My Father Did Not Leave Algeria

My father did not leave Algeria.

Whether by choice or circumstance, I don’t really know. But he stayed.

And, in a way, we always held it against him a little.

I mean… a computer engineer in the middle of America’s tech boom, with his dedication, his intelligence, his way of working… He could have done so much.

And in our minds, above all, we could have done so much.

So it was easy to look elsewhere and imagine the life we could have had.

If only he had left.

If only we had grown up somewhere else.

If only…

Today, all three of his children have left Algeria.

And even before leaving, I began to understand that this famous idea of “all he had to do was leave” had never been so simple.

Because when my turn came, I too always had a good reason to wait.

It wasn’t the right time.
I had to prepare this.
Wait for that.
Have enough money.
Be sure.

It is much easier to blame someone when you are not the one who has to pack your bags.

And then, looking back, I realise something else:

We did do things in Algeria.

My parents tried.

They took their chances where they were, and God knows it wasn’t always easy.

And despite everything, I grew up. I studied. I learned. I travelled. I laughed. I had a childhood full of memories. I had my parents close to me.

Today, I understand that many people did not even have the opportunities I had.

My parents did their best with what they had, where they were.

And now, I am the one who has left.

And you know what?

The grass isn’t as green on the other side as people say.

I miss Algeria.

I miss my parents.

I miss my family.

The streets, the noise, the habits, the food, the smells…

Even the bad ones, haha.

Because leaving isn’t just changing countries.

It means choosing a place where almost everything you know is a few hours away by plane, behind a visa, a ticket, time off, money and planning.

It means understanding that a bad day no longer necessarily ends at your parents’ house.

That you cannot always drop by to see your sister.

That the people you love keep living, growing older, falling ill, celebrating things… without you.

And you keep living your life without them, too.

So today, I understand a little better those who choose to stay.

Not necessarily because they lack ambition.

Not necessarily because they are afraid.

Sometimes, they have simply decided that what they would have to leave behind is worth more than what they might find elsewhere.

After all, we are taking our chances here, too.

In Algeria or elsewhere, sometimes only the flag changes.

The obstacles simply take different names.

Over there, some doors are hard to open.

Here, others are too.

The difference is that at home, you have your people.

You can fall once, twice, ten times.

There will always be someone to go home to.

The ground back home will always be a little softer when you fall.

Abroad, you learn to stay on your feet.

Even when you are tired.
Even when you are sick.
Even when you just want to go home to Mum and Dad.

Because, after all…

it was your choice to leave.

And perhaps I had to leave to finally understand why my father had chosen to stay.