Lettres de Mon Moulin Bou Saadien

"Lettres de Mon Moulin" are short stories from the villages of France by Alphonse Daudet. Yesterday night I read "Le Secret de Maitre Cornille" which is about that old Mr. Cornille who refused to accept the fact that they don't need his windmill to grind the wheat anymore since the newly built steam-driven mills in the area. He locked the door of his windmill in the face of the people. Every day he went out from his windmill carrying a full bag on his donkey. He says that it is grinded wheat. That was his secret. One day, somebody entered inside the windmill, and discovered that its walls are falling from the inside, and the bags that Mr. Cornille takes out every morning are full of nothing but the debris of his old windmill.








Yesterday was the first time in my life to see a red tuna. In Iraq we used to have them canned. But the surprise didn't stop at that. When we opened the tuna, we found a sardine inside it. That was so strange to me. I was happy to a degree that I went for a walk at night. I took with me my copy of bilingual (French – Arabic): Lettres de Mon Moulin of Alphonse Daudet, thinking that I may found some time to read outside.

I woke up this morning, drank my Espresso. Then was surprised again by my family, who saw how much happy I was yesterday by the red tuna. Today they surprised me by another kind of fish that I never saw before: Anguille!!!

I have nothing to do in Wednesday (as most of the week days), so I took a nap, then woke up and head to a café to have an Espresso and a cigarette (I only drink a cigarette in cafés these days. I buy single cigarettes, i.e. one by one and not by packets, in a trial to limit its availability).

In our unpaved neighbourhood, the sun is no strong, and I was still sleepy.

The table is not so clean, and tatooed by: Tanga!

From that Kiosk, if you may call it kiosk, which lies under the umbrella, I buy my solitary cigarettes which can have different markes in different days.

This is the picture that I like the most.

With my shadow, Le Soir D'Alger on my hand, I went back to my windmill.