Hamza Koudri has an MA in English Literature and Civilization and has been working in education and international development since 2008. Currently serving as the Country Director with the British Council in Algeria, he oversees a portfolio of English, STEM, higher education and cultural programmes, working closely with public sector teachers and institutions. Over the years, he has created and led courses and projects for youth and educators across the MENA (Middle East and North Africa) region and beyond.
Research for his novel took the better part of a decade, seeking traces of a muted past between the folds of visual documentation and oral histories. In 2022, Sand Roses was shortlisted for the Island Prize for unpublished African authors.
Hamza co-authored an article on “Social Responsibility Discretion in Algeria” highlighting unique management practices in the country. The article was published in “Responsible Management in Africa” with Emerald Publishing.
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Haneefah: Thank you for granting me this interview. Apart from the historic inspiration of writing your novel, SAND ROSES, why did you feel the need to write the book?
Hamza: When I first learned about the Ouled Nail dancers and the history of Bousaada, I was utterly fascinated by the fact that until fairly recently such a social system used to exist in Algeria, just a few hours from the capital where I live.
In the research frenzy that ensued, as I chased traces of a tradition long forgotten and, just like many artists before me, was entrapped by the irresistible magic of Bousaada, I learned a great deal about how the dancers were raised from a young age to sing, dance and entertain, how they were introduced into prominent cafés in town and, more often than not, struggled to make it in a highly competitive world, and how they constantly suffered at the hands of a brutal colonial rule. The rich details around their clothes, the social significance of their jewellery and the way they used it for physical protection, coupled with the cultural elements of the town of Bousaada all constituted a perfectly enchanting setting for historical fiction, but most valuable of all were the universal lessons drawn from the experiences of these women who strived to fulfil their dreams while navigating a highly stratified community and surviving ongoing acts of violence, which Christelle Taraud calls “la double violence sexuelle.”
The initial fascination having worn off, you can only imagine my frustration having never heard of this part of our nation’s history before. Something HAD to be done about it. This was a story worth revisiting for our generation to discover and talk about.
I was more than happy to oblige.
Haneefah: What was the most daring part of writing SAND ROSES?
Hamza: I’d say writing Sand Roses was a daring act in itself. This is not a part of our history that people are particularly proud of, but it is a part of our history nonetheless.
It was very important to me, though, to weed out two common trends that had overwhelmingly plagued most previous attempts to document the history of Ouled Nail dancers: The first was foreign artists portraying these women from an orientalist view, even fetishist at times, and the second was common among Algerian historians and PhD students who either denied the existence of this culture, relegating it to a mere work of imagination propagated by the French colonial powers, or at best justified the whole culture by citing poverty and ignorance at the time.
In Sand Roses, I set out to steer away from these two extremities and, instead, create characters with dreams and ambitions of their own. Salima and Fahima, the protagonists of my novel, each have a different motivation to dance in Bousaada: one wants to collect dowry money and marry her betrothed back in the village, and the second aspires to travel the world. Telling the story from the points of view of these sisters as their dreams were crushed by the horrors of a city under ruthless colonial rule was important to depict an authentic account of these women’s experiences.
Haneefah: It is way past the time of colonialism but it seems people, even those who weren’t born in the period of colonialism find it hard to move on from the stings. Why do you think there are some pastimes that people cannot move on from?
Hamza: Algeria remained under colonial rule for 132 years, and it was a brutally violent period with countless wars, genocides and more despicable crimes against humanity. The war of independence alone lasted over 7 years and claimed the lives of more than 1.5 million Algerians. I assume that reality is, sadly, all too familiar across the African continent and beyond.
So it is no surprise that the period shaped much of our present, across the social, political and economic spheres. In fact, Algeria recently put together a joint historical committee of Algerian and French members with the objective of working out some unsolved issues from colonial times, including archives, valuables and much more. This is important work to reconcile with the past.
In Sand Roses, colonial rule is a prominent theme despite my best efforts to keep it away from the centre. I couldn’t have possibly written a realistic story about the Ouled Nail dancers in the 1930s without highlighting the atrocities committed by the French army. It was important to me, however, to also depict other parts of the dancers’ experience: their life in the village, the dynamics of their community, the joys and struggles of their career and interactions with locals.
