Lyrics to Today You Become Man
When you look down at your shaft, you don't see the same thing I see brother. No no no. There's a crucial difference. You guys had it done in England. You had it done the humane way. The pair of you were asleep. You were infants. I was five. Five years old, man. And I was awake. Boyo was I awake. When I look down at my shaft, I see mutilation. I see dad's forehead broken into a million canals of pure rage. I see grandad in the back of that old Peugeot, cradling me as we roll towards Maillot. Air full of dancing dust 'round the back of that thing. The occasional bit of gunfire. This was the middle of the eighties. Folks still had guns you know. Before the troubles, before the civil war, everyone had a gun. They were popping them off in celebration.
I knew we weren't going book shopping. That's what dad had told me. "Where are we going dad?" "We go buy book." "Sound," I thought. But why were folks shooting at the sky? And why were we driving in a convoy? Who goes book shopping by convoy? I don't read anymore as you know, all the same, nobody goes book shopping by convoy. That's when I knew something was afoot. That's when I knew I was fucked for sure. But you're five you know. Your dad's word is the whole of the law.
Anyway, so we're rolling towards town at a kind of funeral pace, folks are coming out of their houses to wave us down the street, wishing us well on our way to the book shop. We start creeping up that road just beyond the olive groves that bears up to the left, by that tip. It's been there for decades, that. The whole town just dumps its shit at the bottom of that hill. A pile of old fridges and disused mattresses. Animal refuse. It's fucking horrible. I mean it's a beautiful place but it's also a shithole isn't it? It's also rough as fuck. I'm rolling up that hill and these little Berber boys kicking a football about stop what they're doing and start pointing and laughing and shrieking. They were about my age. Maybe a little older. Their beady, black little eyes, I still see them. That's when I knew I was fucked for sure. That hideous glee in their little faces. People fucking love it when other folks suffer the same suffering they have to, right?
We rolled up to one of those battered old apartment blocks in the middle of the town. You know the type, old and battered but still only half fucking finished. There are no finished buildings in Algeria. Everything stops about two thirds of the way of where it should. We walk inside this great big block up to what must have been the third or fourth floor. There's shorba on the go, and couscous, I can smell it about halfway up. Maybe it's just some kind of feast actually? Maybe this is just Muslim Christmas or something? I'm just gonna sit and have tea with my auntie or whatever?
The front door's already open at our destination. There's about twelve dudes in there I don't recognise. They're not dressed up or anything. Same beige shirt and slacks every Algerian bloke above the age of 25 wears . One of them gives me a little nod and says "Lebess, lebess, how are you today Tamlan Saoudi?" A few words are exchanged in Taqbalit with dad. That kind of easy concurrence you know? The way they have with each other, the mountain men. Everything's either pure concurrence or foaming, spastic belligerence. There's no in between.
They exchange a few words then I'm ushered towards a table in the middle of the room. There's no women on the scene. It's just me and all these men, dad assuring me everything's okay smiling a bit. "It's ok, it's ok", he kept saying. "Today you become man." It's just a bog-standard table and a bog-standard living room, which by Kabyllie standards is extremely bog-standard indeed. Nobody has any decent fucking furniture in that country. Then dad helps me take off my clothes. "It's alright my son, be brave my boy, now you become man." Then I'm sat on this table and I feel a hand on my shoulder urging me to lie back. "Relax my son, relax it's okay. It will be over soon. Just relax. Here, put this in your mouth," he says, then he hands me a wooden tube. "Bite down on this OK? If it hurts just bite down on this, it will help. Today you become man. Today you become man.... Today you become man.... Today you become man...."
I knew we weren't going book shopping. That's what dad had told me. "Where are we going dad?" "We go buy book." "Sound," I thought. But why were folks shooting at the sky? And why were we driving in a convoy? Who goes book shopping by convoy? I don't read anymore as you know, all the same, nobody goes book shopping by convoy. That's when I knew something was afoot. That's when I knew I was fucked for sure. But you're five you know. Your dad's word is the whole of the law.
Anyway, so we're rolling towards town at a kind of funeral pace, folks are coming out of their houses to wave us down the street, wishing us well on our way to the book shop. We start creeping up that road just beyond the olive groves that bears up to the left, by that tip. It's been there for decades, that. The whole town just dumps its shit at the bottom of that hill. A pile of old fridges and disused mattresses. Animal refuse. It's fucking horrible. I mean it's a beautiful place but it's also a shithole isn't it? It's also rough as fuck. I'm rolling up that hill and these little Berber boys kicking a football about stop what they're doing and start pointing and laughing and shrieking. They were about my age. Maybe a little older. Their beady, black little eyes, I still see them. That's when I knew I was fucked for sure. That hideous glee in their little faces. People fucking love it when other folks suffer the same suffering they have to, right?
We rolled up to one of those battered old apartment blocks in the middle of the town. You know the type, old and battered but still only half fucking finished. There are no finished buildings in Algeria. Everything stops about two thirds of the way of where it should. We walk inside this great big block up to what must have been the third or fourth floor. There's shorba on the go, and couscous, I can smell it about halfway up. Maybe it's just some kind of feast actually? Maybe this is just Muslim Christmas or something? I'm just gonna sit and have tea with my auntie or whatever?
The front door's already open at our destination. There's about twelve dudes in there I don't recognise. They're not dressed up or anything. Same beige shirt and slacks every Algerian bloke above the age of 25 wears . One of them gives me a little nod and says "Lebess, lebess, how are you today Tamlan Saoudi?" A few words are exchanged in Taqbalit with dad. That kind of easy concurrence you know? The way they have with each other, the mountain men. Everything's either pure concurrence or foaming, spastic belligerence. There's no in between.
They exchange a few words then I'm ushered towards a table in the middle of the room. There's no women on the scene. It's just me and all these men, dad assuring me everything's okay smiling a bit. "It's ok, it's ok", he kept saying. "Today you become man." It's just a bog-standard table and a bog-standard living room, which by Kabyllie standards is extremely bog-standard indeed. Nobody has any decent fucking furniture in that country. Then dad helps me take off my clothes. "It's alright my son, be brave my boy, now you become man." Then I'm sat on this table and I feel a hand on my shoulder urging me to lie back. "Relax my son, relax it's okay. It will be over soon. Just relax. Here, put this in your mouth," he says, then he hands me a wooden tube. "Bite down on this OK? If it hurts just bite down on this, it will help. Today you become man. Today you become man.... Today you become man.... Today you become man...."
