Zalamit Podcast DZ زالاميط: تعلّم الإنجليزيّة بالدّارجة

سلام يا ناس، راكو ملاح؟ لي حبو يقراو إنجليزية،ولا صينية ولا يديرو إستشارة ، تلقاو كامل الروابط هنا لتحت. ولي حبو يكونو سبونسور لحلقة (حتى و تكونو أفراد برك ماشي بسيف عنكم شركة) أبعثولي إيميل:

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Text: The Substitute Teacher 

"The classroom buzzed like a beehive. Desks screeched across the floor, students shouted to/at each other,  someone at the back was playing music on their phone and there was even a ball being passed around.

Mr. Boumaza took a deep breath and stepped inside. He was holding the name list the front office had handed him. It was his first day as a substitute teacher.

“Good morning, class,” he said, trying to sound calm.

No one listened.

A paper airplane sailed past his head and landed on the whiteboard.

He cleared his throat and said louder. “Alright, everyone, please take your seats.”

A few students glanced up. One boy in the front smirked and said, “You’re not our real teacher. We don’t have to listen to you. Who are you even?”

Laughter spread across the room.

Mr. Boumaza walked to the front, erased the board, and wrote in large letters: “You don’t know me but I bet I know your father.”He turned around, smiled, and said, “I’m not here to be your real teacher. I’m here to make sure you don’t burn the place down while she’s gone. Deal?”

Some students exchanged looks. The music stopped.

He read the first name on the list. “Djamila Belaid.”

Nobody looked up. Nobody said a word.

“Belaid? Is your father the dentist or is he the one who has a superette?”

A boy yelled “He’s the superette guy.” and burst out laughing. Djamila turned to him with a frown. 

“What about you? What’s your name?” asked the teacher pointing at the boy who had just spoken. 

Djamila answered promptly “His name is Bilel Zacharia” and made a face at him.

“Zacharia? Isn’t your family from Blida?” 

Correct again. 

“I bet you’ll never know who I am.” A tall boy said defiantly. 

“You look like a Benbrit. Your uncles were even taller than you but you might get there some day.” 

The teacher had now the interest and the attention of the class. He told a few jokes. They laughed. 

“Okay, we’re not here only to joke around, we’re here to learn a thing or two about science. So let’s start.”

The students were more willing to listen this time. Mr. Boumaza handed out the day’s assignment, surprised to feel a small sense of control return. He smiled to himself. Maybe it won’t be such a disaster after all."

Thank you for listening.

And thank you for learning new things everyday.

شكرا على الإستماع.

سلام يا ناس، راكو ملاح؟ لي حبو يقراو إنجليزية،ولا صينية ولا يديرو إستشارة ، تلقاو كامل الروابط هنا لتحت. ولي حبو يكونو سبونسور لحلقة (حتى و تكونو أفراد برك ماشي بسيف عنكم شركة) أبعثولي إيميل:

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Text: Cognitive Biases

"You might not realize it, but your brain is constantly taking shortcuts. These shortcuts help you make quick decisions, but sometimes… they lead you in the wrong direction. That’s what we call cognitive biases—systematic errors in the way we think.

So, let’s break down some of the most common ones.

Anchoring Bias Imagine you’re shopping for a winter coat. The first one you see is 12 000Da. The next coat you find is 8000Da. Suddenly, that second one feels like a bargain—even if it’s still overpriced. That’s the anchoring bias: the tendency to rely too heavily on the first piece of information we get.

Confirmation Bias Now, think about scrolling through social media. You click on articles that agree with what you already believe, and ignore the ones that challenge you. That’s confirmation bias: we search for, interpret, and remember information that supports our existing views. It’s comfortable… but it can also keep us trapped in our own bubbles.

Availability Heuristic Here’s another one: the availability heuristic. If you’ve just seen a news story about a plane crash, you might feel flying is dangerous—even though statistically, it’s one of the safest ways to travel. Why? Because dramatic events stick in our memory and feel more common than they really are.

The Halo Effect This one’s sneaky. The halo effect makes us assume that if someone is good at one thing, they must be good at everything. For example, if an actor is attractive and charming, we might think they’re also smart, kind, and trustworthy—even if we don’t actually know them at all.

