Poem 10. The name: Djamila Bouhired

By Nizar Qabbani, translated and told by The Scholar

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This is a story I first heard last year. At the time, I had published an article telling the story of Djamila Bouhired. What I had failed to mention was the poem that led me to the narrative in the first place. It was through Nizar Qabbani’s work that I was first introduced to this incredible rebel and the history of French rule and colonialism in various countries. As the French historian Jacques Le Goff put it, “The time of a single life is a significant period for history.” And to that, I owe poetry.

[Standard Translation]

The name: Djamila Bouhired

The cell number: ninety

In the military prison of Oran

And the age, two and twenty

Eyes like the lamps of a temple

And the black Arab hair

Like summer

of a waterfall of sorrows

An ewer for water…. and for the jailer

And a hand joins over the Quran

And a women in the light of dawn

Recalls, such as in a confession

Sad, echoing verses

From Surah Maryam and Al-Fath

The name: Djamila Bouhired

A name written in flames

drenched in the wounds of the cloud

In the literature of my country. In my literature...

the age, two and twenty

In the chest settled a pair of doves

and the sedated lips a branch of peace

A woman from Constantinople

Whose lips knew not of beauty

Whose room was never sought by dreams

Who never played like the children

Who never fell for a necklace or shawl

She never knew like the woman of France

The vault of pleasure in (Pigalle)

The name: Djamila Bouhired

The most beautiful song in Morocco

The tallest date tree

The oases of Morocco have glimpsed

The most beautiful child

Who tired the sun but never tired

Oh my Lord, is there any human under the plants

who would tolerate eating… drinking

from the flesh of hardened warrior

The lights of Bastille are dim

and the cough of a contused woman

from her breasts the shackles ate

the scoundrels ate

Lacoste and the thousands of scoundrels

From the defeated French army

call victory over a female

A female, like a crucified candle

The shackles bite at the feet

And cigarettes are smothered in the breasts

And blood in the nose… and at the lips

and the wounds of Djamila Bouhired

her, and liberation, have a date

A guillotine is raised.. and the villains

are playing with a garment less woman

And Djamila between their guns

A bird in the middle of the rain

The burgundy tanned body

Jolted by the touch of the current

And burns on the left breast

and in the nipple…in

…in…in, the shame

The name: Djamila Bouhired

History: My country will tell of

Preserved after myself, by my children

History of a woman from my country

whipped by the executione’’s guillotine

A woman who astonished the sun

wounded distances after distances

A rebel from the Atlas mountains

remembered by the lilly’s and daffodils

remembered by the citron flower

Oh how small Joan of Arc of France is

Next to the Joan of Arc of my country

Nizar Qabbani

الإسم: جميلة بوحيرد
رقم الزنزانة: تسعونا
في السجن الحربيّ بوهران
والعمر اثنان وعشرونا
عينان كقنديلي معبد
والشعر العربيّ الأسود
كالصيف ..
كشلاّل الأحزان
إبريق للماء .. وسجّان
ويد تنضمّ على القرآن
وامرأة في ضوء الصبح
تسترجع في مثل البوح
آيات محزنة الإرنان
من سورة (مريم) و(الفتح)

الإسم: جميلة بوحيرد
إسم مكتوب باللهب ..
مغموس في جرح السحب
في أدب بلادي. في أدبي ..
العمر اثنان وعشرونا
في الصدر استوطن زوج حمام
والثغر الراقد غصن سلام
إمراة من قسطنطينه
لم تعرف شفتاها الزينه
لم تدخل حجرتها الأحلام
لم تلعب أبدا كالأطفال
لم تغرم في عقد أو شال
لم تعرف كنساء فرنسا
أقبية اللذّة في (بيغال)

الإسم: جميلة بوحيرد
أجمل أغنية في المغرب
أطول نخله
لمحتها واحات المغرب
أجمل طفله
أتعبت الشمس ولم تتعب
يا ربّي . هل تحت الكوكب ؟
يوجد إنسان
يرضى ان يأكل .. أن يشرب
من لحم مجاهدة تصلب ..

