How I Ended Up in My Underwear Wearing a Wig and Makeup Last Night

Last night after wearing a dress and slow dancing with a very drunk Polish boy of about my same age who insisted on thrusting into me while dancing, I then proceeded to do a striptease down to my underwear.  The undies and the wig and make up were the only thing between me and my birthday suit, and the crowd of about 150 onlookers from all over Europe and Tunisia.  But let me back up.

After dinner we decided to take a stroll as a family unit along the corniche, the beachside pathway that runs the length of Boujaafar Beach, the principle beach of Sousse.  Bilel, Kamel, Cherifa and I all strolled together, and then Bilel and I continued on to the more touristy area of the downtown center of Sousse.  When we turned back, we passed a hotel that was having "animations et spectacles" the cheesy sort of shows for guests at all inclusive hotels that typically involve hula dancing and roast pigs despite not having any sort of relation to pacific islander culture.  Needless to say we decided (Bilel decided) that we should go up and check it out.  So we did.

The show was in full swing, and it seemed to be geared at children, there was dancing with hand motions and German lyrics that everyone seemed to know.  They were dancing in circles and doing a samba line and all those silly sorts of things.  Just watching it made me embarrassed.  Bilel was trying his best to get me to dance too, but that sort of embarrassment is the sort of thing I loathe, so I declined and said I was happy enough watching.

After the show ended there was an awards ceremony for the previous night's "Miss Hotel" show where three women competed against each other to be the queen of the hotel.  They all got prizes and were publicly embarrassed by kissing the MC who was running the whole show.  After they stepped down, the music died down and the MC said for tonight he needed 3 boys to participate in the Mr. Hotel show.  I chuckled thinking, I would rather die that do that sort of shit in public.  Next thing I know, Bilel, much to my chagrin and ignorant of my protests, shot his hand up and said "This American wants to do it."  Ant that was all there was too it.  An American is far more exciting than another wasted Eastern European.  And for the next hour I proceeded to descend down a shame spiral, witnessed by 150 of my closest strangers.

There were several parts to the show, each progressively more embarrassing than the last I would say.  It started with introductions.  I said I was Andrew from Los Angeles, and as the night progressed I became Andre from California.  Whatever.  I then had to sing a song for the audience, as did my competitors.  Sensing that I wasn't that nervous, just slightly annoyed the MC told me I had to sing a song in Arabic of his choice.  So after mumbling along with him for a while he said, "Now you sing own song from American."  So I burst into Bohemian Rhapsody.  Not the easiest a capella song to sing, but I belted it and the crowd was cool with it.

The next round, me and my opponents (a Czeck guy and an Italian guy, both around 19) and I had to repeat our songs with 3 large pieces of ice in our mouths.  This was cold, and I sounded roughly like a beagle baying in the backyard along with  Queen album.  From the video footage, Bilel found this hilarious.  The crowd again was pleased with my efforts.  At this point after joking and yammering it was time for the intermission.

We three contestants for Mr. Hotel were shooed into a tiny backstage area and told to strip down to our underwear.  I started taking off my clothes but the Italian and the Czech guy just looked at me blankly.  They didn't really speak French or English very well.  So I said in Spanish take your clothes off.  I have never told another man to take his clothes off before.  So there I was standing with two 19 year old Europeans in my underwear, when out of nowhere dresses, wigs and make up appeard.  FUCK.  We were now entering the drag show portion of the competition.  In practical terms I was thinking the crowd must get bored at some point.

So after having greasy make up smeared on my face, a wig slapped on my head (god knows who else has worn that sweaty polyester wig) and a tight black dress thrown over me in my boxer briefs, I looked like a whore who had seen better days and too many buffets.  "Don't worry" they told us back stage. 'this is all clean.  professional."  Right.

I was not a cute girl.  But nevertheless we were paraded out in front of the crowd to cheers and shrieks of laughter from drunk men.  We were instructed to make a lap and then come back.  So we came back to the stage and sat back down on our contestant's stools.  It was then explained to us that we each had to go 'seduce a man' to be our dance partner.  One at a time the Italian got up, then the Czech, and then I stood up and this Polish rugby player came sprinting at me and hugged me, was caressing my wig/hair, holding my hand, and saying 'we gonna be win! we gonna be win! i love you! this is gonna be winning!"  I got the idea hew as excited.