The Dunning-Kruger Effect And of course, the famous Dunning-Kruger Effect. This is when people with low ability in a subject overestimate their competence, while true experts often underestimate themselves. Basically—it’s the reason why the most confident person in the room isn’t always the most knowledgeable.

So, why does this matter? Because recognizing these biases can help us make better choices. Whether it’s in business, relationships, or everyday decisions, being aware of our mental shortcuts gives us a chance to slow down and think more critically.

Next time you catch yourself jumping to conclusions or making snap judgments—pause. Ask yourself: Am I falling into a bias trap?"

Thank you for listening.

And thank you for learning new things everyday :)

سلام يا ناس، راكو ملاح؟ شكرا على الإستماع. لي حبو يقراو إنجليزية،ولا صينية ولا يديرو إستشارة ، تلقاو كامل الروابط هنا لتحت. ولي حبو يكونو سبونسور لحلقة (حتى و تكونو أفراد برك ماشي بسيف عنكم شركة) أبعثولي إيميل:

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Text: Alha wa Chabab

"Wow… I can’t believe I’m standing here right now. Honestly, I used to daydream about this moment all the time. I grew up watching this show. Everyone in my family loves it. I come from a musical family. My dad plays the synthesizer and my mom has the most beautiful rocky voice you could imagine. She’s the one who gave me the love of Rai music. I know some people think that that kind of music is somehow dirty but my mom always said it was the most sincere, bravest, most authentic kind of music. The autotune is just extra, just for fun.  

Back when I was singing in parks, or down in the subway station where the sound of my guitar had to compete with trains rushing past, I’d picture something like this. Bright lights, a real stage, and people actually listening—not just hurrying past.

You know, a lot of people doubted me. They’d say, “Singing on the street isn’t a career,” or, “You’re wasting your time.” And, okay, sometimes I doubted myself too. It’s hard not to when strangers look at you like you’re invisible or like you’re a weird creature. But then I’d get those few smiles, or someone would stop and record a video, or even toss me a thumbs-up along with a coin. That little spark of encouragement—that kept me going.

And of course, I had my team at home. My mom, who never once told me to get a “real job,” even when money was tight. And my sister, who probably got sick of hearing me practice the same chorus a hundred times but still clapped every single time. They’re the reason I kept believing in myself when the world made it tough. They have my back and sometimes I feel like I am carrying their dream. I know my mom wished she could be an artist, openly, but she kept her songs between us, like a family secret. I want her to be proud of me. 

I guess what I want to say is… this moment feels huge, but it also feels like the natural next step. Because I’ve been preparing for this in every subway station, every park bench, every rainy day when my guitar strings slipped under my fingers. This is what I’ve been working toward.

So yeah, maybe I’m still the same busker, just with better lighting and a bigger crowd. But tonight, I get to share my music with you, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted. This one is for you Mom!

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Text:

"Sam: Leila! Wow, it’s been ages. How have you been?

Leila: Sam! I kn

ow, it feels like forever. I’ve been good, just really busy with work. I’va actually accepted a new position in the marketing department and it’s been quite the learning curve. Definitely challenging but I’m loving it. How about you?

Sam: Same here. Work has been intense, but I’ve managed to find time for some hobbies. For a while I did nothing but work and I felt myself going down the slippery slope towards burnout. I had to take a break and rethink my priorities. So now I take time for myself and the things I care about. I actually started learning the guitar.

Leila: No way! That’s amazing. How’s it going?

Sam: Slowly, but I can play a few songs now. What about you—still painting?

Leila: Yes, actually. I joined a local art group, and we meet every weekend. It’s been so refreshing. I have even made  a few friends there and even though we have very different lives we have the love of painting in common.

Sam: That sounds great. And how’s your family?

Leila: They’re doing well, thanks. My sister just had a baby, so I’m an aunt now!

Sam: Congratulations! That’s wonderful news. How’s the little one?

Leila: She’s adorable—tiny, but already so full of personality. I am going to go visit them tonight actually. I miss her so much even though I saw her just three days ago. What about your family?

Sam: Everyone’s good. My parents are enjoying retirement, traveling a lot. And my brother moved back to the city, so we see each other more often now.

Leila: That’s nice. It must feel good to have him nearby again.

