In March the villages of Kabylia are preparing a large march. The march of flowers to welcome the summer. Men and women, young and old, armed with drums, flutes, guitars and flags, make the processions, as the old tradition, and walk along the roads, with singing on their lips. Small processions are born here and there, in each village, and it would not take long before the processions are grown big as they walk through other villages ahead where people are waiting for them.
“Where do all these people go?” asks a passing stranger. “Welcoming the Spring,” replies one of the participants. “where are you all going?” “Fetching water in the river.” The stranger interrupts its journey and takes part in the march.
Thousands of pilgrims walk, and the sun above is watching over them.
Buses and cars follow behind the marchers, helping the old, tired and children, and has the opportunity to evacuate those who can not move forward.
All of Kabylia is mobilized. There are among the crowd of pilgrims even water and food vendors.
The air is pure and the weather is mild. It’s spring, The Genisteae are flourished and emit sensual scents. Birds, excited, also begin their chorus, in unison, with men and women.
It’s springtime and life is coming back. The pilgrims, all gaily clothed, are satisfied to exist, to be born in Kabylie and to live there.
They beat the monotony, sadness and death. They come out of their winter cocoons, like butterflies in their chrysalis, to run around like drugged beings around the flowers.
Young people, on the road, sing summer hymns to life, which beautifies their country and their hearts. They face the road with joy and pleasure. They will bring water from the river, water, the source of life. The element that the Kabyle has and continues to worship since immemorial time. The water, rich eternal Kabylie, attribute to Anzar, the rain god.
All the Kabylie are on the way. The pilgrims converge on the water, to host Lala Zegda as it should, pay tribute and thank her for the beauty she adorns the Kabyle country, this Mediterranean country as beautiful as those of Greece and Italy.
Arrives everywhere, pilgrims begin the last line, before arriving at the water, where other travelers ahead. They greet arrivals with flowers, lace and smiles.
This is the final stop, the end of the journey, they all came, all of Kabylia and the river took them all in his arms. They get water, get wet face, to wake up, before throwing every flower in the water and lie on the ground in the green grass.
It is a sacred day, the end of pains and injuries, reconciliation between children of Kabylie. Far from any social concern, and Economic Policy.
This is the great communion, where men and women, facing the water, and reconnect with the party and life.
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