© Preliminaries to all volumes of "Tin-n-Ouahr". Novel./ Préliminaires à tous les tomes de "Tin-n-Ouahr. Roman.

First covers of books
1ères couvertures des livres


Commun page introducing all volumes/
Page d'introduction à tous les livres

Anonymous, starved, led by the nose, ingenuous.../
 Anonyme, affamé, mené par le bout du nez, naïf...

"Do not forget, comrades... We have all been tin soldiers."
"N'oubliez pas,camarades... Nous avons tous été des soldats de plomb."
(In "Tin-n-Ouahr" Volume 1 "Tin soldiers" Chapter XVII)
'In "Tin-n-Ouahr" Tome 1er "Soldats de plomb" Chapitre 17)


English version/ Version anglaise(Extracts)

Tomes 1 à 6 en français (Edition intégrale) 

Volumes 1 - 6 in French (Full publishing)

Tome 1: "Soldats de plomb"/"Tin soldiers"
Tome 2 : "Royauté sans effigie"/"Kingdom without effigy"
Tome 3 : "Vers où, cette fois sur la route, Tewfiq ?"/"To where,this time on the road, Tewfiq?"
Tome 4 : "Pk-Zéro"/"Kp-Zero"
Tome 5 : "Ils firent jaillir, ô mon Dieu, une source généreuse."/
"They did shoot, ô my God, a generous source."
Tome 6 : "Ultime débarcadère/Ultimate landing stage"
Blog des échanges littéraires/Blog of literary exchanges
https://elkadiri-echanges litteraires.blogspot.com/

Other blogs neighbors/Autres blogs voisins:



twitter correspondence contact/
Coordonnées de correspondance twitter:


The original text in French is always below the text in English. Others texts are also found at 3th & 4th items.
Le texte original en Français se situe toujours sous le texte en Anglais. Les traductions en d'autres langues se trouvent aux 3ème et 4ème articles.

14th item/3ème article
15th item/4ème article
Portuguese, Portugais    
German, Allemand
Dutch , Neerlandais
Spanish, Espagnol
Swedish, Suédois
Italian, Italien
Norwegian, Norvégien
Chenese, Chinois
Danish, Danois
Japanese, Japonais
Turkish, Turc
Arabic, Arabe
Greek, Grecque
Hebrew, Hébreu
Persian, Perse
Hindi, Indou
Africaner, Africaans
Russe, Russian

© All rights reserved

Manuscripts at reading
My texts do not claim to have the physico-chemical consistency of the diamond, which is a rare mineral, at beauty always singular. If it symbolizes purity, I dare claim somewhat in my writing process, you are well aware, dear readers, that nothing can resist at the relentlessness of time, not even a rare stone, unlike the myth. However, my quest to want fix in time my writing has been a constant in my novel research project, registering in a dialectic perhaps containing elements of plastic and artistic appreciation who neglect and forget by moment the transience of time. Critical scholars in the world of literature can identify and seize this requirement, or do not see it at all. There are authors who do not necessarily write to please but to say things. Is that not how much the greats spend their way without seeing the grace of the infinitely small, who want only just be great in the eyes of his mother? The greats who often forget they were small before becoming... greats. As in the search for precious gems, it is the rarity and beauty of the texts that move an audience. Will you become diehardfans of my books ?
                           The author. 

If the characters, facts and chronological of this work largely correspond to authentically lived situations, they are nevertheless novel creations.
Thus, dialogues, marginal scenes, descriptions and novelistic thoughts, necessary for any literary construction, have been voluntarily added by the author. Names of persons, military acronyms, and most of the names of places have been deliberately modified, their geographical location hidden. Any foreign resemblance in the text would be purely fortuitous, and could not therefore be ambiguous.
                            The author.


Manuscrits à la lecture
Mes textes ne prétendent pas avoir la consistance physico-chimique du diamant, qui est un minéral rare, à la beauté toujours singulière. Si celui-ci symbolise la pureté, que j'ose quelque peu revendiquer dans ma démarche d'écrivain, vous n'ignorez pas, chers lecteurs, que rien ne résiste à l'implacabilité du temps, pas même une pierre rare, contrairement à l'idée reçue. Pourtant, ma quête de vouloir fixer dans la durée mes écrits a été une constante de recherche dans mon projet romanesque, s'inscrivant dans une dialectique contenant peut-être des éléments d'appréciation plastique et artistique qui négligent et font oublier, par moment, la fugacité du temps. D'érudits critiques du monde de la littérature peuvent discerner et saisir au vol cette exigence, ou ne pas la voir du tout. Il est des auteurs qui n'écrivent pas forcément pour plaire mais pour dire les choses.

