The dark-skinned Arab youths in headscarves, long bubbles and tanned shouted with enthusiasm: We are going to liberate France, we are going to protect our motherland. We're going to take her back from the Germans. They spoke French, sang French military songs, and vowed to fight with their lives and pride.
I was very sad and also felt a chill.
How many of these young people's parents died in the anti-colonial war against the French? How many of them have been given the right to education, freedom and equality in their homeland in North Africa? How many of them remembered that their ancestors were not Gallic roosters?
They came to the "distant motherland" for a passion. They were about to give their young and precious lives for France, though they had never seen French soil before. The gods here are not the same as their Allah, the girls here are not the same as the girls in their homeland, the soil here smells different, no one here wants to speak Arabic, and even the tomatoes here are not for them these Africans" French" prepared.
When the native French fighters got into trucks to go to Paris, where peace had been achieved, they were sent to Italy, the more brutal front.
In the final battle, we can't stop hearing that mysterious song as every face disappears.
I think I probably understand what he's singing. I can understand without translation. The lyrics should be like this:
distant hometown, when can I return to your embrace.
Those young people, the life that bloomed yesterday has now withered.
Mother from afar, when will I return to your embrace.
O us, watch the soul return home.
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