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Published: August 13th 2008
...never again will I complain about the Greek alphabet!
First of all, apologies for the long silence. I am alive, in Africa, specifically in Tunis, and just starting to recover from the biggest bout of culture shock ever.
I am functionally only semi-literate. Tunisia is a francophone country so in theory, although arabic is an incredibly difficult language and I have only a few phrases and cant read the alphabet, I technically have that and the signs in latin alphabet in French to fall back on. In practice, arabic french is
incredibly accented. I only realised how much when, in Sousse, I was struggling with a local (more on that later) to communicate and feeling incredibly dense (like, I thought I was ok at French, I never had this much trouble in France, has my brain been drained whilst I wasn't looking?) when a French tourist approached, asked where we got our map and where the tourist information centre was, not only could I understand her perfectly but she actually seemed more confused by the locals' French than mine! For example, in the hotel this morning a friendly porter in our hotel commented, "C'est très chaud!" (It is very hot!) but he pronounced it "See tree shoo", whereas I would have pronounced it "Say tray shaw". I only understood because he mimed wiping his forehead - as far as I was concerned, he could have been speaking arabic for all I knew.
It is poor. Tunisia is a rich country by African standards, due mostly to tourism from (as they see it) incredibly rich and wealthy Europeans, who go straight to resorts. Rich in the north by the resorts anyway. But away from the resorts and in the south especially there is the odd mix between occasional modernisation/ mod cons and a poor and decaying infrastructure. Buildings that are tumbledown, litter lying in the streets, as well as sometimes water or urine. Street urchins run down alleyways in the inner-city areas (although they have a strong school system, so hopefully they will soon be back off the streets), elderly ladies cup their hands at you. As a result, there is a strong current of resentment amongst the poorest against tourists. Tunisia is the country in which much of the Star Wars originals were filmed, and it is clear just how much George Lucas was inspired by the country. Much of the clothing (Obi Wan Kenobi's robes for example) come from the desert and nomadic styles. The underground Berber villages in Matmata, and, yes, Tatouine, were the backdrop for Luke Skywalker's home planet, er, "Tatooine".
And remember that scene in which Obi Wan and Luke walk into a bar and he says, "Be careful. This place can be a little...rough."?
...
Right.
It's not like people are waving guns or blasters around in the street or anything, but it is pretty dodgy in the poorer areas and the souks. I have had my first attempt at pickpocketing (a couple of men in the old, crude, "barge and distract" move, crude enough that I got my hand to my pocket to fend of the fingers in plenty of time), a couple of street urchins were trying to pick Owen's (but wandered off pretty quickly when it became clear I'd rumbled their purpose and was watching them very, very carefully) and there is a very strong attitude of "You want something? It'll cost you." Not to mention the "friendly" sellers in the souks trying to rip you off, the taxi drivers who try to rip you off (unofficial taxi drivers, or taxi drivers who turn off their meters and then try to charge you 10 euros for what should be a 5 dinar trip. Write down the taxi number and threaten the tourist police). In short, there are many areas where if you are white, "Hello my friend, where are you from?" means, "Come here, fat rich white sucker!" , where you suffer continual pressure, bullying, guilt-tripping and hassle to cough up, and the petty criminals see you as sort of a walking bank. Worse, they also resent you, and the false friendliness can really get you down if you trust it and find out too late and they've just switched to bullying. I've had the arabic equivalent of chav/inner city kids pretend to be about to attack me (to try to get a laugh out of intimidating me, but it was neither unexpected nor something I hadn't experienced before in England) and a lot of hostile looks and stares. It starts to reach the stage where you feel everyone resents you or hates you and is out to get you.
It's not true of course; but the point being that most of the decent, ordinary people are getting on with their lives, probably elsewhere and with no desire or need to rip you off just don't approach you - you have to approach them. Women especially rarely approach strangers.
Also of note is the vast gap in prices. An example is that the tram ("Metro") system costs 1 dinar, 230 milliimes (thousandsths) to ride into the Carthage suburbs - that's about 60p. It is entirely possible to get a double room for 25 dinar (13 ish pounds) and not have it be too shabby.
Next, Islam, and the role of women. George Lucas' Tatooine is Tunisia, plus lots of guns (well all right blasters) and specifically minus Islam and camels. The women, despite the suited Tunisian parade in the Olympics, mostly wear headscarves. Getting the intercity bus, there were many women, all about my age, all scarved, and specifically all with children. Young teenage girls walking with female friends and elderly women are exceptions. Women participate very little in the 'man's world" of business. That's actually not true, not exactly, but it absolutely is in the poorer districts. Men sell women's headscarves (and act horrendously embarrassed if you ask how to wear them, saying "that's a woman's thing"). Men sell women's lingerie in the souks (which is bizarre to me because in England, there's a joke, "A man is in a woman's lingerie store" and that's the joke). Women clean and wash laundry commercially but it's only in specific places that women actually work face to face with the public...gaming console stores, travel agencies, newspaper kiosks and bookstores, places that are modern or western-world related.
In Tunisia, anywhere remotely urban has the sound of the muezzin calling to prayer in the mosque five times a day, most noteably Friday afternoon (the prayer everyone, well everyone male, has to go to) and in the early morning when it often wakes me up. They use loudspeakers and it is a very moving, mystical sound. A beggar in a bus station spent a long while trying to teach us, "La ilaha illa Allah, Mohammed rasul Allah" and he was trying to explain that Allah intended that that the rich give alms to the poor, which is why we should give some dinar to him. Even though money was his intention, he at least treated us like human beings, and was generally garrulous and friendly. The nicest Tunisians we have met have often been old men with callouses on their heads from devout prayer, and I have only been bothered by hustlers, hasslers and dodgy taxi drivers who have, for example, korannic text on the dashboard but somehow consider their religion compatible with cheating, bullying, lying and ripping people off. Which as far as I'm concerned, it ain't. Grrrrr.