أضواء ( الباستيل) ضئيله
وسعال امرأة مسلوله ..
أكلت من نهديها الأغلال
أكل الأندال
( لاكوست) وآلاف الأنذال
من جيش فرنسا المغلوبه
إنتصروا الآن على أنثى
أنثى .. كالشمعة مصلوبه
القيد يعضّ على القدمين
وسجائر تطفأ في النهدين
ودم في الأنف .. وفي الشفتين
وجراح جميلة بوحيرد
هي والتحرير على موعد

مقصلة تنصب .. والشرار
يلهون بأنثى دون إزار
وجميلة بين بنادقهم
عصفور في وسط الأمطار
الجسد الخمريّ الأسمر
تنفضه لمسات التيّار
وحروق في الثدي الأيسر
في الحلمة ..
في .. في .. ياللعار ..
*
الإسم: جميلة بوحيرد
تاريخ: ترويه بلادي
يحفظه بعدي أولادي
تاريخ امراة من وطني
جلدت مقصلة الجلاّد ..
إمرأة دوّخت الشمسا
جرحت أبعاد الأبعاد ..
ثاثرة من جبل الأطلس
يذكرها الليلك والنرجس
يذكرها .. زهر الكبّاد ..
ما أصغر( جان دارك ) فرنسا
في جانب( جان دارك ) بلادي..

نزار قباني

[Translation With Romanization]

The name: Djamila Bouhired
الإسم: جميلة بوحيرد
Al-ism: Jameela Bouhired

The cell number: ninety
رقم الزنزانة: تسعون
Raqam az-zinzana: tis‘oon

In the military prison of Oran
في السجن الحربيّ بوهران
Fi as-sijn al-harbi bi Wahran

And the age, two and twenty
والعمر اثنان وعشرون
Wal-‘omr ithnan wa ‘ishroon

Eyes like the lamps of a temple
اعينان كقنديلي معبد
‘Aynan kaqandeel ma‘bad

And the black Arab hair
والشعر العربيّ الأسود
Wash-sha‘r al-‘arabi al-aswad

Like summer
كالصيف
Kassayf

of a waterfall of sorrows
كشلاّل الأحزان
Kashallal al-ahzan

An ewer for water… and for the jailer
إبريق للماء .. وسجّان
Ibreek lilma’.. wa sajjan

And a hand joins over the Quran
ويد تنضمّ على القرآن
Wayad tandham ‘ala al-Qur’an

And a woman in the light of dawn
وامرأة في ضوء الصبح
Wa imra’ah fi daw’ as-subh

Recalls, such as in a confession
تسترجع في مثل البوح
Tastarja‘ fi mithl al-bawh

Sad, echoing verses
آيات محزنة الإرنان
Ayat muhzina al-irnan

From Surah Maryam and Al-Fath
من سورة (مريم) و(الفتح)
Min Surat Maryam wa Al-Fath

The name: Djamila Bouhired
الإسم: جميلة بوحيرد
Al-ism: Jameela Bouhired

A name written in flames
إسم مكتوب باللهب
Ism maktoob billahab

Drenched in the wounds of the cloud
مغموس في جرح السحب
Maghmoos fi jurh as-suhub

In the literature of my country. In my literature...
في أدب بلادي. في أدبي ..
Fi adab biladi, fi adabi...

The age, two and twenty
العمر اثنان وعشرون
Al-‘omr ithnan wa ‘ishroon

In the chest settled a pair of doves
في الصدر استوطن زوج حمام
Fi as-sadr istawtana zawj hamam

And the sedated lips a branch of peace
والثغر الراقد غصن سلام
Wath-thaghr ar-raqid ghosn salam

A woman from Constantinople
إمراة من قسطنطينه
Imra’ah min Qustantinah

Whose lips knew not of beauty
لم تعرف شفتاها الزينه
Lam ta‘rif shafataha az-zeenah

Whose room was never sought by dreams
لم تدخل حجرتها الأحلام
Lam tadkhul hujrataha al-ahlam

Who never played like the children
لم تلعب أبدا كالأطفال
Lam tal‘ab abadan kal-atfal

Who never fell for a necklace or shawl
لم تغرم في عقد أو شال
Lam tughram fi ‘iqd aw shal

She never knew like the woman of France
لم تعرف كنساء فرنسا
Lam ta‘rif ka nisa’ Faransa

