There are two main types of Tunisian carpets: one is woven horizontally, the other is threaded laterally and patted down.

January 19th- January 21st

So after all of the drama, I ended up having a good weekend. Kareem, whose family I had met on Wednesday night, called me on Friday and explained that he actually had two free rooms, and that it was no problem for me to sleep in them – his brother and sister sleep elsewhere. He made me feel a little bad (I think purposely), telling me how excited his mom was that I was coming (she asked me last night when I came home, “Where is Laura!?”) and telling me that he was a little “vexed” with me (tu m’as vexé) since he had offered such nice things to me (which is true – he arranged that I come meet his family, after which they offered me a room and insisted that I need not pay and that they feed me, drive me downtown every morning, etc.) and I had taken a room elsewhere. In fact, it was all much more complicated than that; he had explained to me (in French), that his brother or sister would give me their rooms and they would sleep elsewhere (which he afterward explained was not the case, “they just stored things there,” and he also told me jokingly that I needed to improve my French - ha). In any case, he made it clear that his family didn’t mind if I stayed in a bedroom– they often fall asleep in their (ornate) living room, he told me, and they certainly wouldn’t mind me taking one of the bedrooms. In any case, I felt a little guilty for visiting the family and then their house and choosing not to stay – though of course I know that is my decision, blah blah blah – and so, due to fatigue and uncertainty about where I was staying (after my first cold night), I stressed myself out worrying about what to do. This stressing out included calling my parents and my former professor, Noureddine, who is from Tunisia but now teaches in America, and who was very kind to me and advised me on what to do (visit the family but not necessarily stay with them).

While stressing, I decided to go to the cybercafé by my house, since I really wanted to talk to certain people, and I figured they might be online. After an hour of unsuccessful attempts to open AOL instant messenger express, I asked the man sitting next to me if the internet is supposed to go so slowly (it’s dial-up, but it is SLOW – ADSL is now only legally allowed in homes, basically bc those selling it want to make a big profit!). Well, oh-so-friendly he was, he came over and took a chair to sit next to me and kept reloading the page (I knew this wouldn’t work – I had already tried it a million times - but I took pity on him and let him try : p). After about another 30 minutes, we decided that it wasn’t working and the man disconnected the connection completely and I waited with the other customers. Surprisingly (right?) the guy who had been ‘helping’ me struck up a conversation, and I figured out that he didn’t actually work at the cybercafe, he was just hanging out with his friend, who did work there; instead, he was finishing his law degree and teaching at the University of Tunis, preparing for a client case which necessitated him reading the “Sociology of Crime”, which he subsequently promised to lend me (surprisingly?). I’m being mean, because he actually was very nice and showed me the Young People’s Center, whose name was written completely in Arabic (and so I would have been a little hesitant to go in), where the internet is apparently faster (thank god!) and cheaper. We then went back to the cybercafé where finally the internet was working, so I could get on msn (my email for it is laurelle00@hotmail.fr, by the way) and chat, which made me feel much better.

On Saturday, I woke up and took a hot shower (which I really needed), and had some yogurt and nutella (which I had eaten for dinner the night before, too). I tried to finish reading The Historian, by Elizabeth Kostova, which is basically a mixture of history and dramatic/action fiction about Dracula and contemporary students go on a chase to unveil history. It’s a bestseller and is actually really good – I heard Elizabeth Kostova on NPR on the Diane Reem show, which is why I bought the book on my way home from Paris.

Thankfully, my weekend would greatly improve. At noon, I met Haifa, Noureddine’s sister, in Le Kram (right next to Khereddine, where I live), and she took me to her apartment; she and her husband live on the fifth floor in an apartment building that overlooks the city of Tunis and Les Berges du Lac, where the US Embassy is, and their apartment is beautiful. They have a young daughter named Shahed (I hope that’s the right English transliteration), which means ‘honey’ in Arabic. She is adorable; one and a half years old with curly black hair and a really sociable personality. As everyone told me I would, we had a delicious lunch – and a really big one. First, a delicious salad (freshly-cut tomatoes, sliced onions, sliced beets, etc.); then a slice of olive quiche; then delicious seasoned rice with a mushroom cream sauce along with lamb. Haifa was really kind to me, giving me seconds of everything, but it was so much I couldn’t eat it; when she gave me a second serving of rice, she filled my plate completely and I thought to myself, “There is no way I will be able to eat all of that!” I later told Riyadh about this, and he told me that I just need to say, “That’s enough,” when it’s enough, and they’ll stop – it wouldn’t (I hope) be rude of me. As I guessed, I couldn’t eat all of it, though I tried courageously. For dessert, we had cake: shortbread-like cookies soaked in coffee and layered on top of each other with cream spread in between, top with a hard icing like top which was then drizzled with caramel; it was delicious, despite how full I was.

