GOD for this peaceful afternoon.

Mila insisted still “come on, I am dying to do something exciting, aren’t you bored. It is always work, work, work and then sitting by the shade doing nothing … I have a great idea, let’s go to the creak, we can swim in the fresh cold water, at least that would be entertaining”.