The vault of pleasure in (Pigalle)
أقبية اللذّة في (بيغال)
Aqbiat al-ladhdha fi (Pigalle)

The name: Djamila Bouhired
الإسم: جميلة بوحيرد
Al-ism: Jameela Bouhired

The most beautiful song in Morocco
أجمل أغنية في المغرب
Ajmal ughniyah fi al-Maghrib

The tallest date tree
أطول نخله
Atwal nakhlah

The oases of Morocco have glimpsed
لمحتها واحات المغرب
Lamahatha waha al-Maghrib

The most beautiful child
أجمل طفله
Ajmal tiflah

Who tired the sun but never tired
أتعبت الشمس ولم تتعب
At‘abat ash-shams wa lam tat‘ab

Oh my Lord, is there any human under the plants
يا ربّي . هل تحت الكوكب ؟
Ya Rabbi, hal tahta al-kawkab?

Who would tolerate eating… drinking
يوجد إنسان
Yujad insan

From the flesh of a hardened warrior
يرضى ان يأكل .. أن يشرب
Yarda an ya’kul.. an yashrab

The lights of Bastille are dim
أضواء ( الباستيل) ضئيله
Adwa’ (al-Bastille) da‘ilah

And the cough of a contused woman
وسعال امرأة مسلوله ..
Wa su‘al imra’ah masloolah

From her breasts the shackles ate
أكلت من نهديها الأغلال
Akalat min nahdaiha al-aghlaal

The scoundrels ate
أكل الأندال
Akal al-andal

Lacoste and the thousands of scoundrels
( لاكوست) وآلاف الأنذال
(Lacoste) wa alaf al-andhal

From the defeated French army
من جيش فرنسا المغلوبه
Min jaysh Faransa al-maghlubah

Call victory over a female
إنتصروا الآن على أنثى
Intasaru al-an ‘ala untha

A female, like a crucified candle
أنثى .. كالشمعة مصلوبه
Untha.. ka sh-sham‘ah masloobah

The shackles bite at the feet
القيد يعضّ على القدمين
Al-qayd ya‘ddu ‘ala al-qadamain

And cigarettes are smothered in the breasts
وسجائر تطفأ في النهدين
Wa saja’ir tutfa’ fi an-nahdain

And blood in the nose… and at the lips
ودم في الأنف .. وفي الشفتين
Wa dam fi al-anf.. wa fi ash-shafatein

And the wounds of Djamila Bouhired
وجراح جميلة بوحيرد
Wa jiraah Jameela Bouhired

Her, and liberation, have a date
هي والتحرير على موعد
Hiya wa at-tahrir ‘ala maw‘id

A guillotine is raised.. and the villains
مقصلة تنصب .. والشرار
Miqsalah tunsab.. wa ash-shirar

Are playing with a garmentless woman
يلهون بأنثى دون إزار
Yalhuna bi untha doon izar

And Djamila between their guns
وجميلة بين بنادقهم
Wa Jameela bayna banadiqihim

A bird in the middle of the rain
عصفور في وسط الأمطار
‘Usfour fi wasat al-amtar

The burgundy tanned body
الجسد الخمريّ الأسمر
Al-jasad al-khamri al-asmar

Jolted by the touch of the current
تنفضه لمسات التيّار
Tanfudhuhu lamasat at-tayyar

And burns on the left breast
وحروق في الثدي الأيسر
Wa hurooq fi ath-thadi al-aysar

And in the nipple…in
في الحلمة ..في ..
Fi al-halmah.. fi..