After lunch, Haifa and I drove around the suburbs of Tunis, which was great because it helped me orient myself; I could place all of the names I had been hearing and see where they were located in relation to me. Anthropologists often talk about the power of orientation in a place, which proves that you ‘belong’ there, and that you have the capacity to navigate it at your will, to your advantage and for your pleasure. So Haifa, who was really kind to do this, took me to La Marsa (which has beautiful cliff views over the Mediterranean) over to Sidi Bou Saïd (which you should google to see the beautiful photos!), and to Carthage, among others. I took lots of photographs, which I’ll post and send, and at Sidi Bou Saïd we walked up into the city – which is all blue and white with cobblestone streets (and so due to lack of space only residents can park) – and took pictures from off of a cliff, where lots of other people were hanging out, looking over the waves. As we walked back down, Haifa bought some doughy pastries, which were like doughnuts, but softer. As we descended the cobblestone path, I suddenly heard a yell, and all of the men milling around their shops on the street ran inside, yelling; there was a handball match going on, and apparently the Club Africain, which hadn’t won for nine years, won. I would hear cries of victory and large groups of people singing in celebration for the rest of the weekend; as Kareem’s father would tell me, “There are no politics without soccer here.” Then Haifa and I returned to her house, where we picked up her daughter Shahed (who had slept all afternoon) and her husband (who had slept too), and went to “Géant,” the French supermarket whose name is appropriate – it is a giant…enormous! store – like 2 Sam’s Clubs put together. This was really nice of them, since I hadn’t had the chance to go shopping yet, and I needed lots of stuff – shampoo/conditioner (I bought the Garnier brand with henna, which I love), body wash (Le Petit Marseillais – the French are everywhere here), along with food, milk, fruit, etc. It was really nice to get the essentials down, and it makes the apartment feel much more like home with food I like and the necessary supplies. Haifa and her husband were both so nice to me – they even listened to the French radio while riding in the car with me, I think because they knew I would understand that. Their daughter was adorable at the supermarket, too; she is so sociable that she had no problem dancing in front of a stereo (part of some type of promotion) and dancing, chatting with strangers and other people strolling by – one man even reached down and tousled her hair.

I got back on Saturday night around 10, and Shannon, another American girl here who was with the group from Potsdam, called me and invited me to come over. I said sure, so I took a cab from Khereddine (which by the way, I found and hailed all by myself) to the Concord hotel, which is right next to her house. She and her host brother then came to get me, and we went back to her house where we had another type of ‘traditional’ tea I hadn’t had yet; this tea, unlike the sugary mint tea that I love, was bitter and had a scoop of peanuts in it, which you eat as you drink. I spoke with the host brother, which spoke good English – he worked at the hotel – but was happy to speak French (everyone is always surprised that an American speaks French – maybe just because most Americans study Spanish or don’t study foreign languages too seriously, and no one ever believes I’m only 21 – I hope this age trend doesn’t continue forever). Shannon’s host mother only speaks Arabic, though she understands French and speaks a little of it, so I spoke to her in a mixture of Arabic and French, where she would speak Arabic and I would respond in French, often with some translation help from her son.

The visit lasted quite a long time – about three hours – and during its course I learned that Hatem’s (the son’s) brother was in the US and was going to undergo surgery in two months; Ahmed’s mother – the woman who only spoke Arabic – couldn’t get a visa, because, as the US embassy in Tunis told her, they were not convinced that she wouldn’t just stay there. She had tears in her eyes and kept telling me, “Ana umm,” – I’m a mother. I told her that I understood and that I couldn’t imagine that they would reject her request now that her son was a citizen (which he had recently become). I told them I’d give them the email of the Tunisian man from the embassy who had come to CEMAT to see if he could help them understand how to build a case for themselves; she was inconsolable, desperately worried, and I realized all of the sudden that this is exactly what I had studied in one of my classes in Paris – the division of families (especially those in the developing world) by globalization, immigration for work, and the broad fears of States that monitor and restrict movement. I’m sure that all of us want women like this one to be able to visit her son, and using humane logic, we should create a world where she can. In any case, I hope that all goes well for them, and I told them I could help them with any translation or any problems like that, and that they should get proof of citizenship and maybe a letter from a doctor to help with their case.

I left at about 12:30 and took a taxi back in the dark, after they offered to have me over for lunch some Sunday, when I could.