People assume we are married - when we try to explain we are not people either continue to give me the "courtesy title" or approve of our modern ways, agreeing it is good to be free and not tied down. Which I didn't mind at first but started to bug me, because the men saying this have also said things like, "I have lots of girlfriends" and it seems the idea of committed partners who are unmarried is alien. Mostly this has only bugged me, however, because there is a, I'll call it permissive, attitude toward western women, the assumption being they are willing and available for casual sex, amongst those men looking for it.
Specifically, I went out to a phone centre to call my mum, all of a hundred yards from my hotel door, in Tunis, at about 8pm. Alone. I was accosted by a random Tunisian, slightly drunk - it was Monday night which seems to be the "night out on the town night" here. Islam forbids alcohol but this being a liberal Islamic country it is available and most definitely drunk by some, noteably the younger, more "modern" men. He started chatting and I thought, "I should try to be friendly, I shouldn't be untrusting and assume everyone who speaks to me is untrustworthy." I told him my name, he showed me a card I think was a student card, and then started to be a little too touchy feeling for my liking. Still, I think to myself, mustn't leap to conclusions, I started for the phone centre and ended up with him trying to massage my shoulder and grab my hand. Which was, I thought, even if I'd come to his city solely for the purpose of getting a one night stand, was assuming altogether too much I think. I was specifically upset because it was slightly humiliating to have to tell my mother on the phone what was going on and that I'd have to call her back when I'd dealt with it. It wasn't that I felt to be in any danger, but I was angry. My father pointed out I'd been a western woman alone at night, but it's not like I was flouting Islamic dress code or anything, I was wearing a high-neck t-shirt and long trousers! It didn't help to be reminded that our next (also arabic and islamic) destination, Egypt, only passed a law allowing women to "leave the house without their husband's permission or a court order" as late as 1979. The girls here don't much go out alone...they go out at least with another girl, or their children.
All these things, plus the disasters of Owen losing his security belt (or possibly having it stolen - it had his passport in and about 400 pounds worth of travellers cheques) and my having my glasses (as opposed to sunglasses) fall out of my bag in a taxi we hadn't thought to take the number of) have contributed to a very stressful time. I have now visited my own embassy several times (and am thoroughly glad my taxes helped pay for it - believe me, it's a lifeline) and whilst we have travel insurance to help us, basically it wasn't worth claiming after taking excess into account. The most miserable thing was being stuck in Tunis, unable to move (because a passport is required for checking in to any hotel) and specifically enjoying the sordid, 24 dinar-but-meals-included youth hostel we had gone into. The room had no fan or air con, unfeasable in this weather - no actual wall, was often jam packed so we had to sleep on the sofas, had more mozzies than an oasis (23 bites in 3 days), and the manager, who was so irritating and unsympathetic he even annoyed Owen. He only cared about his big bookings, the groups of French schoolchildren who stayed in the nice dorms upstairs, and the independent travellers could go hang. Frequent phrases included, "I'm doing so much for you" (meaning give me some extra money), "Your rooms are ready now" (meaning get out of the dining room and hide out of sight, you're in the way of my big group), and "No meat! Well, maybe a little bit of meat." When the big group bookings came in the food was wonderful - when there were only a handful of people the meals were measly. Add to this the chronic diarrhea we came down with while staying there, not only no hot showers but the merest trickle of water, and stinking toilets with no seats, then imagine we are stuck there because of the lost passport. (We only got a different hotel later after phoning a long list, most refused to take us). There were other staff there who were nice, helpful and felt sorry for us, but he was definitely not nice.
The local police were no help, because we were in the medina, in the souks, where theft is a way of life; and as far as they were concerned anything lost or stolen is gone for good.
The heat is like a pressure cooker - like a vice, squeezing all the moisture out of you. During the worst days - when it is most muggy - you sweat constantly - morning, noon and night. Even I was constantly damp, and Owen would be dripping beads of moisture, continually. If you are here in July, air con or a fan at bare minimum is essential. The soaring minarets and arabic architecture are superb, the land burns white, white hot, white in your eyes. Palm trees are everywhere. I have seen the Sahara, the salt lakes, desert rocky, arid, sandy dunes and salt. I have ridden a camel in the blistering heat. I have seen my first mirage. I have seen several oases. I have seen the moonscapes and the underground Berber homes of Star Wars.
I wish I had bought a guidebook beforehand though, because here they are only in French.
Tunisia, you have been varied, complex, beautiful and miserable in turn. Soon, however, I shall be leaving you.
P.S: The local we were talking to in Sousse wanted us to introduce him to/ set him up with girls from country. He moved to Sousse because he "likes the women" (so definitely a player) and promised us that he has his own camels, five of them, at an oasis in the south. He took us for local tea (thick and stewed, and minty) in the most interesting tea shop I've ever been in (huge copper kettles and machinery and contraptions that put me in mind of both steam engines and bizarre steam powered inventions invented by gnomes (D and D universe) or madmen. He gave us his name, mobile, email and we have a photo of him - l'll put it up later.
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Naima
non-member comment
About Tunisian experience
Dear friends of Tunisia, It is important to remember that" pathos" shouldn't be part of your evaluation about Tunisia. Information is what makes a difference everywhere in the world. Very close to Tunis, you could enjoyed the East coast of the Mediterranean Carhage, La Marsa, La Goulette etc...beaches swimming and having good time. When I read your comment, it seems to be that you went to Tunisia and kept only the bad things. I am sure that Tunisia is much more than what you expressed in this comment. How can you explain 7.5 million tourists a year.? I hope to host you in my house next time you'll visit Tunisia. Sincerely Naima a Tunisian citizen