Kids interview Ahmed Ben Bella
by Charactorium · Ahmed Ben Bella (1916 — 2012) · Politics · Military · 4 min read
Two 7th-grade students are on a field trip. That morning, they were allowed to meet an old man with bright eyes: Ahmed Ben Bella, the very first president of Algeria. He makes them sit near him and smiles, touched that children have come to listen to him.
—Is it true you were a French soldier before fighting France?
Yes, my child, and it's a strange story. As a young man, I wore the French uniform during World War II. Imagine a mountain in Italy, Monte Cassino, in 1944: the cold, the shells, the fear in your stomach. I fought bravely, and they pinned a military medal on my chest. A great general handed it to me personally. Do you see the paradox? France honored me as a hero. Yet back home, my people did not have the same rights as the settlers. I kept that medal for a long time, like a question burning in my heart.
France honored me as a hero, but my people were not free.
—What made you change and want to fight against France?
There is a date I will never forget: 1945. The war had just ended, everyone was celebrating peace. But in cities like Sétif and Guelma, the army fired on Algerians who were simply demanding more justice. Thousands died. Imagine coming home from school, happy, and your family is struck for no reason. That day, something broke inside me. I understood that freedom would never be given to us: we would have to take it. My soldier's medal no longer weighed anything next to that sorrow.
Freedom would never be given to us: we would have to take it.
—Is it true you robbed a post office like a bandit?
Ha! That story is told, yes, and it's true. In 1949, in Oran, a big city by the sea, we attacked the post office. But we were not thieves, you know. We were running a secret organization to prepare for the struggle, the OS, the Special Organization. We needed money to buy rifles, and we had none. So we took it from the state that oppressed us. Imagine having to act in the shadows, heart pounding, knowing capture means prison. It was not a game: it was the beginning of a fight.
We were not thieves: we were preparing a people's freedom.
—And the story about you escaping from prison, is it true?
Yes, and I still smile about it! After the Oran heist, they threw me in prison, in Blida. Imagine a small cell, thick iron bars at the window, and the silence of the nights. Patiently, in secret, I filed those bars, a little each night, praying no one would hear. And one night, I slipped out, free. After that, all over the country, people spoke of me as a legend. But you know, I was just a stubborn man who refused his cage. Courage is not not being afraid: it is acting despite fear.
Courage is not not being afraid: it is acting despite fear.
—How did they catch you later? I heard something about a plane.
Ah, that plane story... In 1956, I was flying between Morocco and Tunisia with four comrades, all leaders of our movement, the FLN, the National Liberation Front. In midair, the French army forced our plane to land in France. It is said to be one of the very first plane hijackings in history. Imagine: you board calmly, and you land a prisoner in another country. I spent nearly six years locked up, at La Santé prison, in Paris. Six years waiting, reading, hoping. My real home, for a long time, was a cell.
You board a plane calmly, and you land a prisoner.
—When Algeria became free, what was your greatest dream?
My dream, my child, was that the land would return to those who worked it. Under colonization, the big farms belonged to the settlers. So, when I became president in 1963, I launched self-management: that word means the peasants and workers manage their own farm together, without a boss above them. I often visited them in the fields, shook hands, listened. Imagine people who, for the first time, are masters of their work and their bread. For me, that was true independence. Not just a flag: dignity in daily life.
Independence is not just a flag: it is bread earned freely.
—What did your life as president smell like? What did you eat?
You know, I lived simply, even at the palace in Algiers. In the morning, I read the newspapers very early, then I received people all day. At the table, nothing luxurious: couscous, lamb, dates, and especially mint tea, fragrant and hot. As a Muslim, I observed the Ramadan fast like everyone else. Depending on the day, I wore a Western suit, or the burnous, that big hooded wool cloak from our land. In this way, I said two things at once: we are modern, and we remain proudly Algerian.
We are modern, and we remain proudly Algerian.
—Why did you want to help other poor countries around the world?
Because a free people alone is not enough. In my time, the world was split into two great camps that distrusted each other. We chose another path: non-alignment, that is, refusing to side with either. I made Algiers an open house for all those who struggled: Africans, Cubans, all the peoples of the Third World, those poor countries seeking their way. Imagine a city where freedom fighters from around the world arrive. I often said: solidarity among our peoples was our only real future.
A free people alone is not enough.
—What does it feel like when your friend betrays you?
It is the deepest wound, my child. In 1965, a man who had fought at my side, Houari Boumédiène, seized power by force and had me arrested. A comrade-in-arms, do you understand? Someone with whom I had shared danger. They locked me up, then kept me under house arrest for nearly fifteen years. Fifteen years of silence, where they wanted to erase me, as if I had never existed. Imagine your voice, your freedom, your years being confiscated. I held on by keeping my ideas alive in my mind. You can imprison a man, but not his convictions.
You can imprison a man, but not his convictions.
—After all that, if someone asked you, do you regret giving everything?
No, never. Look: I was released from prison in 1980, I went into exile far from home, and I only returned to Algeria in 1990, old but standing. I lost years, friends, battles. But my country is free, and that is what matters. You who listen to me, remember this: things worth fighting for often require suffering. You don't build a nation in a day, nor without tears. If I had to do it all over again, I would take the same path, with the same flame in my heart.
Things worth fighting for often require suffering.
This imaginary interview was generated by artificial intelligence from sources documented in Ahmed Ben Bella's profile. It dramatises what the figure might have said based on what we know about them, but does not constitute attested historical testimony. For primary sources and factual documentation, refer to the full profile.