Sam: Definitely. And what about our old group of friends? Have you kept in touch with anyone?

Leila: A bit. I still talk to Maya sometimes—she just started her own business. And I ran into Tom a few weeks ago; he’s teaching now!

Sam: Wow, Tom as a teacher—I can actually picture that. We should try to get everyone together sometime.

Leila: Absolutely. It would be so fun to catch up properly, like the old days.

Sam: Let’s make it happen."

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Text: The Birds on the Roof

Every afternoon, Amin and his friends claimed their usual table at the neighborhood Café, just across from the hospital. They weren’t doing anything special: just heated debated about the last football match (Classic armchair coaches) , endless coffees that made them jittery, and trying to make each other laugh until someone choked on their Crocket. They were not bad guys, they were just often jobless, annoyingly loud and a bit immature.

One day, Amin parked his old scooter in the reserved staff parking spot. The doctor who usually parked there got really mad and started shouting at him. Amin just laughed at him and that made the doctor even angrier. He thankfully found another spot, parked, slammed the door and stomped away.  While mimicking the walk of the grumpy doctor who had scolded him , Amine noticed a boy watching him from the hospital window. He had a shaved head, an IV drip, and the kind of smile you don’t fake.

"That kid gets it," Amin joked pointing at the boy 

That moment stuck with him. He couldn’t forget that smile. 

The next day, Amin brought a big balloon that looked like an anemic Sponge Bob. Without asking the café owner, he climbed on the roof of the establishment. He stood there holding the balloon and when the boy looked out, he started waving then pretending to have a fist fight with the malnourished Sponge Bob. The boy laughed. Nurses peeked out too and so did more patients. min liked the attention so he kept going. His friends joined him.

One day, Amin and his friends came dressed up as a superheros and danced feminine dances, shaking their bums and youyouying. The patients thought it was hilarious.

People in the hospital began to wait for them. “They’re here!” The nurses would say and the patients would rush to the windows. The grumpy doctor turned out to be a super friendly guy who bought them some coffee sometimes. The café owner gave them free pastries for being “idiots for a good cause.”

They called themselves *The Birds on the Roof*. No money, no plan—just four friends being ridiculous for the people who were suffering.

“We’re not doctors, obviously…Nadir here can barely read.” Amin said with a cheeky smile, “We’re not rich either but laughter is free, bro. Might as well share it.”

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Text: It’s Like Riding a Bike

"They all keep saying, “You’ll be fine—it’s like riding a bike.” Honestly? I’m not so sure. Five years is a long time. Five years of diapers, school runs, nap schedules, and laundry (so much laundry). Now I’m supposed to just… get back on the bike like nothing happened?

I used to know exactly what I was doing. Meetings, deadlines, reports—I could juggle it all with one hand and a coffee in the other. But now? Now I juggle snack times, lost shoes, and toys on the living room floor. And as much as I love my kids, part of me has missed that other version of myself—the one with sharp ideas and actual adult conversations.

But the truth is, I’m nervous. Things change in five years. Technology moves on. People move up. I’m scared I won’t recognize the place—or worse—that they won’t recognize me. What if I don’t fit anymore?

I start overthinking but then I stop and remind myself—these last five years have been work. Hard work. Maybe it didn’t come with a paycheck, but managing small humans is no small job. Patience, multitasking, problem-solving, negotiating, mediating, marketing (Have you ever tried to convince a toddler to go to bed?)—I’ve been training this whole time, just in a different way.

So yeah—I might wobble a bit at first. Might fall once or twice. But I know how to get back up. And honestly? I’m ready to feel like me again."

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"Text: Graduation 

I can’t believe my niece has graduated. It feels like just yesterday Salsabil was running around the backyard or zooming on her scooter. And there she was standing on that stage, defending her thesis. What?!

As I sat in the quiet auditorium, memories kept flashing through my mind. I remembered watching cartoons with her, she’d be so restless climbing up and down the couch, imitating every character on the screen. I remembered taking her to the beach and building sand castles with her. I remembered her tears when she fell from her bike ( I panicked so hard that day). I remembered her constantly scraped knees. And there she was, smiling, confident, grown.

My sister, her mom, was sitting next to me, wiping away tears with a tissue. “Where did the time go? That’s my baby who just started elementary school yesterday.” she whispered, her voice shaking.