N'est-ce pas combien de grands passent leur chemin sans voir la grâce de l'infiniment petit, à qui il suffit d'être seulement grand aux yeux de sa mère ? Des grands qui oublient souvent qu'ils étaient petits avant de devenir... grands. Comme dans la recherche des joyaux, c'est la rareté et la beauté des textes qui font bouger un lectorat. Allez-vous devenir des fans inconditionnels de mes livres ? 

Si les personnages, faits et repères chronologiques de cet ouvrage correspondent, peu ou prou, à des situations authentiquement vécues, ils n'en constituent pas moins des créations de roman. Ainsi donc, des dialogues, scènes chronologiques connexes, descriptions et réflexions, nécessaires à toute construction romanesque, ont été volontairement ajoutés par l'auteur. Les patronymes, les sigles militaires, et des appellations de lieux, ont été sciemment modifiés, leur situation géographique déroutée. Toute ressemblance étrangère dans le texte ne serait que purement fortuite, et ne pourrait par conséquent prêter à équivoque.

© Prelude to all volumes of "Tin-n-Ouahr". Novel./ Prologue à tous les tomes de "Tin-n-Ouahr. Roman.

 English translation/ 
Traduction anglaise
French original texts are ever under traductions.

© All rights reserved 


I met Tewfiq Baali at [1]N'gussa, one of the gates of Great South, beyond the russet billowing wilderness of [2]Dokharas, the land of [3]Kings Tuggurts. How much this is far now, but always striking of reality !
At the time when these chronics occured, I fulfilled my military service as chief scribe at the court of the garrison. Just a khaki ball, what else, in the country of modern pharaohs ? ... 
Although, I have never had to countersign any whatsoever judgment. Indeed, my colleagues and I were regarded by the hierarchy as archivists, at most.
Hey ! So what the people want ? 
It is of legendary reputation that reservists are at the peak of passive inhibition. They are not averse to serving as mats, but solely the time of their conscription. When the day of the keel arrives, they will make the arm towards the walls of the barracks, crying: "Basta"! Not, "Asta la vista"! 
Conversely, our leaders never could have imagined, even just the time of wink eyes, that we also had, regarding of future generations, a real duty of memory, equitable, unyielding, indomitable, irreducible, tireless. Hence the emergence of this work, which has somehow sunk since source.

Before planting for you the scenery, dear reader, it is necessary to affirm that this work is not a manual of embrigadement. Neither its opposite! Everyone would therefore have to read it with lucidity, discernment and critical thinking. Or to get away royally.

In truth, this story can take place in any country where laws work for the interests of tyrants. Although it is easy to guess ut, deliberately, and at no time, I quote the name of the country where these chronicles unfold. For from my point of view, considering of their actions, the majority of the personages playing the negative role of bad guys as leading managerial staff assuming public responsibilities or as executors of low works can not legitimately avail themselves of the honor of their nationality.
And from another angle, I did not want to frame my writings as a factitious country for all the gold in the world. If I had decided to spare all the sensitivities, I could have chosen an imaginary state, named for example "Utopia", at a latitude of unexplored lands, discrediting an unknown people. Displaced from their soil, my texts would certainly have lost all their originality and their breathing. That is why the historical names of places of the deep country that I love have resumed here their letters of nobility.

Fortunately, I think, I have painted more beautiful than the bad things. Through this novel, I have tried to trace the itineraries of women and men who have taken the same path at a period of their lives. At the same time, I allowed the skein of the political eventsof the moment to unfold  in this part of the world  without any unforgettable intention to disentangle it, against the backdrop of delightful love story of the main personage of this saga, undeniably emeritus child  of this people in his everyday life.

Click on "plus d'infos" below, to read the rest of the Prelude.
Cliquez sur "plus d'infos" ci-bas, pour lire la suite du Prologue.

© Chapter 1. Volume 1: "Tin soldiers", Novel./ Chapitre 1er. Tome 1: "Soldats de plomb", Roman.

  Tin-n-Ouahr, Volume 1
" Tin soldiers "

"Do not forget, comrades, we were all tin soldiers."  _______________________________
  (In " Tin-n-Ouahr " Volume 1 "Tin soldiers" Chapter XVII)

Chapter One

Tewfiq Baali opens aside the curtain of the attic plunged into darkness. Reflected by the aluminum coating on the terrace, the glare of the midday sun penetrates deeply, by flashing his retina deep in the brain, depriving him momentarily of the sight. He tries to protect his eyes with the back of his fingers. In vain. The phosphorescent footprint of radius has already invaded the black of the aqueous humor, and persists feverishly into. A few seconds tick away without heavy he could move, his meaning frozen by a strange lack. He suddenly dizzy. And nausea. After an effort that seems daunting, on the verge of collapse, he manages to stagger blindly towards the door.
The stiff back leaning against the adjacent wall, he expects the torpor which paralyzes deigns to dissipate before going down . Ah , he would have a treasure if he could find the deep sleep that would have spared him this inadvisable out! All morning he had to settle for a painful drowsiness, naked body dripping with sweat and stirred painful cramps stomach.
He wanted so much to wait for the darkness to win ! The idea of ​​leaving is tough and does not want to leave. In fact, he can not stay longer at Mezghena. He has nothing to do there. He played there all his cards. The passion that has remained palpitating so long in his heart gradually fades. What did he do for a month otherwise than trying to make it last through the hope of waiting ? This expectation has become too long, too uncertain. This vow, who married in any pretext innocence and illusions, refusing proudly the seductive interference of  occult forces.

