Tin Hinan

Sofian was looking at the beach of Sidi Fredj, in Algiers. There was no wind, the water reflected in the sun like a mirror. 

When he came back to the city of his birth, Sofian liked to go to this beach, early in the morning, when there was no one there. He had come to the reunion meal of the alumni of the private school, Newton, the school on Mezid Lounes Street, in the Baba Hassen district of Algiers. The alumni meal was held at the Tassili, the restaurant of the Sheraton Hotel in Club des Pins. 

Sofian had come hoping to meet Loli. Loli, a former schoolmate, had also become a model. She and he were no longer visible in Algiers. They now lived between Paris, London and New York. Sofian had met Loli a week before, during the New York Fashion Week in February. She was walking for Altuzarra, Khaite, Proenza Schouler and Tory Burch. Sofian had heard that she had been signed by Louis Vuitton, Saint Laurent and Max Mara. He had seen it on the cover of Vogue Italia. He had been struck, looking at her on the cover of the prestigious magazine, by her singular beauty, her queenly bearing. Immediately, he didn't know how to explain it, he thought of Tin Hinan, the Atlantean queen venerated by the Tuaregs. 

Since then, Tin Hinan, with the features of Loli, haunted his thoughts, day and night. Sofian did not know Loli, he had never felt any particular attraction for her. What was going on? He was dreaming of temples, spaceships, priests and all sorts of scenes from an unknown universe. Sofian was a rational, calm man. He led a modern life, free of any mysticism. And then, suddenly, these strange dreams had invaded his daily life.

As Sofian had not dared to approach Loli in New York, he had seized the opportunity to meet her here, in the country. But she was not alone, she was surrounded by her friends. Sofian thought that none of them really realized what kind of world she was now in. And none of them could imagine in which universe he could be plunged. 

That's why he was now taking his time to look at her without seeming to. She was there, in the middle of her classmates, chatting. She didn't seem to notice Sofian's insistent look at all. In fact, they were all looking at her now, just as they had been looking at Sofian a few years before.

Sofian had never been close to Loli, who was younger than him. Sofian was the son of the director of the BNA, the National Bank of Algeria, on Kaci Mohamed Street; and his mother, a biologist, owned several medical analysis laboratories in the capital. He thus fitted in perfectly with the well-to-do milieu of Newton's former students. With his green eyes, Sofian had always been attractive to girls and his level of intelligence was within the honorable average of people his age. But, very early on, he was fascinated by fashion, by the music of the western world, and he had quickly left the streets of Baba Hassen for those of London, Paris and New York. He had become a model. His friends were now international DJs, like the Frenchman Sebastian, or casting directors, photographers and hairdressers who lived, like him, between two flights. He didn't have much to share with his former schoolmates.

Yet Sofian loved his country. He liked to think that he was perceived as a kind of "mkallech", a capricious, spoiled and arrogant child. He may have been, but he was having trouble connecting two worlds: that of Algeria and the one he was now in. He invariably thought of the Bey of Oran, Mehmed Mekaliche, the son of Mohamed El Kebir, "the great". The father had taken back Oran and Mers el Kebir from the Spaniards in 1792. He had been a good and generous man for the population. The son, on the other hand, had been considered an arrogant, a stranger to the streets of Oran.

Mehmed Mekaliche had clashed with the Derkaoua and the Beni Amer. He was denounced to the Dey Ahmed Pacha, Ahmed II, who had him strangled. Perhaps he had been a different young man, a little clumsy, unable to show his feelings to his people.

Sofian went out for a moment, on the terrace, to enjoy his glass of Selecto. Whenever he could, in Paris or in Algeria, he drank a glass of his favorite soda. The apple and caramel taste was unique. It reminded him of a happy and sunny childhood, an Algerian childhood.

He had flown to Algiers especially for the sole purpose of seeing Loli and perhaps putting an end to those haunting dreams. Now that she was there, a few steps away from him, he did not feel brave enough to go and see her. He would have felt ridiculous: "Hi, I saw you in New York, congratulations..." All this in the middle of the others. He would have felt like he was disturbing everyone, showing off by talking about his life as a model. The male modeling profession was not necessarily well seen in North Africa, even in Algiers. So to broach the subject of Tin Hinan... To tell Loli, a complete stranger, that she was in any way related to a demi-goddess adored in the sands of the Hoggar, that could not be said.

Discouraged, he put down his glass. He was already heading for the exit, defeated, when a voice called him, "Sofian, are you leaving already?" 

It was Loli, alone. He remained surprised, but quickly recovered. He launched himself: "Yes, I had come to Algiers to say hello, actually, but you had a lot of people around you..."

Loli smiled, "You know how it is... I think I saw you in New York last month, didn't I?"

- Yes, I hadn't, either, had the courage to come and see you. I beg your pardon.

- Ah, well, I thought you hadn't seen me. You know that it was you who made me want to do this job?

- Good for you, you're doing great.

Sofian couldn't tell her, not like that. He smiled with an embarrassed air. He was about to say goodbye: "Well, I'm glad I could talk to you for a while. I'll leave you to your friends..."

- Will you be in Algiers for long?

- I'm leaving tomorrow afternoon, in principle.

- Do you want to have dinner together tonight?

- Yes, with pleasure. You have a number, I'll pick you up.

Sofian left the Sheraton with relief. He had liked Loli's personality. The kid had become a balanced woman. He felt that she could be a friend. It was as if he knew her.

In the evening, he drove to pick her up and take her to El Djenina, a restaurant whose banquettes and Ottoman palace atmosphere he liked. The restaurant was also on the other side of Algiers, a stone's throw from the Bardo Museum. Sofian hoped they would not run into anyone they knew. Well-known models, like him and Loli, were people who cherished discreet places.

The couple's entrance did not cause a stir among the restaurant's clientele, and they were able to enjoy a good chorba and tagine without being bothered.

"I often come here when I come back to Algiers. They have a traditional cuisine that I like."

- You seem to like Algeria. I saw that you drink Selecto.

- Yes, I am Algerian. It's my country, even if I don't come back as often as I'd like.

- I am like you. It's beautiful what I do. It's what I wanted to do and I meet great people, but I miss my country.

- I know that.

- Do you think you will come back to live in Algeria one day?

- I don't know. Yes, I would like to. 

- My parents keep telling me to come back. They are happy for me, but they are afraid that I will get lost living far away from Algeria.

- So let's be friends. That way, you will always have a little bit of Algeria to remember...

- Yes, you will be my big brother from the country!

Sofian was eager to tell Loli about his haunting dream about her playing Tin Hinan. But it was tricky. 

He took out a sketch he had made. It was a composition inspired by the painting of the artist Hocine Ziani. He had pasted the features of Loli to Tin Hinan.

"Do you like the Hoggar? He asked?

Loli looked at the drawing. Her eyes became confused: "How do you know?..."