A Handful of Honey by Annie Hawes

Author:Annie Hawes [Annie Hawes]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780330464970
Publisher: Pan Macmillan
Published: 2010-03-15T04:00:00+00:00

At the Algerian frontier, we fill in rather a lot of forms asking all sorts of insanely irrelevant questions. I am already nervous about crossing this border, what with all the rumours about violence and tales of Islamist guerrillas attacking border posts. Nervous and bored at the same time is, as I may have mentioned, a bad combination for me. Finally, when I am asked the full names of both my parents, I become seriously exasperated. What on earth has that got to do with anything?

But Gérard and Guy don’t seem to think it’s particularly odd. You often get asked that in France, too, on official documents, they say.

Well, you can certainly tell whose colony Algeria used to be, then.

Escaping from the form-filling bureaucrats in their booths at long last, we take in a good, long, deep breath of fresh Algerian air. But the freedom is not to last. I am now selected by a young female border guard in immaculately tailored uniform, very modern and Western-looking compared to any female outfits I’ve seen since we got off the ferry, to be taken off and searched.

She’s obviously not an Islamist, at any rate. But what if the opposition launches an attack at this very moment? I have gone from nervous to extremely nervous now. Why on earth didn’t we take Ahmed’s advice? Once we reach the privacy of the shiny steel cabin in which the search is to take place, though, I discover that the true object of my captor’s interest is not the putative drugs, arms, or wads of illicit money that I may be trying to smuggle into her country; not religion or politics; but the contents of my toilet bag. In fact, she is about the only person we will meet in the whole of Algeria who says not a word about suspended elections, armies or arrests.

Instead, together we go minutely through my every toiletry, examining and testing my deodorant and my cleansing wipes, my tinted lip salve and my almost-dried-up mascara. We admire my stripy toothpaste, squeeze a bit out to make sure it really does come out in stripes, and – intimates by now – discuss the use of interdental floss and its raison d’être.

There is nothing like this to be had in Algeria, she says eventually, wistfully caressing the double-ended two-shades-of-metallic-green eye pencil she’s found right down at the bottom of the bag, while I stand there twitching, fearing that we are about to move on to a full-body search.

Nothing here, she adds, but boring old traditional kohl! How she would love to own such a beautiful thing!

I have never, ever used this eye-pencil since the day I bought it. It was a terrible mistake, and I didn’t even know I had it with me. What can I do but make it a gift? I wonder for a moment whether to add the toothpaste, which was clearly a big hit, but then I would have to find some Algerian toothpaste before tonight. Can I bear to make my life that complicated? I needn’t have worried.

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