162 - Set It Off (Tunis, Tunisia)
IT’S ALWAYS THE RANDOM THINGS THAT STAND OUT. A man on Tunis’ streets wore a t-shirt that read, “May I Have Your MSN? I'm a Hotmale.” (Hotmail? Does that still exist?) I saw folks driving through the streets honking, screaming, and blowing plastic trumpets and thought, That’s an odd way to celebrate the end of Ramadan. Turns out, they were just getting psyched up for the Algeria-Tunisia soccer match. Sometimes, I’m stupid.
Although the context was Tunisia, I’d noticed outside Western culture, there’s scant adherence to the concept of a line (or queue, as it were). Want to eat? Get a cup of coffee? Buy a SIM card for your mobile? Tram ticket? Put your head down and plow through. Otherwise, you’ll be standing on the periphery for ages basking in your own politeness. It’s not that folks are necessarily rude (probably), it's just custom dictates a free-for-all. Take no prisoners. Go.
Tunis has two distinct layouts, that of the 8th-century medina and the grid constructed by the colonial French, the center of which is Ville Nouvelle. The contrast is sharp. Tunis’ main drag, its version of the “Champs-Élysées,” is named after Tunisia's first president, Habib Bourguiba, and cuts through Ville Nouvelle. It’s littered with cafés, shops and hotels, serving as an ideal place for strolling and people-watching. The medina, on the other hand, is a twisted labyrinth of narrow alleys, cafes, shops, mosques, markets (souqs), and dwellings. Getting lost is unavoidable, if not altogether desirable. Wander around long enough and chances are, you’ll end up at the Zitouna Mosque lying at the medina's heart. Go.
The word “medina” refers to the ancient quarter of various North African cities (not to be confused with the city of Medina in Saudi Arabia). UNESCO designated the Medina of Tunis a World Heritage Site in 1979. Spend a few hours inside and you’ll understand why. Although seemingly chaotic, the design and layout conform to a complex sociocultural code based on human interactions. As the beating heart of the ancient city, all relevant institutions (administrative and commercial) are contained within, including palaces, mosques, libraries, and commercial centers. In light of Eid ul-Fitr (the celebration at the end of Ramadan), I found the alleys tranquil and sedate. Though tourists clogged the main thoroughfare (Rue de la Kasbah), relative solitude was only an alley or two away. I strolled. I pondered. I photographed.
My next installment of “Talk to Random Strangers on the Street” took more than one comical turn. Enter Semy and his nephew. Not sure how it started, but before I knew it, I was discussing everything from motorcycle tires to Issac Hayes. Maintaining composure throughout deliciously random discussions punctuated in broken English was none too easy. I’ll make this as disjointed as possible out of respect for accuracy.
Semy had an old motorcycle he wished to maintain, but couldn’t for lack of parts, specifically tires. He’d recently purchased one that didn’t cut the mustard. Why? Not the right model. And the only place he knew to find one? The good ole US of A. He asked me if I could send him one. He also hoped I could send him an Issac Hayes CD and “Set It Off”, a movie with Queen Latifah. Um, ‘kay. Music I could understand, but “Set It Off?” Well, he was fascinated by the idea of four women living large without having to work, a state of affairs baffling to him. I don’t think he realized bank robbery funded their extravagance, a detail I’m certain would’ve only intensified his awe. In retrospect, I should’ve written down his address and the tire details. Had I followed through, I no doubt would’ve blown his mind and perhaps solidified a positive view of America in the process. Only the things we don’t do…
He was chaperoning his 18-year-old nephew to meet someone selling a quad bike. He was against him purchasing one, a sentiment underscored by a retelling of his “I almost died” motorcycle crash story. His nephew was unmoved. Semy recommended the Aziza Othmana Hospital if I were ever injured. He showcased their miraculous work by jumping in the air and kicking his extended hand with a foot. Yessir.
Semy spoke of an uncle who’d once owned a Citroën DS. Had I heard of this car? I had not. These cars are something of an engineering marvel and are coveted by collectors. If I understood, his uncle left the car parked on the street only to discover one day it had been stripped. Oops. He didn’t recognize the car’s value and, in a fit of anger, discarded it. Double oops.
Semy wore a shirt with the words “Chicago Fire” along with the traditional rescue symbol associated with emergency services. Knowing I had a camera, he prompted me to take his photo in front of a food vendor’s grill. His shirt had “fire” written on it, and he was standing in front of a fire. Get it? Awesome.
The next day, I met up with Semy and his nephew again for a visit to the Sunday market. He was hoping to buy a scooter/moped or perhaps a dog… I think. We arrived too late. All the good shit was sold. Things I saw for sale: motorbikes, cell phones, turkeys, chickens, turtles, falcons, dogs, hedgehogs, peacocks, goldfish, clothes, TVs… you get the picture. I met someone who’d purchased an elaborate belt for his champion goat. It was a hell of a belt. Must’ve been one hell of a goat.
Semy pointed out a large bucket of turtles, explaining people buy them and put them in their houses for good luck. They (the turtles) have to think all the time. What are they thinking about? How to scratch their backs… which they can never do. How does this make them lucky? Beats the hell out of me. Lost in translation.
Semy asked me how people in America walk. Um, ‘kay. I went straight up gangster prowl on his ass… yo. The two enjoyed my demonstration.
The story about Pastor Dipshit burning the Koran came up. Not awkward at all. Try reconciling that situation in pseudo-pidgin English. I think his nephew said something about Obama being a son-of-a-bitch. Not sure what that was about. Didn't ask. Then 9/11 came up. Also, not awkward. Semy explained Muslims wouldn’t do such a thing (i.e. the perpetrators weren’t Muslim) and that the footage of the World Trade Center buildings collapsing wasn’t real. He pointed to a building that had burnt down and told me it took a month for one story of the two-story building to collapse. How could buildings as tall as the WTCs fall so quickly? Not possible. Again, not awkward at all. On one level, it was quite amusing but became less so when I realized his beliefs weren’t anomalous. Want to know why winning hearts and minds is such a daunting task? There you go.
We ended our encounter by throwing firecrackers. I watched as Semy lit one amid market goers, threw it on the ground, and then walked away. This tickled him to no end. We continued this enterprise on some empty streets nearby and under a bridge, narrowly avoiding the attention of a policeman. I was an unwilling participant, but couldn’t hold back a childish giggle. We were incorrigible adolescents amusing ourselves with firecrackers. What next? A farting contest? I decided it was time to bid farewell.
*******************
A strange thing has happened since my Tunisia visit—the world has lost its shit. Even before Covid upended our world, the Arab Spring upended the Middle East. I missed the “festivities” by about a month. Some would say I dodged a bullet, but I can’t help feeling like I missed the boat. How often do you have the chance to watch history unfold from the front row? It’s interesting for me to go back and read about my experiences at the time. Yes, I could almost taste repression in the air, but if you told me the powder keg was about to ignite, I’d have been incredulous in the extreme. Yet, there it was, boiling just beneath the surface. Keep this in mind when reading my Tunisia posts. It makes for a fascinating subtext.
Courtesy of Global Village
Courtesy of Dronail