Sunday morning I woke up at 11, when Kareem called to ask me if I wanted to come to his house; I love his family and don’t really know anyone else yet, so of course I said yes (although I was hoping they wouldn’t feed me any more, since I was still full from Saturday). I met him downtown around one, and I called him to say where I was, he insisted I wait and that he come pick me up. I rolled my eyes and waited, until he arrived with the music blaring really loudly again (which prompted me to roll my eyes again) and we went to his favorite café so he could check the game schedule for handball games (which I wouldn’t mind going to since they are obviously a big part of the culture). He knows a lot of people in the area (and greets them constantly as we drive, which I’ve noticed Riyadh does too), and so he suggested that I go check my email while he go into the café; I really wanted to, but I don’t like this “you go and don’t pay because you know me” attitude, so I told him no thanks. Instead, I studied my Tunisian Arabic booklet diligently and learned how to saw lamb, which is a meat that I don’t particularly prefer, though I know that it’s a specialty. Then we headed back to his house, and en route I discovered that he hadn’t told his family about the initial misunderstanding about rooms (the fact that I thought I would be taking someone’s room when, he insisted later, I would be choosing an empty one) and that, as I had told him on Saturday before I went to Shannon’s, that my ‘conservative’ father wanted me to live with a woman. Conveniently, this is an explanation that is readily acceptable to them. So anyway, I was pretty irritated with Kareem, who told me, “I don’t want to get involved in your business, this isn’t between me and my family, this is between you and my family.” Since I would have to explain this in French to his mother, who doesn’t speak French, and to the rest of his family – rather awkwardly – I was really irritated and almost asked him to just take me home, but since his family was already waiting for me, I decided to just label him as rude and enjoy spending the day with his family. In any case, I think that he didn’t want to explain the situation to his family because I don’t think that they really do have an extra bedroom – I think it really is the bedroom of his sister, and she just sleeps downstairs a lot and doesn’t mind. In any case, I think all of the confusion was not due to my misunderstanding, but due to the fact that he and his family really want me to stay and so he will reword the ‘truth’ in whatever way he can in order to convince me to stay. In brief, the whole situation was a bit interesting, but I love Nahed, Kareem’s sister, who wants me to come to her “fiancée” party this summer (when she will sign a marriage contract with her soon-to-be fiancé), and his mother, who called me “bin-tee” (my daughter) all day and at breakfast in the morning. She told me that she worried about me cold by myself, and told me to come eat with them whenever I wanted; she also told me that if I ever wanted to leave the apartment, it would make her really happy if I came to stay with them. Her daughter told me that she said, “I feel like I’ve know Laura my whole life! I want her to feel like she is part of the family” – which, honestly, she did make me feel like on Sunday: tucking me in to bed at night (I’m serious!), and giving me a blanket while we watched the Arabic version of the French Star Academy (which was hilarious!) with her neighbor, feeding me, giving me tea, letting me sleep in in the morning, and even trying to find the key to lock the door of the bedroom where I slept (in order to preserve the dignity my father is so concerned about : p ). After lunch on Sunday, Kareem also took me on a walk around his neighbor, and we had a really interesting conversation about the “cultural disconnection,” the “problem of re-integration” that Tunisians who have studied abroad have experience upon their return to Tunisia. Kareem, who studied in Canada and spent time in the US, returned to Tunisia last year and told me that he has had a lot of trouble reconnecting to his friends and the culture and bridging the gender gap; men and women don’t spend very much time along together, unless they are in a relationship. Even his sister, he told me, often stays at home because she doesn’t like what some Tunisian teenagers are doing – how they are dressing, how they are driving, how obnoxious and disrespectful they act in public; Kareem even told me that he preferred not going out with his mother and sister, because he was sometimes too embarrassed by what he saw. That’s probably an exaggeration, but the preservation of ‘femininity’ and ‘feminine honor’ or ‘innocence’ is really interesting, and that seems to be an important value (recall Asma, who goes to bed around 9h30 every night and doesn’t go out). This is also much easier here because family is, in my opinion, even more central to everyday life than it is in the United States, something which I find very comfortable.

For dinner, we had briques (tortilla-like shells with you fill with a few peas, a few pieces of white Mexican-like cheese, and an egg, and which you then fry in corn oil (cooking the white but no the yellow of the egg), and then eat with some lemon squirted on top; it’s delicious. We also had some more lamb, which was really fatty, and so – just like at lunch – I followed the same strategy: cut it into small pieces, spread it around the plate, try to eat some, and what you can’t eat spit out into your napkin, which I then threw away in the bathroom garbage can (I know, I know, but what else could I do?).


Apparently, even women of the middle class – students, friends of Kareem’s – resort to occasional prostitution (asking friends) in order to be able to sastify the desire to buy pretty clothes, to be in style – Kareem referred to this as a perverse effect of globalization. We took a walk and passed by some cafés where women sat upstairs, waiting for men to approach them; they then went to nearby apartments where girls rented out one apartment and each took a room, to which they brought back their clients (Menzah).