16/02/2024
Lovers of the Bomarchi bridge, Setif
I stand atop the Babors Mountains, my eyes lost in the horizon. Lost in the meanders of my soul, I am Jimmy to some, Djemaï to others. My gaze embraces the vast landscape, reflecting the power of the Sétif High Plateaus from where I hail, mixed with memories of the shifting winds of the Scottish Highlands. My story is woven from tales and legends, a living tapestry of intertwined cultures.
I am tall, sturdy, like an ancient cedar, a pillar rooted in the traditions of my ancestors. Yet, I feel within me the bold breezes of change, sweeping away what was once immutable. Draped in the burnous inherited from my uncle Ahmed, I feel its fabric brush against my skin, evoking the secrets and wisdoms of the Sétif plains. On my shoulders rests Jane's Scottish kilt, a symbol of the mist-wrapped Highlands, bringing with it whispers of distant lands and unkept promises.
In my left hand, I hold the reed pen of Si Mohamed, my grandfather, a subtle link to the past, a vibrant connection to still-mysterious stories. My right leans on a scepter from the MacLeod clan, a symbol of respect and recognition woven from the unsaid.
Standing here, at the summit, I am the embodiment of a bridge between two worlds. The elements of my heritage blend into a silent melody, sketching the outline of a story where diverse origins intertwine. My silhouette, bathed in the twilight light, is wrapped in a veil of mystery, ready to unveil the chapters of a life rich in journeys and discoveries.
An architect and urban planner in the cold embrace of Glasgow, I redraw the contours of this ancient city, infusing it with the warmth of a modern dream.
I am the offspring of Bel, the magnetic king, weaver of stories, capturing souls in the net of his memories. My mother remains an unfathomable enigma, a vanishing specter, leaving behind a trail of unanswered questions.
Tales of djinns and angels have fed my unrestrained imagination, leaving me only with the whispers of an ephemeral presence, and the imprints of a childhood shared between Beaumarchi and El Maouane, sometimes nestled in the bosom of the Babors Mountains.
My childhood memories come alive with the striking faces of Si Mohamed, the wise calligrapher, Ahmed, the joyful spirit, and Djedda Hada, the star of tales and fictions. This world vanished under the roar of a helicopter, tearing me from my homeland to throw me into the rigorous arms of Mrs. Lindsay, in the piercing cold of the Glasgow Highlands.
Born under the banner of a fervent revolution, I am the harmony incarnate of a symphony of love, a melody woven from passion and tenacity, the fruit of a cultural mix that has shaped me.
Glasgow opened its arms to me, offering its streets as a canvas on which I express my architect's soul, erecting structures that sing hymns of rebirth and ambition. Under this ever-changing sky, I met Jane, a dancing red flame, a companion whose passion and professionalism blend in a ballet of shared desires and dreams.
Yet, an invisible thread of my heart remains attached to Sétif, where Sara, the white dove, symbolizes freedom. A nurse dressed in white, she embodies emancipation in a conservative society, carrying the beauty of tradition without letting it hinder the wings of freedom. Her presence is a refreshing breeze, a whisper of rebellion and independence in the arid desert of my existence.
My story winds like a river through the landscape of my days, a path paved with memories and aspirations, forming a bridge between the gentle yesterday of Sétif and the vibrant today of Glasgow. Every street I've redesigned, every building I've raised with care, every plan I've caressed with my imagination, sings a piece of the odyssey of my life. Every brick, every architectural line, vibrates with a note in the melody of my existence.
Draped in my burnous, with the Scottish kilt embracing my shoulders, I carry the epics of those who sculpted me – the breath of ancestors, the wisdom of masters, the echo of mentors. In the dance of my reed pen, I trace the fluid curves of the future, sketching still-distant dreams on the canvas of fate.
I have embraced the name of Jimmy, a solitary vessel navigating the capricious seas of life, torn between mystery and the constant threat of being swallowed by shadows. Under the Beaumarchi Bridge, a kiss, a moment suspended in time, derailed a train loaded with weapons, forging the destiny of young heroes aspiring to independence and bravery during the revolution. Stories within the story, myths, and legends weave around this moment. Thus is born the mystery of the Lost Lovers of the Beaumarchi Bridge, a tale where love and history intertwine, leaving behind a trail of inextinguishable legends and passions.
I invite you to leaf through the pages of my story, a world where the paths of my heart and the ways of my mind intertwine. Between the lines, hide the keys to my story, where the past and present dance together, a place where every brick, every whisper, tells a fragment of my being, in a universe where legends blend with reality.
MT Hedna 15/02/2024