I imagined Djerba grouillante et détestable, comme le sont ces abords de la grande bleue, polluée par une faune agglutinée sur le sable aseptisé des grands hôtels...et je n'avais pas tort...Mais c'était sans compter sur la surprise d'une île aux multiples secrets, tenant jalousement ses joyaux minuscules et fascinants au coeur de son écrin d'oliviers.
Ce jour là, fatiguée du bruissement des grandes vagues et des alignements de parasols, je suis partie à l'aventure sur une bicyclette tremblante, le chapeau bien enfoncé sur la tête, le foulard pardessous, prenant exemple sur le costume des djerbiennes. J'ai mis le cap sur l'intérieur de l'île, pressentant quelque miracle bien caché.
narrowly avoiding a few 4X4 rampaging hurtling towards Guellala, I started getting deeper into the groves bloom on sandy tracks. After 5 miles of pedaling alone, I paused in silence, amazed to discover an island worthy of her gracious name Djerba la Douce. A careless child
driving before him a donkey no less pressed, a few chickens scratching in the sand battling, olive stocky and wore entwined berry tight hesitating between green and red, while the graceful young women laughing in their colorful dresses me making hand signs.
I asked my bike against a mound child and motioned me to come and see beyond the embankment. Running barefoot in front of me, he nimbly climbed a low wall and I followed, curious as much as amused. Then he paused and said:
- "Look!" in perfect French and triumphant.
was a little white wonder, beautiful lines, planted atop a tiny mound, one of these mosques forgotten that tourists never visit, and the memory of an ancient peace comes nimbus of light and serenity. A kind of house built with the heart and forget the plumb line, ice successive layers of lime, leaning just to move and be humble. Inside the small mosque, the light filtered gently illuminating a mat color of wheat and great writing entwined, black on white, under mysterious to me who did not know Arabic.
The child was silent, watching me from her large black eyes in the middle of a face browned by the summer. He sat in a corner, knees up reassembled dusty face.
I toured the building and then I sat on the doorstep. Outside
Djerba shone the light of noon, two pigeons cooed in the immense olive tree trunk and twisted, burning in the sky a plane slowly unfolding a silver thread ... And slowly I opened my wings in a quiet ecstasy butterfly amazed.
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