Our story · 7 chapters · 8 min read
The story we have not finished telling.
One evening, my son asked me who Jaddy was. This is what I told him.
— Sami, grandson of Mekki Sahnoun
Prologue
It was an evening like any other. On the table, bread, a small bowl, and the bottle. My son dipped his bread, took his time, then looked up at me.
— Papa, who was Jaddy?
I had no short answer. There never is one, for questions like that.
So I promised to tell him everything. Not all at once. Little by little, the way it was told to me.
Here is the beginning.
Contents
This book will not tell you everything.
A family story is never told in full. It settles, with time, like a good oil. Here are the first chapters.
IThe origins
1961
An empty land.
In 1961, my grandfather, Mekki Sahnoun, bought a hundred and twenty hectares at Bir Ali Ben Khalifa.
Chapter I
There was nothing on it. Not a single olive tree. Just the land, the wind, and a very big sky.
He had an idea. And it never let go of him.
— Nothing at all? Not even a tree?
— Nothing. That is what makes it a good story.
IIThe family
The schoolteacher.
Before he was a man of the land, Jaddy was a schoolteacher. In the village they called him “El Mouallem”, the master.
He was not born a farmer. He chose the land. And he worked it the way he ran his classroom: with rigour, with patience, without many words.
The jellaba. The cane. Up before the sun. That is how I still see him.
— Was he strict?
— Demanding. And generous. Both at once. That is rarer than people think.
Chapter III
0
olive trees. Planted one by one.
One dot = sixty trees
He planted them one by one. Two thousand and forty.
That number is not an argument. It is an exact count, kept the way a schoolteacher keeps his register.
An olive tree takes years before it gives its first olives. Jaddy knew that. He planted anyway. For those who would come after.
Chapter IV
Nafissa, at his side.
Her part is not told enough. So I want you to know it.
While Jaddy brought the estate to life, Nafissa kept the house alive. The recipes, the seasons, the gestures of every day: everything that turns a piece of land into a home.
It was not him in front and her behind. It was the two of them, side by side. Only today do we measure the strength of that pair.
— Did she cook with Jaddy's oil?
— That is another chapter. I am keeping it for you.
Chapter V
طالع للهنشير
Talaa lel Hanchir.
Up to the hanchir.
In the family, it was the phrase that always came back.
It was an appointment. Every week, eighty-four kilometres of road to return to that land.
Jaddy is no longer here. The hanchir still is. And it is still waiting for us.
84kilometres, every week
VITransmission
What they left us.
Not a fortune. A way of doing things. Jaddy did not make speeches. But if I had to tell you what he taught me without ever saying it, it would be these five gestures.
Wait
Plant a tree whose harvests you will not all see.
Pass on
Nothing is ours. Everything is lent by those before, everything will be given to those after.
Think
He spoke little. He showed.
Demand
Generous, always. But never on quality, nor on Baâli farming.
Belong
The hanchir was not an asset. It was a member of the family.
That is why every bottle carries his name.
Chapter VII
A letter to my son.
My son,
I do not yet know how to tell you all of this at once. So I will tell it to you little by little, the way it was told to me.
One day you will go up to the hanchir without my having to ask. That day, you will understand why all of this matters so much.
What I leave you does not fit in a bottle. But every bottle will remind you of it.
— Papa
And you, what will you pass on?
This story is not finished. Each harvest writes a new chapter. The bottle you hold will be, a little, part of yours.
Taste
The First Chapter
L'Originelle and the small family booklet.
Follow
The next chapter
Once a season, Sami tells what comes next.
Memory has a taste.