Gradually he recovers his senses and can advance to the level of the floor. Oddly, today, he has the uncomfortable feeling that every level who he descended moves away him from the goal he tried unsuccessfully to reach so far, and an invisible enemy not ceased to delight him. Surely, this shabby floor, at fauve painting, can only lead to the cruel realities of life that are indifference, malice, selfishness, betrayal, hypocrisy, greed, deception, the abuse of authority.
Outside, the streets are deserted and hot. The heatwave still imprisons people in their homes, with the exception of a few stalkers to stunned traits bobbing on the wide sidewalks. One might think they are hungry and thirsty. Rather they are in a kind of daze, that fasting can not justify itself. The atmosphere is full of a kind of misty dust, apocalyptic look. The facades of the buildings seem to flicker constantly under the weight of the heat. The asphalt pavement to reach some areas the degree of liquefaction.

A hot  breath likcs the face of Tewfiq Baali, at  threshold of worn building where he lived for four years. He descends to the Debussy Street, along a sidewalk overheated and headed resolutely toward the center boulevards. He searches the shadows, hugging the walls. He evolves with difficulty. He blinks constantly eyes. His tongue is pasty. He swallows hard saliva. Traffic is at zero, except for a bus that passes a given point, with the characteristic scraping of tires on the pavement in his lane of traffic. A housewife shakes inconsiderate a sheet on her balcony. Dig a cat in a bin with caution .
In walking, he thinks the other life could continue for him in Switzerland , if his father had not decided to return at the country to independence . Certainly a different existence in more ways than one, the one he led to beating drums since leaving there. It was just the age of eight.
Today, it feels so alone ! So strangely alone... He sees himself, in all the years of his schooling, sitting in front of a blackboard, laterally a bay window overlooking an unchanging landscape. And sometimes to the left of the stage, sometimes to the right, while the planet Earth invariably conducting its revolution around the sun, the system continued unabated its fantastic ride in the cosmos, presented himself every day , and Timed to students, a holder of oracles constantly harping their expected moral and civic ideal code, while distilling them, fortunately, some basics of universal knowledge .
The other so dear to his heart life would have taken place in the wonderful world of happy childhood, to the high pastures in the footsteps of Heidi and her grandfather. She would not have been closed as here, made ​​for himself, his measure , Ô my God, if only painfully !

He arrives Place of the Emir and instinctively rushes in the hall of the Institute. Certainly, unlike the majority of passers struck by a sort of collective stupor, it gives the air of someone in a hurry.
" Well, one last time, he said. "
Students discuss scattered by the threshold of the building groups. Others sat on the front porch steps, blissfully smoke their cigarettes in defiance of religious prohibition, probably to go for the eyes of the orthodox revolutionary regime. He welcomed the head some knowledge, holding his breath. He rises three stories, and through a maze of corridors that smell stencil. In June, in these rooms tutorial now closed which had occurred exams end of the cycle, he fought more or less like a gladiator of the future ...

© Chapter 2. Volume 1: "Tin soldiers", Novel./ Chapitre 2. Tome 1: "Soldats de plomb", Roman.

Chapter Two

The clock of Central Station marks 7:49 p.m. The waiting room literally full of travelers while near the Terminus seem deserted. All ticket offices display "Complete" . Tewfiq Baali takes a banknote from his pocket without removing the bundle and buys a booth package cigarillos. His wrist is painful. He wiped the sweat on his forehead with the back of his jacket and slips quickly towards the docks. He sees the stunned .
On esplanades in compartments , corridors , washrooms , on roofs , out of sight , a massive human tide rumbles and protests . The passengers on platforms face stiff resistance occupants of cars. Each assault , vibration soles on concrete looks like a earthquake. Military police try , somehow , to push the civilians not embark troops . Nothing to do. No hole . All cars in all trains are crowded , full to bursting.