So in couples, one couple at a time we had to first slow dance.  Here we are back where we started.  So we slowdanced to turn around bright eyes and he insisted on being very intimate and 'real' and thrusting into my thigh.  It was very uncomfortable and far too much Polish for me.  After that we each had to take a turn fast dancing to 50s swing music.  He spun me around, I spun him around then he charged at me with all his might (he was about 5'6 and stocky and muscular, but still) and picked me up oer his shoulder and then was too drunk and fell down, me on top of him, dress and all, crotch in his face.  The crowd went wild for that.  Then I the dainty lady picked him up and spun him around.  If you aren't grimacing reading this, imagine watching it.  It will make you wince. Then imagine doing it.  I was getting more and more furious at Bilel for tricking me into doing this.

I thought the embarrassment would end there, but no.  It was time for, as the DJ said in his mockery of good English, "time for each lovely lady make for teasing sexy dance boom boom  striptease!!!"  Again the crowd loved this.  The speakers thumped heavily and Lady Marmalade came on.  I insisted in French that I would not undress, and that the DJ could politely go f*** himself but he just laughed and made me do it.  I think this is what prostitutes must feel like.  But in any case I was in short order standing in my boxer briefs swinging a dress around in circles over my head.  It was horrifying.

Then I had to beat my chest and yell like Tarzan, which thanks to my dad I can do well.  After that I had to do beach body muscle poses.  Then I had to go form conga lines in the crowd and I finished up, along with the other dudes, with a solo belly dance.  In nothing but underwear, a wig and make up.  At this point I wasn't really embarrassed anymore as they had all been staring at me in my undies for over 20 minutes.  I was still mad at Bilel, and starting to laugh hysterically in my head at the utter insanity of the situation.  Here I was in Tunisia at an all inclusive resort hotel at which I was not a guest, competing in the mr. hotel competition, in my underwear/dressed in drag, belly dancing, supposedly here for an internship for my masters, pissed off, embarrassed, and yet still wanting to win a little bit.  It was all too much.  Finally sexy belly dance music ended and I got to sit.

Then it was decision time.  The judges conferred among themselves (two lovely Belgian women) and they came back with an answer.  The MC said, thank you to you all, thanks to our contestants, and the winner is.......ANDREW FROM AMERICA!!!!  There was anemic applause and some whoops from the drunk Tunisians and Polish kids, but the crowd was bored now.  We had been doing this for over an hour.  People wanted more drinks.  I wanted about 10 drinks.  I bowed and blew a kiss.  Then finally we were dismissed. Supposedly, now, if I return tonight I will win very nice prize.  Well I say fuck that.  They can take their prize and stick it....somewhere else.

What a night, and all on a Wednesday and all totally sober.  What a night.

Tunisia on the Run

Literally, tonight my brief reflection comes from observations made while I was running this evening.  As such, perhaps take them with a grain of salt, as they are certainly cursory.  Some things are the culmination of patterns I have noticed over the course of what has now been two months here, some things are just from this evening.

First, I ran a new route tonight that took me out of my neighborhood, which I would place as solidly middle class, and through an interesting maze like cluster of streets in a presumably much poorer neighborhood.  The sun had reached its golden hour and the light was amazing, rendering everything in richer shades of their true colors.  Shadows were blue and white walls were thick and creamy.  I ran down a solitary paved road in a neighborhood, from which branched many rocky unpaved dirt roads.  This was in the middle of Sousse, mind you, and I was struck how even within the city the income disparities are drastic.  Down the unpaved rows were lines of houses in various stages of construction from bare cinder block with no windows and only cloth curtains and broken glass cemented into the tops of walls for security, to fully stuccoed homes with tiled roofs. Vacant lots were prevalent, and seemingly where there was open space there were clusters of olive trees and groups of goats lazily munching on weeds.  Where there were no trees there were children of all ages playing pickup games of soccer in the streets or empty lots.  My run through their neighborhood garnered a lot of attention as I am sure most tourists would never see a neighborhood like this in Tunisia.