It was practically a way of recognising that while the French did dominate much of life in Bousaada, this was not a story about the colonial presence but rather a tale of Ouled Nail dancers and the city of Bousaada.
Haneefah: Do you think Algeria is truly free from colonialism even after independence?
Hamza: About two years ago, an Algerian movie “The Last Queen” quickly rose to fame, both at home and abroad, and it was immediately recognised for one particular trait among many: despite it being a historical movie, it was far removed from the French occupation.
In fact, Adila Bendimerad and Damien Ounouri’s masterpiece was set in 1516 Algiers, three full centuries before the French set foot in Algeria. It tells the story of Queen Zaphira who, at the wake of her husband’s murder and while Spanish invaders lurk outside the city (yes, Algeria is rarely left alone 😊), endures personal and political turmoil as she stands up to Barbarossa, one of the lead corsair figures in the Mediterranean Sea.
Moviegoers in Algeria hailed the movie for portraying another aspect of our history that is rarely discussed. The Last Queen’s Algiers precedes the construction of Haussmann-style buildings imitating those in Marseille. The characters are dressed in traditional Algerian fashion and speak not a word of French.
And this is just one way Algeria is breaking free from colonialism. Similarly Amel Kasdali’s young adult book, “Zina El-Korsana”, chronicles the adventures of a young Algerian woman whose dream is to become a corsair, another example of how literature is now looking beyond the scope of our colonial history.
The last few years have seen an unprecedented increase in demand for English. The school system has introduced English in primary school, and some universities are teaching many scientific majors in English. Youth are now reading in English, as demonstrated by the expansion of English sections in most bookstores.
And I wrote Sand Roses in English 😊.
Haneefah: If the Ouled Nail Tribe did not exist , do you think this novel would have been birthed, would you write a novel about the tyranny of the French during colonialism considering that in your interview with brittle paper, you said that the idea for the book came after listening to a podcast about prostitution in Algiers in the colonial and ottoman eras?
Hamza: I like how you use the word “birthed.” I couldn’t have described the process of producing Sand Roses any better.
And to answer your question, quite frankly no. I do not think I would write a novel simply to depict the tyranny of French colonialism. I believe there is plenty of documentation and works of fiction, including some written at the time serving almost like eyewitness testimonials, capturing the human suffering and atrocities of that period. That is also important work, I should insist.
I enjoy reading about diverse histories and how people interacted with and were impacted by the events of their time, and I like to write similar content. What drew me to the Ouled Nail dancers was the fact that it was a culture that had risen to world fame at a certain time before disappearing from recent memory. And through Sand Roses, I wanted to revive that old story, and I have had goosebumps listening to Algerian readers talk about how they asked their grandparents and people from their hometowns about the history of Ouled Nail dancers. Many Algerians and foreigners have gone online searching for images and articles about their traditions, clothes and jewellery, and hearing that gives me a lot of joy – and makes me glad I had done my research while writing Sand Roses.
Sand Roses is not a story of French colonialism, but rather an attempt to excavate the memories of Ouled Nail dancers.
Haneefah:You chose to explore women characters more by using the Nailiya dancers. I find how well you were able to convey the emotions, physicality and mentality of the women characters so well interesting. As a man, what is the process of creating female characters as main characters like ?
Hamza: I have to admit this was not an easy task. What made it even more challenging was writing about women who were born and raised about a hundred years ago, with no formal education and whose entire world and way of thinking was nothing like what I am familiar with in this day and age. So every little detail presented a unique challenge as I tried to portray a realistic experience. That included anything from how they communicated about time of day to how they would handle the process of selling their virginity. I often had to negotiate with myself how much these uneducated women (and men) living in the middle of the desert can discuss in terms of their emotional experience or abstract ideas like justice or love.
One thing I kept reminding myself to do was use the environment around them. So you will see that Salima and Fahima often use elements in the desert to communicate their messages: the sand, palm trees, sky, stars, wind… etc.
