Incomprehensible

It is a sunny, clear and crisp day, one of those early autumn days full of fragrance and energy. I am listening to Rachid Taha 's sensually charged, virile voice on his CD collection " Made in Medina". The early afternoon sun filters in gently thorough the kitchen door screen, as I am writing at the kitchen table. The Algerian singer's confident voice booms through my small house, energizing my writing efforts. I am learning basic Arabic, so at this point except for a word here and there, his words are incomprehensible to me. But I find that comforting, to listen to someone whose words I do not comprehend.Some of his songs are sung in French, or have French words thrown in. I do speak and write French fluently, so that adds both intrigue and ease to his songs. I am not bothered by not understanding his words, because it allows me to relate to him in an unusual way. I feel like I might as well be a mute a lot of times, because what I say seems to matter little, and very few people know about my life and what my immigrant experience has been like. So, the words I do speak, the ordinary language of every day, like nice weather we're having, what do you want for dinner, what a mess the government is in, does not reveal what matters to me, or what I am thinking of, so it is like singing in my head in a language no one hears, or speaking a language no one hears. So, listening to someone passionately singing in a language I do not understand, is strangely comforting.The songs speak to me emotionally, as do Idir's songs, and when I learn the lyrics of some of them, I am always happily surprised they deal with a theme of estrangement and longing for one's homeland and culture I  can relate to, like Rachid Taha's song about the expatriate longing for his home shore, "Oh Traveler". My husband and son are both kind people, but have very little interest in other cultures or my own circumstances, so even with them, I feel I might as well speak Arabic most days, when it comes to my deeper concerns and dreams. Perhaps that is why I feel so close to animals in the care of humans. They too are deprived of being understood, and struggle to make their needs understood, often at the varying degree of amusement of their owners. As a result, a lot of people underestimate both their intelligence and suffering, and find their efforts at expressing themselves to be signs of simple minds. I myself have been considered on many an occasion sweet and naive, just because people do not take the time, my husband among them, to understand my point of reference, culturally and intellectually. It  is like being in a play you know you don't belong in, but you manage the best you can. Writing is a way to start chipping at that wall of isolation. Emotionally too, the music of Rachid Taha reaches me, moves me, inspires me, makes me feel less alone. It is like a catharsis, a mineral bath for my tired, aching heart and mind. As an Algerian who left his homeland when he was 8, and moved with his family to France, he knows the loneliness of the expatriate, and the rage of not being understood, or seen, with respect and acceptance. His song " Douce France, pays de mon enfance", got him in trouble with the French authorities who took offense at the sarcastic tone of  what they initially assumed to be a song about his love for his adopted homeland. I cannot relate to the racism people of North Africa suffer in Belgium and France and other West European countries, but I can relate to the sense of estrangement all immigrants have to come to terms with. Incomprehensible. Invisible. I so welcome the times I can listen to music in a language I cannot understand that makes me feel emotionally safe and briefly visible.