The street gradually narrowed and the number of dirt lanes branching from it grew scarce.  Houses packed close together crowded the street and though many were of scant construction, everything seemed at once haphazard and newly thrown down, but time worn with faded signs for shops and old cars further cramping the street.  Children sat with their parents on front steps and their heads turned as a ran by, following my progress as I passed.  Some kids splashed each other with water bottles trying to escape the heat that radiated from the concrete street and walls.  I know many children were present because school is out of session for the summer, but I also know that many children will not be returning in the fall.  There is a very high rate of drop out among youths following primary school.  They leave to find more lucrative pursuits in order to help their families make ends meet.  Unfortunately unemployment is high and dropping out of school leads not to an opportunity but to delinquency.  There seems to be a lack of after school programming.  Many kids get involved with sports at school, but while school is closed its unclear to me what they all do.  Some are fortunate enough to go to the equivalent of 10 days of summer camp, while others pass the summer doing just what I saw, playing soccer, splashing water and wandering down to the beach from time to time.

Largely it is soccer that draws people in.  It can be played anywhere with just a ball.  Teams can grow as big as necessary, and it is all inclusive.  It can move from the street to a lot to a field to the beach and it all works.  I know, from seeing this at the market, that many kids must divide their time between playing soccer and having fun, and selling fruits, vegetables and other consumables in the various markets.  It is an interesting divide.

Eventually I wound my way down and out of the neighborhood as the sky was turning blue and orange.  I ran along Boulevard du 14 Janvier (date of the revolution) and stepped into a hotel to use the restroom.  I inquired at the front desk how much it would be to use the pool for a day.  65 Dinar.  The price seemed to echo around the marble lobby.  It was an odd juxtaposition to what I had just seen.  Knowing that some people make as little as 6 Dinar per day(or about $3.70) the price seemed absurd.  I left and sprinted out the rest of my run to the beach and took off my shoes and shirt and dove in.  I was much happier there than at the pool.  In the sea I was surrounded by families having fun and enjoying what was free.  It was a nice run and a good reminder of why I am here to work.

Le Bain Maure (Moorish Bathhouse)

I am clean and scrubbed pink like a baby.  Today was a pretty magical day.  I woke up and had breakfast and got ready to go to the beach.  It was 97 degrees when we left at 10:30 in the morning.  The wind was hot, the street radiated heat and the white houses and apartments were shimmering.  We went down to the train station and climbed in the old commuter train.  It was not air conditioned and it was packed.  The windows were open, but sitting in the station it was stifling.  Out exposed flesh stuck to the old pleather seats and peeled away with a sound similar to wet velcro.  Just sitting sweat was dripping down my chest and condensing on my brow.  It was hot.  Finally the train pulled away and began lumbering on towards Monastir.  The feeble breeze blowing through the windows was enough to stop the excessive perspiration.  It was pleasant enough to drift to sleep.

Once in Monastir we headed to our two favorite spots.  The first is an old Roman port where you can enter the water where ships used to be landed.  Ruins surround the jagged rocks and are carved into them.  The place is rowdy with Tunisian teenage boys, each trying to do more impressive tricks than their buddies as the run and dive into the water.  After swimming at the port, we continued out the length of the rocky point that juts into the Mediterranean.  We circled to the end where there is a natural cove with cliffs where there were older boys jumping.  The cliffs range from 22-35 feet, with different places to jump.  The water was clear and turquoise blue, and so transparent we could see to the bottom.  We spent about an hour hurling ourselves of cliffs into the cool seawater and scrambling back up the cliffs to do it again.  Eventually the police chased us all away because it was 'too dangerous' so we moved around the point to lower rocks where we could just hop in the water and swim.  We swam out about 100 yards from the rocky shore where the water turned midnight blue.  We floated on our backs talking about everything and nothing and soaking in the sunny day, the hot air, cold water and blue sky.  Then we spotted a jellyfish and decided it was time to get closer to shore.    We met a young man on a boat who let us aboard, then offered to let us dive off the bow of the boat.  Tunisians are so welcoming and generous, it never ceases to amaze me.  After swimming back to shore we decided to get out.  We had a snack back in the town center and then headed back to the train to come to Sousse.  Fortunately the newer, air-conditioned train came to take us back, saving us from the now 105 degree weather. 


Once back in Sousse we lounged and then had a light dinner and decided to go to the Bain Maure, or the traditional Moorish bathhouse.  We walked into an old adobe building.  On the inside it was richly carpeted, decorated with comfortable lounge chairs for after the baths and a series of carpeted rooms for resting.  We changed our clothes and put on swimsuits (nakedness is a no go here).  We entered the steamy bath through a heavy metal door and I had no idea what to expect.


