Machaho Tellem Chaho

My phone rings. It's Kahina. She's supposed to be out with her boyfriend at this hour. It's their second outing together in two-years. Relationships here are often mostly distance relationships, conducted over the phone between lovers who practically live next door.  Kahina is turning out to be like Amine, a once very close friend who used to call me from toilet cubicles in hotels, restaurants, coffee-shops, to give me the details of the girls to whom he'd just been introduced. He'd decided to get married and had embarked on a bride search with his dad as mediator. He'd initially set his heart on his cousin but eventually had a change of heart. He couldn't tell his dad about what he called 'a detail'. "I really like her but uncle abused her when she was 12 and her mum's been hiding it from family members who all seem to know anyhow". - Hi Kahina, are you in the loo? - what? no, am in bed, am soooooooo..... She lets out a cry. One

Some months ago, a pipe burst in the plumbing of my upstairs neighbour's bathroom. If it hadn't been for my kitchen's plaster ceiling suddenly falling off, and for the water bursting forth out of electricity plug holes, we'd never have known. My landlady had just pocketed my upfront three-months rent. Bad timing for a catastrophe. Hibba, my landlady, has been suffering from severe mood swings - that’s how she calls dodging out of any spending to repair the flat I’m renting from her. Her husband passed away last year from brain cancer. She picks up:   - tifla ! how are you? how's your family? you need anything? you know if you need anything, you just call me right!  - Hibba, the ceiling's falling off.  - I'm practically in the car, you hear the engine? I have to leave Algiers. It’s the stress, the four months’ mourning, the traffic jams, the white & blue paint replaced by black & white on Didouche, she starts sobbing, I'll deal w