Tewfiq Baali reflects how acrobatic technique he must appeal to be among the runners , when he felt a hand rummaging in the right pocket of his coat, which startles him . Aside forcefully intruder arms and pivots sharply on itself, on guard , ready for all eventualities , including deal a good punch point paralyzing the throat of the alleged robs !
"Hey, I do not like this game ugly ... friend , he shouted in the direction of someone he recognizes the face afterwards !
- Hello Tewfiq , replied to a military flower earrings battle dress !
- Hi ! But then ! How you , yourself, to decline your identity! You had to tell you if he did not realize , I coat , huh ?
- Hey, you're not convenient! I just wanted to test your alertness old . Do not you recognize me?
- Heum ... If I 'm not mistaken , we were classmates in the Primary. Hey , remind me your name ... I on the tongue!
- But see ... Fatah ! Fatah Mouldi ! Me , I immediately spotted you. You have not changed. A little higher in the legs, that's all. Imagine that I have not forgotten your name or your face or your approach so characteristic . Hey , it was lost sight of this holy time from shorts , huh ? We were so happy and carefree .
- That's life . But you see, we always found somewhere. Where we could never imagine.
- A station is a meeting place , anyway. What are you doing here , finally surprised the grunt , not realizing that this fellow , to say the least unusual , may be there tonight, in the middle of this maelstrom that do not attend the hotheads ?
- I go by Jove , he replied emphatically . Like you, like all the others! Do you take me for a unable to kick over the traces sensitive guy? "
He almost immediately regretted having spoken of "others" , as the grunt would not fail him his eventual decline " grade " to know his "assignment" and the names of "knowledge" which can be found here and elsewhere. What happens once more .
" Leave the questions his corn ?
- Heum ... No.
- The wall then?
- No more . Where is our train, he said , trying to dodge the rest of the questionnaire , looking towards the openings ?
- Go know you in this mess . They announced several supplements but all trains of the world can not contain the mess ! "
Fatah Mouldi suddenly leaves his partner , quickly aware of the " uselessness " of the latter in such a place . Tewfiq Baali simply follow far embarrassed, because he finds it too tends to forget people's names , now that this traveling companion, a guy in the neighborhood, yet familiar paths of his childhood. He finally decided to hasten not to join him. It would clear up a misunderstanding . This dismissive attitude that he is and that is in fact a permanent introspection. The soldier all the senses , like a wild beast who spotted prey.
"You're assigned to Mezghena , asks his companion circumstance , remained a little behind ?
- A Cherguias replied the soldier, without taking his eyes off the openings.
- Since when?
- Sixteen months . More than a third to draw and talk about it more ! And you, secretive . You do not tell me what you do in life, takes pointblank the young man ?
- I just finished my studies.
- What kind ?
- Higher education.
- Which must rip your words!
- Heum ... Political Economy .
- Fiiuu ! You have not wasted your time , you. Moreover, it does not surprise me . Studious as you were. Me , you know, I have not been exceeded during the late of donkey.
- Do not get me wrong there . In this country, the university is the razzle- l'oeil . If you really want to learn , you have to think outside the box . And here, the roads are marked for a long time . It is not the value that leads to success, but the appointment ...
- The what?
- The servility. Baseness, what. More you bend down before the leaders, you go up in rank more ...
- Fiuu ! You talk like a doctor! Is what you are concerned with military service ?
- Yes, like all those who come out of university . Finally , I suppose.
- Not all, believe me... Have you received your order call?
- Not yet. Maybe it happened at home.
- What class ?
- No idea . I sursitaire for four years. My class had finished long ago. I would probably go in with one that starts in October ...
- If I have a good advice for you , comrade, is now trying to fend you an assignment near the fold. He does not live on the side of the southwest.
- Why not to there? I do not know . I want to make the country myself.
- What? The country? But you're crazy! The army will make you see the world ! You other civilians, you do not know what happens . Expect to be in khaki to dream to see the world !
- I think it's fucked up for us, concludes Tewfiq Baali . "
He wants to change the conversation , because it has a nasty penchant that requires justification, and it did not convince that serious . What would he say if he could get a military deferment for overseas? Everything would have been for the better, in the best of worlds , is not it ? In reality, it would not be there , but in a cozy lounge restricted circles of the regime.
After several comings and goings on the docks , the aspirant to this "curious journey" implicitly concluded that it no longer useless to expect. But the thought of returning to spend the night in his attic horrifies him ! He made ​​a decision. He would not return it. He must act fast! All these trains are the emblem of the army. They will not wait . They urge the troops to rally to their earlier units.
" Hey, you're not even military, he thought ? Why not stay Mezghena and curb your pride ? Subscribe finally post graduation and thereby obtain a reprieve ? You become a student as old as some . Two or three more years of respite from the army. But what good would ultimately ? This would be a headlong rush . Life itself is a reprieve. We must go forward, brave the unknown! It does not peel an orange twice , would it be deducted. "
At the same time , a voice crackles in a speaker :

Travelers to Eddous , Medjana , Ain El Fouara , Shyrta , Chetaibi Carthago ! Attention to start! "