Gore is front and center in the opening acts of Hamza Houdri’s Sand Roses.
Salima and Fahima are twin sisters who go to Bousaada, the City of Joy, with dreams of becoming successful Nailiya dancers. They will dance and whine to the rhythm of softly played music until they can raise enough money to retire, start their own family, or haouch, whatever the case. To do this, they must cleverly deceive the French and evade the tax program. Theirs is a cunning plan concocted by their mother.
“You must remember. You can’t be seen together in public. No one can know that you are sisters—not even the girls working here can know there’s two of you in this room.”
Their plan is successful until the girls are confronted by the reality of the dead body of a French soldier lying in a pool of his own blood demised at their hands. Self-defense or not, the girls will learn that this land that promises to flow with milk and honey also holds promises of anguish, more deaths, fear, and deep seated pain.
Very little is known now about the dancers of Ouled Nail. What little is known of the exotic women is mislabeled, cast as indecent and immoral, or depicted in paintings and drawings for pleasure and sexual gratification. When Hamza comes across this unique part of his culture, he is filled with a thirst to learn more. A product of this journey of learning and discovery is Sand Roses. Set in the 1930s, when Algeria was still under the control of the French, Hamza works with scraps and pieces he finds to recreate a world where these dancers once existed. He brings to life the women of Ouled Nail, long lost to history.
We are carried along on his journey. From the crevices of his imagination and combining his knack for storytelling, we are immersed in this world of intricate traditions: their style of dressing, the rhythm of their dance, their coin necklaces worn, partly to safeguard their earnings, and on the other hand as a show of their status. It is a marvel that such women existed during colonial times. They created a system of living that allowed them to survive and amass so much wealth that it is believed that the women were the key providers of their household. These details are not glossed over in this book. The female characters in this novel are strong, self-sufficient, intelligent, surprisingly courageous, and witty when it calls for it.
The third-person perspective allowed for just enough feel of every character, giving us a window into their thoughts and feelings without crowding out the story. If the suspense is not enough for readers, the back-and-forth struggle between timelines will keep the readers alert as they try to figure out what is going on at every point.
Hamza’s writing is clear and vivid; the scenes are febrile with fear that can be cut through with a knife. Every time it seemed the sisters would be caught, I held my breath and said a tiny prayer. Hamza’s book is one of those books you can’t wait to finish so you can experience its end, and yet you pray it does not finish so the experience doesn’t end.
In its arsenal are themes of loss, survival, courage, love, and hate. We see how the need for revenge creates an unending vicious cycle of deaths and more deaths. However, the author leaves an opening for redemption in the form of children.
There’s also a lot of room for love in this book. Despite the heavy themes, Hamza takes great care to craft love interests for Fahima and Salima. These moments create a soft, cushioned landing from the intense high of the more surly bits of the book.
The author teased a sequel to Sand Roses, which would be set 20 years later in Algiers. With how beautifully the book ended, a sequel was the last thing I could have thought of, and yet I am giddy with excitement at this prospect. I can’t wait to see what he does with this story and what direction he takes in the future.
***Precious Nzeakor might be a medical student, but her career path has not taken away her strong passion for the arts, whatever form it may take.