What was most helpful to me in the process was getting to discuss many scenes with female friends who provided generous advice and often saved me from some very bad tropes or misconceptions. I remember having hours-long conversations (sometimes fights) about the girls’ relationship with their mother, the sisters’ rivalry and even the most intimate experiences like making love, and I made many changes as a result of those discussions. So I am glad to hear you liked the final product, and forever grateful for the friends that helped me along that way.
Haneefah: René and Bassem, the lovers of Fahima and Salima, gave them Sand Roses as gifts and expressions of their love. Bassem said to Salima, “Nailiya dancers are like sand roses, they are beautiful like flowers. They are tough, hard at the core. Ouled Nail are strong, and my Nailiya is the strongest of them all.” The symbol of Sand Roses is obviously powerful. What is the story behind choosing Sand Roses as the title of your novel?
Hamza:I am so glad you picked up on that. Sand Roses wasn’t always the title of choice, and for so long I was convinced it was just another working title. I liked the symbol of Sand Roses, and I thought it perfectly represented the image of the Ouled Nail dancers, just like the quote above explains it, but I was concerned that it would mislead readers into assuming this was a romance novel.
The title eventually grew on me, and though I tried, I couldn’t find a better suited one. The sand rose (or desert rose) is often used to symbolize the desert in general, because that is where they “grow” (more like crafted by nature), and many Algerian families, even outside the desert, would have one or two desert roses decorating their homes. That goes to show how beautiful people find them.
So when we were discussing the title with my publisher and editor, it was clear we needed to lean into that image of the Ouled Nail dancers: they are from the desert, they are gorgeous, but they are not your typical fragile rose that withers as you pluck it or comes undone at the touch. Ouled Nail women are tough. They are resilient. They weather the worst forms of violence and alienation in an extremely hostile environment.
Haneefah: Motherhood is a very essential part of existence. We have come across many situations where mothers make or mar the confidence of their children. I find the character of Saadia, the mother of Fahima and Salima to be annoying. Especially for the times Fahima was locked in the room by her when she was young, whenever she did something wrong. And for scolding Salima for not allowing the French to sleep with Salima. Is her behaviour a cultural way of protecting her girls, a mode of teaching the girls the way to survival or can she be considered to be too harsh ?
Hamza:Saadia is, for sure, an unconventional mother, but she is in no way unrealistic. Across time and place, we find mothers who push their kids to do the most terrible things, and that doesn’t necessarily mean they don’t love them. I often joke about Saadia saying she is the extreme version of a typical mother pressuring her kids to succeed at school. Saadia wants her girls to succeed as dancers, and she’s willing to push a few boundaries and break a few rules along the way.
But she’s also really scared for her daughters’ safety, and that is partly why she scolds Salima for refusing the French soldier what he wanted. Saadia is still in a state of panic herself, processing the fact that her daughter could have easily lost her life, and so she is looking for someone to blame.
We see other instances where she is making them do the most despicable things, all while showing them motherly affection, albeit in her own unique way. We should keep in mind Saadia had probably been through the same ordeal herself when she was Salima and Fahima’s age, and for her that was the order of things. It doesn’t make her necessarily evil or heartless. Her relationship with her daughters is very complex, just like most relationships in real life are.
Haneefah: Fahima and Salima’s amazigh tattoo got me researching on Amazigh culture and their tattoos. I love the symbol of identity and endurance the tattoo portrays in the book. Salima represented the symbol of endurance while getting the tattoo. Some people find tribal marks or tattoos , genital mutilation and the likes of it to be barbaric. Fahima, ran away because of the pain thus the tattoo was half way done. What is your justification of tribal marks or tattoos as a form of identity as well as that of barbarism?
Hamza: While they are a rare existence nowadays, facial tattoos have often enjoyed a major place in Algerian traditions, particularly among women. I am not very versed in this topic, but my research suggests in the case of Algeria, tattoos are more than mere tribal marks. They were often perceived as markers of beauty, but also used for healing and protection purposes. Depending on the symbol used and part of the body on which it was engraved, each tattoo had a unique significance including fertility, childbearing or protection from the evil eye. It was one of those traditions that passed on from one generation to another. While many girls got tattoos at a young age, many also did that later in life on their own accord.
