If these red bricks could speak, they would rustle with stories about the lives of Katouja, Mimouna and her friends. It is at the Alma-Fontenoy foyer, between these typical walls of the city of Roubaix, that this group of girlfriends promised to continue to grow old together until the end of their days. “What are we doing here”, repeats Zarwa Bouchareb, 83 years old, including twenty spent in this establishment for the elderly.
Algerians, Moroccans, Tunisians, there are eighteen of them: chibanias who most often joined their husbands who came to work in France during the “thirty glorious years”. Today, they live in this housing estate welcoming thirty-five seniors in the heart of the Alma district, located north of the workers’ city. Roubaix, a former mining and industrial town, has made much use of this workforce: the chibanis are said to be around 5,000, including many women.
At the beginning of the afternoon in May, the accomplices left their modest apartment to find themselves, despite the fine rain, on a bench at the entrance of the residence, Place de la Grand-Mère. Bodies wrapped in long djellabas, cane in hand, they can chat in Arabic for hours on end of the village, their blood pressure, children or the last episode of Flames of love…
The home is their sanctuary, their most precious possession. “We feel safe there”, assures Mme Bouchareb. Nurses present during the day in the event of a problem, guards 24 hours a day, a watch available to send a distress message… Not to mention the atmosphere.
“I have two children who live in Morocco, a husband who died seven years ago, but this is where I discovered my real family., launches Mimouna Mokadimi, 77, including twenty-six at home, and who has Parkinson’s disease. I found my father, my mother, my sisters there. And they take care of me as if I were their child. “
You have to see how these chibanias, now widows, watch over each other, especially the sickest. Especially since the onset of the coronavirus pandemic in March 2020. Some have been infected with the virus, but none has died.
“Elsewhere, we would be lost”
That afternoon, two chibanias are visited by their children who, luckily, live nearby. For the others, it is more complicated: we come to see them less because of the health protocol. These ladies remain modest about their daily lives, which they go through with a small pension (up to 600 euros) or thanks to social assistance.
But they like to evoke the past, remember the happier life before Covid-19, walks on the beach in Belgium, pottery lessons and their late husbands. “Mine fought in the Indochina war”, launches Zarwa. “My husband was a good mason. One day, his boss came to pick him up in a helicopter, adds Mimouna. Allah y rahmou [Que Dieu bénisse son âme]. “
Everything, from the facade of social housing, sometimes walled up, to the dented streets they love, reminds them of their former life. Because since their arrival in France thirty, forty or fifty years ago, most of these women have only known this corner of Roubaix and (almost) never leave it. “It’s our neighborhood, our businesses. Elsewhere, we would be lost ”, assures Mme Bouchareb.
And too bad if they have to step over cartridges for siphon (filled with nitrous oxide used by young people as laughing gas) with their walker or cross dealers on the way to the races … ” We got used to this place. We have always lived there ”, continues Fatma Beyyoudh, 98 years old, the dean of the place.
“Together, we live another life”
This Algerian with bright gray eyes left Ouled Djellal in 1957 with her children to find her husband, an employee in a textile factory. They lived just in front of the residence, in one of the social housing estates built to accommodate the families of the many workers. “My father died in 1959. Our mother took care of her children on her own. There were seven of us “, tells Mohamed, her son, who came to see if she lacked anything.
“I have also lived in this district for fifty-two years”, smiles Zohra Benoumeur, while correctly replacing Mimouna’s mask. At 73, this laughing woman, the youngest of the gang – one of the few to master French – is nicknamed “Mother bird” because she takes care of everyone. She also left Algeria to join her husband in 1969 and take care of their six children. ” We knew that when we were old, we would end up at home, she relates. Together, we live another life, the second. “
It is unimaginable for these chibanias to remain one without the other. “Loneliness? We don’t have time to be bored ”, underlines Katouja Attouche, 84 years old. “We don’t leave each other and when we don’t see each other, we call each other constantly”, repeat Mme Benoumeur. And live in an nursing home or with their children? ” Impossible, cry from the bottom of my heart Fatoum Zarda, 75 years old. When I arrived in this home, I took my independence. ”
Zohra Benoumeur nods. “Since we have been at home, we feel more free. Free to cook at midnight, to see each other at any time, to come home or sleep whenever we want, to manage our money. We are not accountable to anyone ”, she said gently.
So when these chibanias learned that their home was going to be destroyed in the summer of 2022 and that they would have to leave their neighborhood, they collectively panicked. “It’s a new anguish, summarizes Zahra Amlili, 77 years old, suffering from leukemia. Go. Separate. We can’t stop crying. We sleep badly. “
The municipality has in fact planned to restore this dilapidated part of the city in order to of “De-densify” the neighborhood that “Concentrates social difficulties” : more than 55% of the population lives below the poverty line, with an unemployment rate exceeding 40%, according to Max-André Pick, first deputy mayor of Roubaix (LR).
“We are separated just at night”
Before any demolition of the Alma-Fontenoy home, the city had announced to the chibanias the construction of an establishment for seniors in the district, then gave it up. “It was a mistake to have made such an announcement”, admits Mr. Pick, who promises to relocate them to social apartments located right in front of their residence “With the same conditions”.
News that will delight and reassure them … “That’s what they were asking for. They are inseparable and attached to the neighborhood ”, confirms Dalila Attouche, Katouja’s daughter. “These people have been uprooted. But now their roots are in their home. I understand the difficulty of moving ”, recognizes the chosen one. “If you force these people to leave their environment, it is to condemn them to death”, recalls Hamza El Kostiti, president of the chibanis cooperative, a local association, launched in March, which helps these old immigrants.
It’s the end of the day. Zohra has baked bread. Sometimes she gives it from her window to the children coming out of school. But this time, the batch is reserved for its “Sisters” who are doing Ramadan despite illness. The doorbell rings: Fatma has come to see her so that she can translate a document into French. His phone rings for the fourth time: it’s another “Sister” who is worried about her. The doorbell rings again. It is Mimouna who enters the apartment and sits on one of the sofas without saying anything. Zohra looks at her fondly: ” We’re separated just at night. “