The Confused Arab (@theconfusedarab)

كتبت كتاباً! J’AI ECRIT UN LIVRE! I WROTE A BOOK! In French as Arabic and English translations will come soon. Des années à discuter ensemble ici de qui nous sommes, qui nous avons été et s’interroger sur cette nostalgie dont nous construisons des lendemains. L’exercice d’ecriture , entre recit et essai, fut profond et passionnant pour partager avec vous, sans image ni son, ces questions d’identité. Pas “confus” comme honteux mais au contraire fier d’être soi, d’être nous où que nous soyons dans nos pluralités et variétés. “L’arabe confus” est là (à partir du 30 mai), pour moi comme nécessaire de poser plusieurs années de discussions digitales mais surtout pour vous, pour qu’un débat plus élevé et historiquement établi autour de nos presences, de nos Histoires et notre futur puisse s’installer en diaspora ou dans les sociétés “natales”. Être arabe c’est savoir qu'une identité n'est pas figée, qu'elle ne s'arrête pas seulement aux mélodies et aux anecdotes, mais qu'elle est une chance: celle d'écrire un futur plus vaste, à la hauteur de nos espérances. Merci @editionsbelfond @camdum7

🌻🏛️📸🎨 Next time you are planning a trip to South of France, don’t overlook Arles. There’s something truly special about this small city of Provence. With its roman vestiges and artistic heritage as former home for poets and painters , Art is everywhere specially during the @rencontresarles In French popular culture, the city is famous for “l’Arlésienne” (Woman from Arles- by Alphonse Daudet) which became an idiomatic expression meaning something that is constantly talked about but never actually appears or materializes (similar to how in Daudet’s story, the Arlésienne woman is central to the plot but never actually appears on stage.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​) Sounds familiar? What’s your own Arlesienne?

📝13 Places I have liked, nothing posh, a bit gentrified a bit ould el bled- confused selection. Let me know what I should have done or seen. I’ll come back inshaAllah ✌️

58 فيها 58 in it [if you don’t read Arabic- go until the last picture to see what’s written on the tattoo] Marseille is sometimes called the “59th wilaya” of Algeria—in reference to its significant Algerian diaspora. Wherever you go in Marseille, Algeria is there. You might think I’m exaggerating, but look closely and you’ll see it everywhere. The numbers alone tell the story. Algerians and their descendants represent around 20% of the city’s population. Add the Pieds Noirs and Algerian Jews, and you’ll realize that one-third of Marseille’s residents have direct ties to Algeria. The connection is deeper than demographics—you’ll find it into the very fabric of the city through street names, monuments, and restaurants in every neighborhood. This Algerian presence is everywhere, yet paradoxically, this rich influence—both historical and contemporary—is often erased from the city’s narrative, hidden behind the “safer” label of “multicultural Marseille.” I’m not trying to diminish the many other communities and influences that make this city culturally extraordinary. Marseille’s diversity is indeed one of its greatest strengths. But the systematic erasure of its deep Algerian roots feels deliberate- putting aside memories, histories, and influences that are “too” complex, “too” politically charged, or “too”uncomfortable to acknowledge. In celebrating Marseille’s multiculturalism while ignoring its Algerian soul, we lose something essential about what this city truly is.

رواق 😌

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كنز TREASURE Maqadeer مقادير by the legendary Saudi singer Talal Maddah is not just a beautiful song—it holds a special place in my mother’s heart through Warda’s unforgettable interpretation. The connection between Warda and my mother runs deep, a story that spans countries and decades. For years, my mother has identified with the Algerian Rose, finding in her voice something that spoke to her own experience. Discovering this old vinyl record, with my mother’s own handwriting, feels very unique. It brings back memories of time spent with family and loved ones—some still with us, others who left. The song’s lyrics capture this bittersweet reality: [وكنا بعاد وعشنا على الأمل ] *[Wa kinna ba’ad wa ’ishna ’ala el amal hena]* *“And we were far from each other… and we lived on hope”*

مرة هنا و مرة… BETWEEN 🌳 and 💦 Lush and flow

البركة BARAKA

لالجيري كيما باريس L’Aljiri kima Pariiii Few days in Paris and bladi is everywhere I go 🥹✨

باريس ☔️ PARIS 🌧️

Ziad يا زياد You and your songs were here and there during my life like a companion, a friend in loneliness and darkness. Witty. Provocateur. Bala Wala shi. Nights spent in Beirut made me appreciate your tracks better this beautiful melancholy, its social meaning and the resonance of your observations on what’s Lebnen. And beyond. You composed the soundtrack of Return to Haifa (عائد إلى حيفا byKassem Hawal,1982.) an adaptation of Ghassan Kanafani’s novel. Being the son of the great Fairuz could have made all of us your siblings. This mother and son relationship gifted us with legendary songs Saalouny nass (composed when you were 15y) Kifak enta, Habeitak tanseet el noum and more. Beyond the maternal love, your talent echoed as well the love for the motherland: “The Anthem of the Lebanese National Resistance” (نشيد المقاومة الوطنية اللبنانية) is a powerful written during the time of the Israeli occupation of southern Lebanon being so relevant today.