Fahima and Salima’s Amazigh tattoo, as the name suggests, is more typical among Amazigh tribes than Ouled Nail, though the latter are known to be of mixed Amazigh and Arab origins, and having seen a picture of a Ouled Nail dancer from the early 1900s with that specific tattoo, I thought it would a perfect choice for what it represents in terms of freedom and independence. The story of how Fahima ended up with a half-completed tattoo was inspired from true events narrated by a friend of mine whose grandmother had lived her entire life with a half-finished tattoo like Fahima because she, too, had pretended to faint of pain and escaped from the hands of the women who were trying to engrave the symbol on her forehead. I enjoyed working with the tattoo throughout the novel, both as markers of each sister’s identity but also as a plot device to move the story forward.
Haneefah: In SAND ROSES, Khalti Baya, the old woman’s prophecy about Salima and Fahima, “I see a lot of death. And fire. I see darkness and the living sleeping with the dead in the dark”came true. Does death, sacrifices and darkness necessarily have to come with freedom especially in the era of the colonial era?
Hamza: There was this whole concept that fuelled the Algerian war for independence: what was taken by force can only be taken back by force. The Algerian war for independence came after decades of peaceful advocacy and political lobbying for equal rights. A series of tragic events in 1945, resulting in the deaths of tens of thousands of innocent civilians, made it clear that the only way forward was a fight for independence. And we all know how war takes a heavy toll on individuals and communities alike.
Even though Sand Roses takes place decades before the war of independence, we can still pick up on a lot of the atrocities committed by the colonial army, and the sacrifices made by the local population for the sake of survival. When Fahima and Salima kill a French soldier in self-defence, they immediately realise they stand no chance at a fair and just trial, so they have to hide the body, but as they find themselves drawn closer and closer into a vicious cycle of violence and darkness, they start to wonder where the line should be drawn. In a moment of self-doubt, Salima, unbeknownst to her, is haunted by Nietzschean’s warning: has she become like the enemy?
Haneefah: Magical realism is one of the most celebrated genres of literature, especially in Africa. The character, Khalti Baya told of a prophecy and it came true in SAND ROSES which is an element of magical realism. Are you considering writing a magical realism novel in the future?
Hamza: As a kid, I was a huge fan of magic realism, and I dabbled a bit in writing magic realism. While, as an adult, I veered more towards historical fiction, I still get a huge thrill from watching humans use supernatural powers, so I might one day dust off an old manuscript and see if it’s fit for publication.
With Khalti Baya, though, I wouldn’t say she’s a magic realism element in an otherwise realism-grounded tale. She rather represents our tendency to seek supernatural explanations to supernormal occurrences. Fortune-telling is one of the oldest trades in history, particularly in entertainment contexts like circuses and caravans, and so it only made sense that a city like Bousaada would have her own seer.
The story being told, partly, from Salima and Fahima’s points of view, that prophecy in a way defines their time in Bousaada. Baya might have said the same thing to every other dancer who sat by her side. She might have said a thousand other things to Fahima and Salima, but that bit about death and fire and darkness is the only part that haunts them, and haunts us as readers because it immediately resonates with the horrors that plague the city and how many dancers end up victims of violence.
Haneefah: You wrote grief in such an expressive way in SAND ROSES. The grief that came with the death of the Ammariyas family, the grief that came with the death of Bassem and the death of Fahima after she gave birth, they all got me into the scene and at some point I had to close the book because I felt like it was all going to become real. It felt real “Let them grief.” Mouloud said to René when he tried to stop Saadia and Fahima from crying. What was the process of the aspect of grief writing?
Hamza: Grief is an important part of our characters’ journey in Sand Roses because they live in a time when loss of life was so commonplace and their fate, in particular, led to several tragedies. We see two types of grief in the novel: individual grieving (when, say, Fahima or Salima lose a loved one), but also collective grieving (when a whole community experiences loss like what happened after the Colonel’s attack on the villages).
