![Kaddour by Rachida Brakni | Stock](https://athenaeum.com/9637-medium_default/kaddour-by-rachida-brakni-stock.jpg)
![Kaddour by Rachida Brakni | Stock](https://athenaeum.com/9637-medium_default/kaddour-by-rachida-brakni-stock.jpg)
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On August 15, 2020, Kaddour, Rachida Brakni's father, died. The deceased's wish is to be buried in his native land: Algeria. It's the summer of Covid, it's not going to be easy and as she returns, full of grief, to the capital to be with her family, the memories of the actress come back. Who was this man, orphaned, illiterate, a fan of Louis de Funès, who had to leave his country, soon to be at war, to work?
What does it mean to experience racism? The lack of recognition? Juggling between two languages? Exhausting oneself in jobs that test the body? With great modesty and tenderness, Rachida Brakni tells us about her father and through him the story of these men who left everything behind to rebuild a family, an identity, a pride. Through this tribute, it is also a page of the history of France that is evoked. The actress proves that she is not only a voice but also a writer. Sunny and splendid!Anne-Céline
WE WILL HAVE THE PLEASURE OF WELCOMING RACHIDA BRAKNI TO THE ATHENAEUM FOR A MEETING FOLLOWED BY A SIGNING SESSION
THURSDAY, MAY 23, 2024 AT 7 P.M. On registration: [email protected]
"At the time of my father's death, the text La Place by Annie Ernaux came back to me like a boomerang. This book, which I discovered at the age of twenty-five, had moved me and had a very strong resonance in me. Our stories, our past, our trajectories were not the same and yet a common base constituted us. The one made of a fierce desire to extract himself from his condition without ever cutting himself off from his roots or denying himself.
From the announcement of the death of my father, Kaddour, on August 15, 2020, to his burial six days later, my mourning seems confiscated to me as la maison is always full of an uninterrupted stream of visitors. It is also six days of fear as the complexity of the situation related to covid makes it uncertain whether his body can be repatriated to Algeria as he wished. Six days during which I escape to summon our memories. What I know about his miserable childhood in Algeria, from his arrival in France which he will crisscross at the wheel of his truck, until the fall, bruised body. But also what he passed on to me, the relationship to the land, to language, and to books.
I drew his portrait to give flesh and to bring out of anonymity these uprooted men reduced to their condition as workers, torn between two countries. And above all, I wanted to pay tribute to the man without whom I would not be the woman I am. »
R. B.
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