Pretending to be Syrian

In Tozeur, after almost killing Ester and eating some sandwiches, Lindsey, Ester and I went down to the touristy street to see about buying some crap. We were speaking Shami Arabic to one another, and sure enough we were asked, "Lubnaniyya?" No, no, we insisted, not Lebanese. But close. Syrian. I don't know if it got us any lower prices, but at least it stopped people speaking French to us.

As a foreigner in Tunisia, every one immediately reverts to French when speaking with you. Ester actually knows a good bit of French, I can understand some things but am at a loss to reply, and Lindsey has no French. After our asking questions or beginning conversations in Arabic, people would answer in French. "No, please, Arabic."

Even after we said we were Syrian, so the shopkeepers spoke to us in Arabic, they asked us why we didn' know French. How is that possible? Isn't French the second language of Syria? Not really, we said, everyone wants to learn English now.

After Ester got on her boat back to Italy and Lindsey went to Kuwait, I had some time to myself in Tunis waiting for the next Damascus flight. So I walked around the old city. Guys in the souq would hear my accent and ask if I was Lebanese.
"No, but close."
"Syrian?"

The story changed a bit from place to place. For short interactions, Syrian. The few times I introduced myself as American dudes said, "Really? But your parents are Shami, right?" So I said sure (sorry Ireland). In the hostel I was Canadian, because the front desk guy lied and told the leader of some group of French/island near Madagscar children that I was. Then I had to keep it up in order to get a bed with the 12-year-old girls.

People love the shit out of Syria, though. When I told people I was Shami, they said, "Ahh- marry a Shami girl and your life will be easy." Or, "Bab al-Hara!". And a man sat me down in his shop, bought me a bottle of water, which I could only refuse so many times, and told me he loved Syria. "They protect the Arab identity!"

I even got in the Zaytouna mosque for free. I asked a guy out front if it was open, and he said, yes, and its free for Muslims. I told him I wasn't Muslim and he stared at me, saying, "But you are Arab, right?" So I got in free anyways. A couple of people asked me if I was Muslim, which was strange for me since no one ever asks me that in Sham. In Tunisia, most people are Muslim, and most women don't wear hijab, and I was speaking Arab in the accent of a majority Muslim country, but still. There are non-Muslim Arabs, quite a lot in fact.

We're in... AFRICA

Throughout the stay in Tunis, people were constantly remarking that though "technically" part of Africa, it sure didn't feel like Africa. I guess Tunis's wide, tree-lined Habib Bourguiba Avenue just doesn't feel like part of the dark continent, or perhaps it was the lack of colorful fabrics and kente cloth. It's like when I lived in Cairo, and the expats would always joke that we lived in Africa, but not REAL Africa.

I guess its strange because while no one ever says that Syria can't possibly really be in ASIA because of the lack of kabuki masks or rice patties, Africa just can't be Africa without conforming to what we feel it should look like. And it should not look like Tunisia. Though actually the word Africa comes from the Roman name for their province centered at Carthage (Tunis), Africanus Proconsularus.

It might stem from the practice of referring to Africa as a country, not a massive continent made up of many countries.

Then again, I do this too. I think I have only technically lived on four continents, since while Cairo and Damascus are on two different continents, I mean, come on, it's all the Arab world.

Fulbright Conference Rox my Sox

The Fulbright conference finished yesterday. That is the purpose of my being in Tunisia, to go to this conference of Middle East and North Africa Fulbrighters (with flight and hotel paid for by Fulbright, naturally and awesomely). I saw this and thought, "Well the conference will be bullshit, but hey! free trip to Tunis!"

It was not bullshit. I was actually amazing. Meeting the other Fulbrighters in other countries, mostly Jordan and Egypt but also the UAE, Bahrain, Tunis, and even Israel. The rest of us had no idea Israel was coming, and there was a collective "what?" going through the room when they were introduced, except for the PhD student studying the Palestinian national movement of the 1930s. People were saying they should go to Europe, but it actually turned out to be very interesting talking to them.

Most people were not at all pretentious, despite many having reasons to be, as their projects and previous work are amazing. The conversations! Oh, the conversations! It makes me miss college and having these intellectual discussions. Wow. These people are so cool. I felt happily inadequate compared to many of them, but others shared my same feelings.

There's more, but I have to go enjoy Tunis.

Flight to Tunis

Tariq's friend Tariq gave me a ride to the airport this morning. The line for checkin on the TunisAir flight was long and rowdy, all of us fanning ourselves with tickets in the unseasonable heat.

I was behind someone working for the ministry of culture, who gave me gum after finding out that I was Americain, not Tunisian. A girl in the line next to us asked me if I could hold her bag, and I became confused. She was Tunisian and the accent was hard to follow. Her mother butted in, pointing out my one little bag and thrusting one of her mountain of bags my way. "Can't you take it with you?"

She was large with eye makeup and a garish lipstick painted on; she seemed like a nice lady. But I refused, having seen "Brokedown Palace". I doubt there was anything in the bag; but I want to decrease the chances of my ending up in a Thai prison to as small as possible. She kept insisting and I kept repeating asifa (sorry), then she just let the bag at my feet until the people behind me backed me up, saying "she's not going to take it".

Soon after, a group of about five pushed their way through the first line, cutting off and joining the second line (mine). They claimed to be first class so people grumbed and let them. Upon arriving at the counter the ticket agent found they were not, and refused to serve them, pointing to us who had been waiting patiently in line. "We're here anyways! God!" They tried to force their bags onto the ramp, and refused to join the line, increasing the chaos, but the agent held firm and we had to pass our bags over theirs and hand our passports and tickets through their protests. Bravo TunisAir lady!