In writing about grief, I drew a lot from my own experience and instances of grief I observed around me. Based on research, too, I tried to differentiate between the different ways each character lives through the experience depending on who they are. We see Fahima cry at a few instances, Salima tends to become withdrawn, and feel bitter and resentful. We see her fiancé also becoming aloof for a long period of time until he finds a way for him to avenge his family’s death. And finally, we have Saadia who is visibly devastated and loses the energy we are used to seeing in her.
For many of these characters, grief is a journey, it is more than an instant emotion they experience momentarily. It often shapes their view of life and how they make future decisions. Naima dies defending Salima, and her memory, many months later, is what drives Salima to protect the jeweller’s daughter when attacked by Bernard, the colonel’s son. Having initially declined the Ouled Brahim’s offer to join their resistance movement, the sisters then change their minds in the wake of their own family tragedy.
And this is how writing from a limited third person point of view helps us live through the character’s experience. We feel what they feel, both physically and emotionally, and we get a glimpse of their flashbacks and their jumbled-up thoughts and, hopefully, it allows us to understand what they are going through and connect with them as they embark on a journey.
Haneefah: You wrote the killings and the dumping of bodies in the well, the rotting corpse so well that they are all so visual and graphic. How did you come up with such scenes? Have you ever witnessed a massacre?
Hamza: This bit particularly required so much research to help me capture the right visual and olfactory descriptions of the bodies. My focus was mostly on how the main characters experience that: what they see, what they smell and how they react to that. Sometimes they avert their eyes, and so we don’t see enough. Other times they are so fixated on something, often the eyes or blood, that it becomes all we see in the that particular scene.
I remember once spending hours researching what burned bodies smell like, and I was surprised by how much detail you can find online. The first few versions missed a couple of important details that were caught by the generous beta-readers. A friend of mine once pointed out that when opening the well with a rotting corpse at the bottom, the characters should be overwhelmed by a strong stench. Another one commented that they shouldn’t be so quick to call a body a body, hence begins the journey of their coming to terms with their first murder.
Haneefah: In the middle of a tragedy, Salima dreamt of beautiful things. To you, what is the essence of dreams to human existence?
Hamza: That reminds me of one of my favourite non-fiction books, “Why We Sleep” by Matthew walker. In every chapter, Walker lists the countless benefits of sleep and dreams, along with warnings of the dire consequences resulting from lack of good sleep. Benefits range from cognitive to emotional to physical to even aesthetic.
Walker calls dreams “overnight therapy.” Dreams, he says, “take the painful sting out of difficult, even traumatic, episodes experienced during the day. In this way, dreaming provides a form of emotional first aid, offering psychological resolution when you awake each morning.
I have to admit that the scene where Salima dreams of beautiful things in the middle of tragedy got to me each time I was reading or editing the book. First, she is not dreaming comfortably in a nice bed. She has fallen asleep, weary with physical and mental exhaustion, having just lost two of the dearest people in her life. She is also stuck at the bottom of the well as oxygen runs out fast, hence the additional fatigue that descends upon her. Put in raw terms, she is literally dying.
Then as she dreams, she happens to see a future with her lover and kids. We know immediately that is a future she will never have because her fiancé has just died. Then Farida, her newborn niece has the face of her younger sister, who had also been killed at the hands of the colonial army. So her world is jumbled up, as the world of dreams tends to be. But she likes it there, and she resists against her mother’s attempts to bring her back to the dark reality. She even wishes she had just gone from sleep to the oblivion of death.
So I guess Salima’s dreaming of beautiful things makes the scene even more tragic.
Haneefah: Bread has served as a symbol of war, survival and poverty in many instances. It is seen in the scenes of real life war. Saadia made reference to Farida holding a “stupid bread”. How do you feel about this?
Hamza:You are right. Bread represents that and so much more. It is a symbol of life, eternal life. In the Middle East and North Africa, it is also a sign of hospitality, tradition and living together as a community. In Amazigh cultures, it represents the know-how. In times of war or poverty, bread is the basic thing we hold on to for sustenance like a last shield separating life from death.
In Algeria, there is a saying, when a kid passes away, they will tell you he or she was never meant for this world, meaning they were meant for a better world. And to me Farida is that kind of child. She has this angelic presence about her, light, joyful and purely innocent, that you know instantly she is sadly too good for this world.
