A lady in Algerian society

Chapter 1 : Happy birthday Grandma Bay

Today, I will be blowing out the candles on my 70th birthday cake. My family is throwing a small party, and they've prepared a delightful chocolate cake with a subtle hint of vanilla and adorned it with cherries on top. The cake's
decoration is simple yet charming, featuring delicate touches like sparkles and a creamy ganache applied with precision. In the terminology of today's generation, they refer to such cakes as "layer cakes." However, I find this term somewhat arbitrary, meaning that the name doesn't necessarily reflect a direct relationship between the object and its meaning.

"Grandma Bay," that's the endearing name my grandchildren have given me. I'm sure you're curious to know my actual name, but I'll leave you guessing. In my family, there are 10 grandchildren from my 4 children: Zayn, Lamin, Raya, and Rose. Rose after her marriage moved to London; although her real name is Wardiya, she prefers to go by Rose. Quite interesting, isn't it?

Now, let me share a bit more about the next generations. My eldest son Zayn is blessed with two daughters, Layla and Ines. Lamin, on the other hand, has four boys: Karim , Sami, Samad, and Yazen. Raya has two daughters and a son—Lamis, Fedoua, and Raoul. As for Rose, her child is named Jude. I must confess, I'm not certain whether Jude is a girl or a boy; it adds an element of mystery to our already intricate family dynamics. Yes, you could say we've had a rather complicated relationship, but it's our unique family story, filled with diverse characters and experiences.

Returning to my name, have you managed to guess it? No? It's not Bahiya, nor Bouchra, or Badriya. I go by the name Lala Baya, a name that carries quite a reputation. This reputation is a blend of respect, dignity, and tolerance; however, I must admit that some individuals label me as crazy, a witch, or even a demon.

Remember the name, Lala Baya, as it is the essence of our story. Now, going back to my birthday, I had to feign surprise because everyone was eagerly anticipating my reaction.

My dear children gathered at my house to prepare for the birthday celebration. They chose the grand salon, adorned with Andalusian ceramic and a blend of semi-traditional and modern sofas. The room, vast and spacious, almost seemed designed for festive occasions like birthdays. Despite my personal preference for the colors pink and blue, they opted for a sophisticated beige theme—a choice I found fitting, considering my age.

Now, the surprising twist in the theme of my birthday was none other than Detective Sherlock Holmes. I can almost sense your surprise. How could a woman of 70 years be intrigued by Sherlock Holmes? Well, I have a keen interest in his stories and everything associated with them. I've delved deep into literature and civilization through extensive reading, firmly believing that literature serves as a tool that nurtures the human memory.I am, indeed, full of surprises, and there's much more you'll discover. And now, they're calling me to witness the surprise. The anticipation is building, and I'm eager to unveil the mystery they've crafted for my celebration.I descended the stairs, closing my eyes in anticipation. Adorned in a simple yet classic dress, I may be old, but I never go out of fashion. Embracing the Detective Holmes theme, I chose a caramel-colored ensemble, ready to embrace the surprises awaiting me.

I released a sweet, feigned scream, concealing my innocent face with my wrinkled hands. A few tears of happiness glistened on the bottom of my cheeks as the room erupted into a chorus of "Happy Birthday, Grandma Bay." I must confess that I had caught a glimpse of the cake before its arrival, thanks to someone I will introduce to you later.Surrounded by my beloved ones, we shared moments of singing, laughter, jokes, and even critiques about my dress and hair. They knew I was aware of the surprise all along. After all, I am Lala Baya, and no one can easily fool me at this age. As I admired this gathering, I couldn't help but envision the silhouette of some people who were absent today.Honestly, the joy of aging doesn't resonate with me. It's the presence of my family that truly brings me pleasure and evokes a sense of nostalgia. Since the loss of my husband, Haj Abdelkader, seven years ago, it has been a rare occasion to have them all gathered around. He was a wealthy man who cared for my children as if they were his own.Oh, I almost forgot to mention, I've been married twice—once in Algeria and within my community. Life has woven a tapestry of experiences for me, and each chapter carries its own unique blend of joy, sorrow, and memories. Rose wasn't there, but she sent me a present days ago. My ex-husband called me this morning, expressing regret that he couldn't come due to personal reasons. Yet, the missing silhouette wasn't Haj Abdelkader's; it was the silhouette of the old me, young Baya.

I snapped back to reality when my lovely Fedoua exclaimed, "Let's eat!" Oh, yeah, I almost forgot about eating, haha. "Let's eat, dear," I said with a smile. Fedoua was a special child—clever, beautiful, and kind. We shared many common characteristics, yet I always hoped she could grow even better than me.I took the knife, sliced the cake, and shared parts with everyone, including Fedoua. It turned out to be a sweet birthday, filled with laughter, joy, and the warmth of family.

Family......