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(N.B. I have been without an Internet connection for the past few days on account of some construction work being done up the street. Such as I have been doing so much during that time, a few of these entries will be delayed and perhaps outdated, yet I hope they still prove an interesting read.)
(N.B. I have been without an Internet connection for the past few days on account of some construction work being done up the street. Such as I have been doing so much during that time, a few of these entries will be delayed and perhaps outdated, yet I hope they still prove an interesting read.)
==We're Going Native!==
16 January 2009, 00:38
First off, I apologize for the extreme delay in getting this up, a combination of a broken keyboard, a faulty Internet connection, and just plain not feeling well. Luckily, all three have dissipated, which has afforded me the chance to put this up.
A few days ago marked my first true immersion into the life of everyday Tunisians as I moved into my host family from La Marsa. I was greeted by my father, Mansour (منصور), who teaches at a local elementary school, and his wife Henda (هندة), who is also a teacher - yet she speaks Arabic way too fast for me to understand most of it. In addition to my parents, I have three host brothers: the oldest is Achraf (أشرف), who is twenty-five and is studying to become a lawyer; the youngest is Aziz (عزيز), who is seventeen and plays volleyball; and between the two of them is Moemen (مؤمن), who is twenty years old and so far has hung out with us the most.
Our house is a special case: instead of two students staying in the house as everyone else is, we have four students - one of the intended families apparently had an emergency which rendered them incapable of hosting the extra pair. Nevertheless, Remi and Matt made for an enjoyable addition to our crew as we began the evening hanging out with Moemen on the roof of the house. His affectionate demeanor led us quickly into conversation - he began the conversation by discussing his love of fast cars, shishas, and "house music", all of which meet the disapproval of his mother, who puts great worth on the traditional teachings of the Quran (قرآن). We continued to spend a relaxing evening overlooking La Marsa and its variegated plant species and listening to the last prayer of the day, after which we all plowed down the stairs to enjoy our first authentic homecooked Tunisian dinner.
Henda had prepared for us an exquisite meal of Lebanese flatbread (which had the consistency and texture of tortillas, but was much richer in flavor)and a salami salad with fennel, tomatoes, and hard-boiled eggs, to which I have taken a liking during this trip. In addition, there was the regular staple of bread, olive oil, and a spicy chili pepper-based paste called harissa (هريسة) available as an appetizer. Moemen, in his usual joking manner, dared me to eat a spoonful of harissa - he asked the right person (or maybe the wrong one?), since I accepted the opportunity with open arms. Achraf began filming me while everyone drew their attention to me - at first, they thought that I was joking, but a visible wave of shock passed through the room as I downed the flaming red paste with utter glee. A smile stretched out across my mouth as my family made hurried pleas to give me water, yet miraculously I did not feel a bit thirsty. I ate the rest of my meal without consuming a single drop of water.
Later that night, the UD crew and our three host brothers went out to Cafe Fairouz (مقهى فيروز), which offered a beautiful view of the Mediterranean beyond a tree-lined path. In addition to the usual selection of teas and coffees, Dave, Matt, and I each ordered a personal shisha. Again, Moemen and his fun-loving demeanor kicked in, and my proclivity to perform bizarre acts was receptive to his scheming: this time, he wanted me to smoke three shishas at once. Achraf the cameraman stepped in once again to record this epic moment on film as our waiter, Hatem (حاتم), continued to place hot coals on all three shishas. Firmly occupying the scene, I then carried the discussion between me and Hatem into the realm of women and what we found attractive in them - this has become something of a running gag, and not being in the company of women we were not afraid to show our masculinity. Dave and Moemen offered me fifty dinars each to go over and talk to a women sitting at the other table, but I did not accept this offer because I was unable to think well in Arabic that day. After a few more bawdy jokes, we bade farewell to Hatem, and the seven of us walked back to the house to rest up for a bustling day making purchase in the traditional Arabian marketplace in Tunis.