The floor was tiled and the roof was a series of low domes with arched entryways.  It was hot and steamy and there was a huge slab of hot marble in the middle of the biggest room.  The larger room was lined with private stalls for bathing after getting a scrub down.  Bilel and I made our way to the smallest, hottest steam chamber where we sat and sweat with our feet in hot water for about 30 minutes.  We talked and I marveled at the network of steam pipes and faucets and heating units and tiled benches that lined the walls of the rooms.  It was echoey and dripping and flowing water rang off the walls.  The walls were all white and bare lightbulbs hung down from the ceilngs.  We got progressively sweatier and eventually Bilel went and called for the scrubber to come.  Bilel was first, and I left him o be scrubbed while I sat in the back room, sweating out every toxin that ever entered my body.  Then it was my turn.


The man who scrubbed me down was about 5'6" and very squat.  He was wearing a swimsuit and nothing else and didn't speak any French.  He indicated that I should sit on the marble slab.  I did.  He then, with a booming SLAP hit the marble slab, indicating I should lay down.  I complied.  He began beating on my chest and massaging my pecs and my abs.  He then proceed to yank my leg across my body, throw himself on top of me and CRRAAACKKK my back popped in about 40 places.  This was then repeated with the other leg and both arms.  At first I felt a bit shocked by this squat, sweaty tunisian man climbing on my like a slippery jungle gym, but I decided to go with the flow.  He continued to massage my chest then SLAP! Hit my sternum.  Time to turn over.  He climbed on my back to pop it, yanked my now warm and compliant shoulder in odd directions and his sweaty knee might have slid across my neck.  I am not sure but I was certainly relaxed, and much more comfortable than I would have expected given the amount of sweaty man flesh on me.  SLAP on my lower back and it was time to sit up.


He put on an exfoliating glove and began to scrub my lower back, mid back then neck and shoulders with the force of a belt sander.  SLAP on the marble and I laid down and he scrubbed my shoulders and arms and hands.  Then my chest and my stomach.  He jabbed at my stomach fat and said.  Birra (beer).  I nodded because it was easier.  He then leaned into my face and shouted BOITE (night club).  I again nodded because it was easier.  RUSSKY (this was a statement shouted at me, not a question).  AMERICA I shouted back.  The shouting came as a consequence of the echoing water.  He then scooted behind me like we might spoon slapped the marble and shoved my head.  I ended up with my head on his calf as he scrubbed my neck and sunburned shoulders.  Then moved to the other side.  THWACK he hit the back of my head and I sat up.  He then moved the belt sander hand cloth and scrubbed down my legs.  I was thoroughly sweaty and gazing longingly at the shower head in front of me, away from the hot marble.  After my legs he scrubbed my feet (heaven).  SLAP he hit my back and yelled DOUCHE!  It was time to shower off.  The whole scrub down and massage must have lasted 15 minutes.  The water in the shower was blessedly cool, and after the scrubbing my skin was baby soft.  I then transferred to the private stall next to Bilel's stall and I was able to shower in blessedly cool water with soap, shampoo and conditioner.  I toweled off and headed back out to the relax rooms.  After the steam room the still 93 degree air felt cool and dry.


We laid on the chaises longues in our towels and cooled off and they brought us bottled water.  Eventually we got dressed and paid (a total of 5 Dinar or about $3.50) and headed out into the steamy night.  I felt refreshed, exhausted and scrubbed clean.  I will definitely have to go back to the Bain Maure.  Plus, if you need to get over body image issues, have a squat sweaty man scrub you down and repeatedly slap various parts of your body in front of a bunch of other dudes. Clears it right up.

A Well Informed Outsider?

On Friday evening I had a long meeting with the principle actors in the organization I am working with for the summer.  It was the first time that so many of the team were gathered together at the same time.  Interestingly enough, the active board for the organization is comprised of a majority of women.  At Friday's meeting there were four women and myself.  The women are all well established, intelligent and outspoken.  Two are retired and two are working full time as well as helping direct ACEO.

The meeting lasted about two and a half hours at a pleasant Cafe in the zone touristique of Sousse.  We sat gathered around two tables and discussed many topics pertaining to the advancement of the organization.  Cigarette and hookah smoke swirled around us.  We sipped coffee and moved through agenda items.  However, as the meeting progressed and the ratio of French to Arabic being spoken gradually drifted out of my favor to an Arabic-dominated meeting, several things occurred to me.