The judges asked her what I thought were difficult questions. I could feel my sister tensing up, worried about her daughter. But there was no need to worry. My niece stayed calm, she didn’t falter. She answered in great details and the jury seemed pleased with her answers. One of the judges said: “Your defense was air tight. You answered my questions before I had a chance to ask them.” 

When they gave their feedback and we heard the long-awaited “Congratulations”, the whole family stood up and cheered. My sister’s Youyous were the loudest I’ve ever heard from her. Salsabil glanced over at us and beamed. That smile said everything. Hard work, late nights studying, friendships made and lost, gratitude, joy, doubt, determination, all leading up to this one moment.

After the ceremony, we met her outside. She ran to us, hugging everyone tightly. “I did it!” she said, laughing, a mix of joy and disbelief.

I just nod, unable to speak for a second. “Of course you did,” I finally say. “We always knew you would. We are so proud of you.”

Looking at her, I don’t just see a graduate. I see the little girl with the roller skates and I am blinded by how bright her future is. "

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I don’t know what I was thinking. Honestly, I just went to the mall to clear my head. Get a coffee, maybe window-shop. And somehow, I walked out carrying a bag, a new pair of pants, and shoes that I definitely don’t need. I have nowhere to go with a pair of high-heels. It felt good at the time—like I was fixing something. Like the right outfit could magically make everything better. I did fail my exam. I have to face it and wrap my head around it. It’s not the end of the world, I know, but it does feel like it is.

Now that I’m home, it just feels... stupid. The bag is nice, sure, but I already have one just like it. The pants? Tight. Too tight. I knew it in the fitting room, but I convinced myself otherwise. They might fit in two months if I actually stop having late-night snacks, but right now? They’re just sitting on my bed judging me. And the shoes? Beautiful. Completely unnecessary. And overpriced.

It’s not just about the money—though, honestly, I could have used that for something smarter. It’s the feeling underneath it. Like I was trying to fill some weird empty space with shopping bags. And now I’m sitting here surrounded by them, wondering what exactly I thought I was buying. Confidence? Control? A better version of myself?

I do this though, no matter what mood I am in. If I am happy, I go out and shop to celebrate. If I’m sad, I go for retail therapy. I’m tired of this cycle—buy, regret, repeat. Next time I feel stressed, I’m going to the park or I’ll call a friend. I’m not running to the nearest store pretending shopping is the answer.

I just want to start spending my time—and my money—on things that actually matter. Things that still feel good after I’ve brought them home."

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Text: The Sleepover

“You ask her!” 

“No! You ask her.”

“She’s gonna say no.” 

“We won’t know until we try.”

Djawed and Racim tiptoed to their mom. They wanted to ask her if they could stay at their cousin’s house for a sleepover. Before coming for this visit, she had asked them to behave themselves. During the visit, she gave them “the look” several times so they stop misbehaving.  But they have driven her crazy the whole time—they spilled juice, jumped on the couch, played soccer in the hallway, told family secrets and asked for seconds. One could forgive the kids for anything, except asking for seconds. 

“Mama… can we stay for a sleepover? Please?” said the boys

Their mom laughed. “After the mess you made today? No way.”

The boys looked down. Then Djawed said, “We promise to help clean up.”

“And no fighting,” Racim added quickly.

Their mom continued smiling but it was a cold smile. “Put your shoes on. We’re leaving.” she said firmly.

“Come on, let them stay! Don’t you remember the mess we used to make a Uncle Faycal’s house?” 

She turned to see her brother. 

“Are you sure it’s okay?” 

“It’s no bother at all. Kids will be kids. We have to let them be kids.” 

“Alright” She whispered.

“YES!” the boys shouted and ran off to their cousin’s room.

That night, the boys played video games, made instant noodles, and built a fort in the living room. They played music, they danced, and they told all sorts of stories. They made their beds on the floor using lots of soft blankets and pillows. 

When the lights went out late at night and the room grew quiet, Racim whispered to Djawed, “I can’t sleep. I want to call Mama.”

“No way! Don’t ruin this for us. Just stay put until the morning. Everything is fine. I am here, you’re safe. Everything will be okay.” Said Djawed. And he started telling his younger brother a soothing story until he drifted to sleep.