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Sétif, ALGERIA – Sétif isn’t merely a home base, but a sensation.
It lingers in the heat of stone-pavement roads on a sweltering afternoon, in the sound that change with each walk, in the jarring difference between the cool mountain air and the warmth of just-baked clay oven bread.
Winter in Sétif does not announce itself with mere cold, but with a dry, cutting gust that whistles between narrow roads, shivering the shutters of old Haussmann buildings that stand as a reminder of French colonial days.
With a quick step, men walk with arms folded into coats, fists buried in pockets and their heads covered in woolen burnous to keep out the cold. Shop owners sell roasted chestnuts in paper cones, their flavor enhanced by the smoldering chbaïb leaves. Algerians use chbaïb for almost everything – cooking, heating and healing in local spiritual practices.
The snow, whenever it falls, does not merely blanket the city – it transfigures it, draping its snowy coating on the domes of ancient mosques. I delight in walking in Sétif on those early days of winter with the roads quiet except for boots shuffling on frost.
Above left: Dar Al Diafa: The grand entrance of the guest house of Sétif showcasing the Sétifian Zirid craftsmanship. At right: A beautiful doorway in the Casbah of Sétif framed by beautiful Zellij tiles and a white metal grille. (Abdellah Bouberima/YJI)
Spring wakes the city from its sleep. The olive groves on the outskirts shake loose the last frayed shreds of grey, light-catching leaves. The marketplace is full, resplendent with Mitidja oranges, ripened purple figs that smear fingertips with honeyed juiciness and bunches of fragrant mint.
Bab Biskra souk, the entrance to the old city, resounds with the cry of the vendors, the ring of copper plates and butchers slaughtering lambs. Nearby, you can buy a plate of mechoui, our local barbecue.
And then is summer – the big emptiness. The heat leaves the city languid. Noon clears the streets, except for a wooden vegetable cart piled high with watermelons. Only cats are stretched out on the shade.
But with evening, Sétif comes alive. The domed rooftops over coffee shops are full of men bent over dominoes and you can hear the clatter of laughter as the tiles fall. In the air, the charcoal-scented kefta from food stalls mixes with floral-scented boukhour, or incense, that drifts out from doorways.
Autumn, though, is my time in the city. The scent of rain on stone, the honey-colored light of early dusk, the souks transforming from watermelons to nuts and figs. People put away their light-colored cotton summer clothes and get out their big blankets made from thick wool.
Autumn is a food that is slow-cooked, a time when pomegranates burst and scatter ruby seeds on tables. With their steady old hands, cobblers sit out in the courtyard in front of their workplaces, shaping leather into the slip-on shoes called babouches.
But Sétif is more than city of seasons. It is a ritual city, a place of small moments that take root.
It’s the sound of splashing water from Ain El Fouara as people stop to drop their cares from their palms and lips. This fountain in the center of the city is a touchstone for Sétif, a place that residents must return to again and again to feel the purifying water.
Above left: Intricate geometric metalwork on the door of a Sétifian mosque. Right: Park Mall Tower, standing tall in Setif’s skyline. (Abdellah Bouberima/YJI)
Sétif is the feeling of your feet on the cool Zelij – the colorful tiles that make up so many of the city’s floors, doors, ceilings and roofs. It’s walking in a courtyard in a crumbling old house with a design older than its walls.
It’s a cup of rich, dark coffee with just a bit of honey to remove some bitterness and the resonating, persistent drone from the mezwed at a wedding. Known as a Tunisian bagpipe, this popular instrument offers a sound that buries itself in the breast, one that you cannot ignore.
These are the things that make Sétif what it is. Not just its streets, its French architecture, or even its history, but the way it feels, the way it sounds and the way it lives.
Abdellah Bouberima is a Junior Reporter with Youth Journalism International.
Such a beautiful description of your hometown which almost reads like poetry! The photos perfectly compliment your description!