In the midst of Saadia’s tragedy, she remembers odd details about her lost ones, and the piece of bread, which had always been linked to Farida’s image, is the piece that sticks. It didn’t offer Farida eternal life, but her memory and that of her bread live on.
Hanefah: In your acknowledgment you mentioned that your mother’s bedtime stories ignited your fascination with storytelling. What is your opinion of the role of folktales and storytelling in fiction writing?
Hamza: Folktales and storytelling are among the oldest forms of entertainment, and traditionally they did more than entertain. They were ways to pass on traditions and histories from one generation to another. News travelled through storytelling, often carried forward by some harpist or poet. Stories were tools to process our life events, to caution against danger and advocate for causes we believe in. It was through stories that families and communities came together, sharing warmth and bread and forging solid ties.
And most importantly, folktales and oral storytelling are the forbearers of modern fiction. Some of the oldest tales that have survived to date (like the Odyssey and Iliad) trace their origins to oral tradition, and they perfectly meet the conventional plot elements, so instrumental for the success of modern-day fiction.
Haneefah: What does fulfillment mean to you as a writer?
Hamza:In recent years, fulfilment has come in a few different shapes. At first, I felt an overwhelming sense of joy when Sand Roses was first longlisted for the Island Prize. Then as I knew some big names like Karen Jennings were actually reading my work, I felt like a true winner already. Then seeing Sand Roses get out there and being cherished by readers in different parts of the world, having readers come up to me or write to me about how the novel got them to search for traces of the Ouled Nail dancers, the same path I had trodden almost a decade ago now—all of this gives me so much satisfaction I get goosebumps sometimes.
But through it all, especially in the busiest of times when marketing work pulls me away in all different directions (which—make no mistake—I am genuinely grateful for), at these times, I realise that the truest form of fulfilment is when I am entirely engrossed in the whirlwind of a story. It is when I am thinking about a certain character while driving, imagining the next scene when swimming or going to bed until the next chapter threatens to burst out of me and leap into the nearest semblance of a paper, it is then that I feel most satisfied as a writer.
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Haneefah Abdulrahman is a second class upper graduate of English Literature from Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria. She is a Writer, an editor, an Interviewer, a content creator, an arts event planner, a Spoken Poetry Artist and a Podcaster. She is a 2021 fellow of Ebedi International Writers Residency, Oyo State, a Pioneer Fellow of Imodoye Writers Residency, Kwara State and she was a Columnist at DailyTrust Newspaper. She is the Author of Shades of Becoming (a collection of short stories). She is the 2021 Winner of The Arewa Rising Literary Star. She has edited and curated books including anthologies. She also does freelancing writing for tech companies and others.
She is the Chairperson of Kaduna Branch Hill-Top Creative Arts Foundation. She was the 2021 – 2023 Chairperson of the Creative Writers’Club , A.B.U Zaria. Right from her first year in school, she has been a very dedicated member of the Club. She was the Treasurer in her second year and held the position of being the Financial Secretary and Editor 1 in her third year. The Creative Writers’ Club is known to be qualitative in picking their officials. She is also an arts administrator. She has organized many literary events including the Nigerian Poetry Festival.
Haneefah is the Editor-in-chief of Literature Voices (LITVO). She served as an Editorial assistant for The Moveee Magazine. She was shortlisted as one of the 30 Contemporary Women Poets to read by Poetry Column-NND in Nigerian News Direct. She was named YELF ARTIST OF THE MONTH, November Edition 2020. She was the 2019/2020 Business Head of Eagle’s View Tour and a Delegate for Conference Leadership Training of A.B.U for all ENACTUS Schools in Nigeria which qualified me as a Project Head. She has been invited as Guest Speaker, Judge and Panelist to Arts events like Benue Book and Arts Festival, Taraba State Schools Festival, National Library of Nigeria Readership Campaign, Yasmin El-rufai Foundation and more.
Over the past years, she has gained ample experience in the field of writing, public speaking, art events planning and organizing, researching and undertaking projects.
She is someone who is hard working, persistent, consistent, always ready to take challenges and learn new things.
You can reach her via abdulrahmanhanifah2017@gmail.com