…in…in, the shame
في .. ياللعار ..
Fi.. ya lil ‘aar

The name: Djamila Bouhired
الإسم: جميلة بوحيرد
Al-ism: Jameela Bouhired

History: My country will tell of
تاريخ: ترويه بلادي
Tareekh: tarwih biladi

Preserved after myself, by my children
يحفظه بعدي أولادي
Yahfazuhu ba‘di awladi

History of a woman from my country
تاريخ امراة من وطني
Tareekh imra’ah min watani

Whipped by the executioner’s guillotine
جلدت مقصلة الجلاّد ..
Juldhat miqsalat al-jallad

A woman who astonished the sun
إمرأة دوّخت الشمس
Imra’ah dawwakhat ash-shams

Wounded distances after distances
اجرحت أبعاد الأبعاد ..
Ajrahat ab‘ad al-ab‘ad

A rebel from the Atlas Mountains
ثاثرة من جبل الأطلس
Tha’irah min jabal al-Atlas

Remembered by the lilies and daffodils
يذكرها الليلك والنرجس
Yadhkuruha al-laylak wa an-narjis

Remembered by the citron flower
يذكرها .. زهر الكبّاد ..
Yadhkuruha.. zahr al-kabbad

Oh how small Joan of Arc of France is
ما أصغر( جان دارك ) فرنسا
Ma asghar (Joan of Arc) Faransa

Next to the Joan of Arc of my country
في جانب( جان دارك ) بلادي..
Fi janib (Joan of Arc) biladi

[The story]

Jamila (جميلة) means pretty, or even beautiful in Arabic. If you want to compliment a girl, you tell her ente Jamila, (you are beautiful). Djamila Bouhired means resilience. She means strength. She means brilliance. You can be called Jamila, but there is no bigger compliment than getting compared to Djamila Bouhired.

Djamila born, in 1935 was the only girl in a family of 7 boys. Only those with single girls understand how much loved and spoiled they are in a family of boys. Djamila was no exception. She loved fashion. She loved beauty. But above all else, she loved her nation of Algeria. Unfortunately for her, and all other Algerians during this time, Algeria was under French colonial rule, something she swore to change.

As a young girl who was brought into this world without knowing a difference, she lived her days freely. It was when attending a French school during her teenage years that things began to change. She noticed that they pledged towards France, rather than the Algeria she knew and loved. Everything was always towards France. The teacher said that French was the motherland. But Djamila, as she knew, was Algerian, and the country she was in, was Algeria, so how could she pledge towards France when there was no French in her nor her country? That day she went home and asked her mom a simple question "Is it true that French is our motherland? Her mother replied in a simple manner. "No Djamila, Algeria will always be the motherland, to hell with French and its people".

Djamila soon exchanged dresses and products for guns and weapons and hoped to free her country. She left school at 20 to join the Algerian National Liberation Front where she and several other people fought for their country against French occupation. She planted bombs obscuring French colonialism plans, making her the most wanted subject at the time.

She fought with all her strength until she was arrested in 1957 after being shot in the shoulder as she tried to escape and was left bleeding on the ground. This is when hell on earth began for Djamila. At the hospital where she was taken, the French tortured her for information. They were merciless in their methods. They electrocuted her ears. They electrocuted her nose. They electrocuted her breasts. And god bears witness to what else they had done to her. There was nothing but sheer cruelty in their tactics. But, unbeknownst to them, Jamila was becoming a symbol of resistance. The national poet of Syria wrote a poem for her. The national pride of the whole of the Middle East sang for her. To the people of Algeria, Djamila was nothing but a sign of resistance. And resist she did. After 3 days of electric shock, she never backed down nor told of her colleague's whereabouts. It was only when the torturers sought no information, when a sham trial was set up. When they brought Djamila to court to try her for god knows what they planned to pin on her, she said her famous lines:

"I know that you will sentence me to death, but do not forget that by killing me you are assassinating the traditions of freedom in your country, but you will not prevent Algeria from becoming free and independent"

This line brought in mass revolts from around the globe and millions of telegrams were sent in to condemn the court's decision of execution. And it worked! her initial death sentence was changed to life imprisonment and only after Algeria's liberation in 1962 was Djamila Bouhired finally released.

History has always had such a troubled past. Some may say that long ago everything was a dark time. The past seems to always be painted in black. But was it so long ago? Was this unjust treatment in another life? No, it was not, here is a picture of Djamila Bouhired today, still alive and as fashionable as ever.

[Time capsules]

Here is the accompanying time capsule, otherwise known as a photo essay, for last year’s published article. Since it has already been published, I invite those who are interested to take a look if they wish. More than anything, I appreciate all feedback, especially for today’s post. How are the articles? How is the poetry format? What about the photo essays? Any critique or recommendations are more than welcome and greatly appreciated.