Known in Arabic as the Suq (سوق), this area of the capital city easily has the most Arabian flavor to it. Any American movie with a depiction of the Middle East shows the unvarnished truth: it is essentially a crowded maze of walkways packed to the brim with vendors selling all sorts of shiny wares and where bargaining is the name of the game. From Tunis proper, there were two routes leading into the Suq - since we had already taken one in our last visit of the city, we decided to travel down the other path, which led to the right. Contrary to my expectations, there were all sorts of brand-name clothing from American and European companies being sold down this path, and it was especially packed even for the Suq. We managed to escape this tourist trap in one group, after which we promptly veered away from it and ended up on a less traveled path rife with hookahs, kuffiyahs, and perfumes.
We immediately immersed ourselves and entered a shop which sold the distinctly Arabian kuffiyah (كوفية), a two-colored checkered scarf which is worn by men over their heads. This afforded us our first chance to practice our bargaining skills - at first the scarves were marked at ten dinars, but we were able to mark them down to six dinars. Remi was able to get a maroon-and-white kuffiyah made with special fabric ("made in Palestine", according to the merchant, despite the label clearly saying it was made in Tunisia) from thirteen dinars to ten dinars. We were given a warm reception based on our ability to speak French and Arabic, which likely garnered us a better discount than the rest of the naïve tourists moving in and out of the place.
Beyond the kuffiyah, I also purchased a fez which had been marked at fifteen dinars, but again I was able to establish good rapport with the shop owner and got a 33% discount on it. All of the owners seemed genuinely impressed at my Arabic speaking abilities, which gives me a slight shock since I feel my speaking skills are far weaker than my reading and writing skills. The fez in particular is important in terms of this trip because it is associated with Tunisia - wherever I go in the Arab world, the locals will recognize the hat and know where I got it from. I left this shop and met up with my housemates, but not before I was brought aside by a persistent merchant selling me hashish (أعشاب, 'a3shaab), which I wisely declined. Khalil would later tell me that the quality of the hashish in the Suq is poor even if I did want to smoke it and that the penalties for possession are much stricter in Tunisia than in the United States.
Perhaps the best deal I got during my stay was from a vendor who sold several wallets of varying sizes - I needed to replace my magic wallet from Commerce Bank since it cannot hold dinar bills well (they are wider than US dollars and make it hard to pull out money). To prove their authenticity, he took a lighter to one of his wallets and showed that the flame did not melt or blacken the wallets. He was offering these for eleven dinars at first, but Matt had barged into the store suggesting that I demand it for four dinars. Seizing the opportunity, I promptly made the offer - the owner exclaimed that "Your friend is crazy!" and made several disapproving gestures. I playfully echoed his sentiments in Arabic (Mejnun! مجنون!) but firmly maintained my price. He raised the ante to six dinars, which was acceptable for me and landed me a large brown wallet with multiple card slots, two bill pouches, and a slot for placing my ID card.
During my next trip to the suq several days later, I was able to land myself a tea set with a small pitcher and five glasses for the poorly-argued price of 55 dinars, though I got two ceramic tiles and an extra glass free with this purchase. On a better note, I also purchased three silver necklaces for ten dinars, a small backpack for fifteen dinars, and a orange-and-black kuffiyah made of pleasing-soft fabric for myself for ten dinars. In addition, I helped drive down the price of two sunglasses to seven dinars apiece, with me and a friend each taking a pair. Overall, I would say this was a worse day for my bargaining skills - I had been stuttering in Arabic and unable to find the right words and numbers - but if nothing else, I was able to reflect on this experience and will come back to the Suq with a heightened savviness.
Coming up next is my experience in the hammam (حمّام), a public Turkish bath, as well as a mystery subject which you will find out when the article is published. As always, keep your eyes glued here! My entries should be more frequent during our twelve-day excursion outside of the house since I will have a stable Internet connection and too much to talk about.