Stop Being Mean to Yourself: A Story About Finding the True Meaning of Self-Love by Melody Beattie Page B
Authors: Melody Beattie
Tags: Self-Help, Personal Growth, Self-acceptance, Self-Esteem, North, Beattie, Melody - Journeys - Africa
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the national emblem for Algeria. It was also the emblem that had, by chance, become my personal seal for this trip—a crescent moon and star.
The woman interrogating me paused from her questioning for a moment and studied my itinerary.
"You were originally booked on a flight from Cairo to Greece. That was to be the last leg of your trip. Now it appears you have suddenly changed your plans and instead are flying from Cairo to Tel Aviv to Los Angeles. Why would you spend so much time in Algeria and Egypt, then at the last moment cancel the part of your travels that would have been such a pleasant vacation?"
"Oh, that," I said. "It surprised me, too. Let me explain."
Page 61
chapter 5
Blackout
I unlocked the door to my hotel room and flopped down on the bed. My time in Algiers had filled up quickly. From the moment I met Fateh, I barely had time to sleep.
He had arranged two other tours for me besides my tour of the countryside. I had seen the highlight of Algerian night life—a barricaded indoor shopping center where cars lined up for miles waiting to be inspected by the gendarmes before entering. I had seen the city by daylight, riding through the narrow, winding streets that Page 62
led mysteriously into barren marketplaces and the casbah ,streets conspicuously lacking the presence of women, streets fortified for battle by ramparts of armed guards.
I had just returned from the home of a local Berber family, neighbors and friends of Fateh. They had invited me to partake in a holy Ramadan feast at their house, to give thanks to Allah and break the day's fast after sundown. The family had not spoken English. Although I had no idea what I had eaten, the food was delicious. After the meal, they had handed me their family photo albums. I leafed through the pages, perusing a personal pictorial history echoing the same themes I had come across at the Museum of Man in Paris—birth, marriage, family, religion, and, just outside the windows of the French tenement where I sat, the threat of death. Then, before I left, the family had plied me with gifts. " La Berber tradition ," they had said, joyously placing present after present in my lap.
Back at the hotel, I looked at the bag of gifts lying on the floor next to the bed. The people of Algiers had opened their homes and their hearts to me. In this city where only a few days ago I thought I would be confined to my room, I had done and seen so much. This was to be my last evening here. I was scheduled to fly out in the morning—the only flight to Casablanca for several days. Now I wondered if I should cancel my flight, maybe leave later in the week.
I went into the bathroom and began to draw a bath. As
Page 63
I bent over the tub, adjusting the temperature of the hot water, the lights in the hotel room dimmed, flickered, then extinguished. I edged toward the door leading to the outside corridor, then opened it a crack. All the lights in the hotel were off.
It was a blackout.
A flickering of terror ran through my veins as Nazil's words flashed through my mind. They know of things . They know who is coming and when they are leaving .
If they do not already know you are here , they will soon learn .
The darkened hallways outside my room were quiet, still. All I could hear was the sound of the water running into the tub, and the pounding of my heart. I closed the door, then leaned against it. Moments passed, slowly. The lights came back on. I finished drawing my bath, then packed my backpack. I was in the midst of a civil war. When Fateh had first knocked on my door, I had taken a deep breath and dived under the surface. Now I was running out of air.
It was time to go.
The next morning I slipped out of the city at dawn. As my plane took off, I stared out the window. I had never seen a country as beautiful as Algeria. Despite its beauty, the landscape emanated a haunting desolation. It was as if the earth itself—even the trees and foliage—had absorbed the pain and
The woman interrogating me paused from her questioning for a moment and studied my itinerary.
"You were originally booked on a flight from Cairo to Greece. That was to be the last leg of your trip. Now it appears you have suddenly changed your plans and instead are flying from Cairo to Tel Aviv to Los Angeles. Why would you spend so much time in Algeria and Egypt, then at the last moment cancel the part of your travels that would have been such a pleasant vacation?"
"Oh, that," I said. "It surprised me, too. Let me explain."
Page 61
chapter 5
Blackout
I unlocked the door to my hotel room and flopped down on the bed. My time in Algiers had filled up quickly. From the moment I met Fateh, I barely had time to sleep.
He had arranged two other tours for me besides my tour of the countryside. I had seen the highlight of Algerian night life—a barricaded indoor shopping center where cars lined up for miles waiting to be inspected by the gendarmes before entering. I had seen the city by daylight, riding through the narrow, winding streets that Page 62
led mysteriously into barren marketplaces and the casbah ,streets conspicuously lacking the presence of women, streets fortified for battle by ramparts of armed guards.
I had just returned from the home of a local Berber family, neighbors and friends of Fateh. They had invited me to partake in a holy Ramadan feast at their house, to give thanks to Allah and break the day's fast after sundown. The family had not spoken English. Although I had no idea what I had eaten, the food was delicious. After the meal, they had handed me their family photo albums. I leafed through the pages, perusing a personal pictorial history echoing the same themes I had come across at the Museum of Man in Paris—birth, marriage, family, religion, and, just outside the windows of the French tenement where I sat, the threat of death. Then, before I left, the family had plied me with gifts. " La Berber tradition ," they had said, joyously placing present after present in my lap.
Back at the hotel, I looked at the bag of gifts lying on the floor next to the bed. The people of Algiers had opened their homes and their hearts to me. In this city where only a few days ago I thought I would be confined to my room, I had done and seen so much. This was to be my last evening here. I was scheduled to fly out in the morning—the only flight to Casablanca for several days. Now I wondered if I should cancel my flight, maybe leave later in the week.
I went into the bathroom and began to draw a bath. As
Page 63
I bent over the tub, adjusting the temperature of the hot water, the lights in the hotel room dimmed, flickered, then extinguished. I edged toward the door leading to the outside corridor, then opened it a crack. All the lights in the hotel were off.
It was a blackout.
A flickering of terror ran through my veins as Nazil's words flashed through my mind. They know of things . They know who is coming and when they are leaving .
If they do not already know you are here , they will soon learn .
The darkened hallways outside my room were quiet, still. All I could hear was the sound of the water running into the tub, and the pounding of my heart. I closed the door, then leaned against it. Moments passed, slowly. The lights came back on. I finished drawing my bath, then packed my backpack. I was in the midst of a civil war. When Fateh had first knocked on my door, I had taken a deep breath and dived under the surface. Now I was running out of air.
It was time to go.
The next morning I slipped out of the city at dawn. As my plane took off, I stared out the window. I had never seen a country as beautiful as Algeria. Despite its beauty, the landscape emanated a haunting desolation. It was as if the earth itself—even the trees and foliage—had absorbed the pain and
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