First, I need to continue to work to learn more Arabic words.  Not only is it polite, but it is helpful to be able to have a grasp of what dynamics (social, political, financial) are actually going on.  In any language there are nuances that add meaning that can only be understood in that language.  Knowing more Arabic would help me suss out some of those nuances and know the Tunisian mindset better.

Second, without Arabic, and with a grasp of French that has now returned to proficient rather than functional, but is still a far cry from fluent, I will constantly be an outsider.  Granted, I may be a more informed outsider with a wider range of cultural sensitivities than your average tourist or business person, but nonetheless I am an outsider.  I can't really be surprised, I have now been in Tunisia 6 weeks.  I was in Costa Rica for 6 months and even after 6 months I was still aware of being an outsider.  So, I cannot realistically expect to be in the know and entirely culturally competent and fluent in such a short time.  I struggle to make it and accommodate in order to do my job, but it still comes and goes and ebbs and flows effecting my efficiency and efficacy from time to time (read weekly)


Third, in my career field, this will always be the case.  I will be a more informed outsider.  When I travel to new countries to work with people I will be given a briefing, a series of documents containing data, background, history, facts and figures.  I cannot possibly expect to know many of the languages of places I may travel and I certainly can't expect to fit in.  I guess I never really processed that in any sort of serious way.  I took it for granted that in Costa Rica I feel at home and assumed I could make that work anywhere.  But at this point I have spend over a year there and have established friends and relationships.  My work will not always be that way.  It is an interesting thought and requires a paradigm shift in my own thinking, a.k.a suck it up and continue to work hard.  Of course, maybe this is just my own cynicism.  Maybe entree into a culture just depends on the place and the people.  More likely it is a dynamic that depends on me and them.  I guess I am just still finding that here.  It is doable, but I am still learning so much that I feel like I am learning more than I am contributing (arguably a reasonable outcome of an unpaid internship)....Anyways now I am rambling.


But all that is not to say that it is all work and no play here.  Living with a host family affords many benefits, and among those is having a good friend with whom I can go on adventures, so I leave you with a picture from our trip to the beach at Salakta this weekend.  Until next time!

Back to the Grind

After a lovely weekend in Paris, I am back to work in Sousse.  I had a meeting with my boss the day before I left which was actually very helpful, and provided a lot of direction for what I need to be doing this week.  I was relieved because I have, at various points, felt very much without direction.  I was able to cobble together what I was supposed to be doing, but I felt a bit lost as this is my first real internship abroad.  While I have not had a lot of homesickness or overwhelming culture shock, there are many little things that slowly pile up and end up creating a cluster of thoughts that I could broadly label as culture shock.  I try to read a lot and stay active in work, but as I said sometimes it feels a bit directionless, and so it is tricky.  I found this list of tips for working abroad that are generally helpful.  They are largely more geared to people who have never worked abroad, which I have, but they are good nonetheless.

This week is doubly busy as I am doing a bit of catching up for missing Friday and Monday for my trip to Paris.  So I have lots to do, and a real to do list, and if nothing else I feel like I make forward progress when I cross things off a list.  But I do wonder, is that what I came here to do?  Cross things off a list?  I had definitely romanticized what I would be doing as visions of community meetings and village mapping on dusty village meeting hall floors danced through my head, but I didn't expect to be so connected to the internet, doing so much grant-related writing and research and generally staying in so much.  I guess it is normal for an organization that is trying to get off the ground.  They need help both with their projects and with their development of the organization.  So I am here doing a bit of both.

Needless to say, as much I as am able to get good experience just from being in an internship, it is also highly dependent on how much I put in.  My boss encouraged me to ask more questions to make sure I am targeting the right information when I putting together grant proposals and projects.  She is right.  It is time to step it up, ask more questions, be more forthright and be more of a go-getter.  Just being in Tunisia will not provide experience through osmosis.  I need to be an active learner and employee.  It makes no sense to try and make excuses for what I didn't learn if I know I didn't push to always learn more.  So that is what I am working on starting this week.

Paris was a great little refresher.  It was nice to see a good friend, nice to escape the heat for a weekend and so much fun to go back to a city I love.  We strolled the streets, ate too many delicious pastries, ate baguettes and cheese, walked the city in the evening with daylight until 10:15 pm, ate foie gras and drank white wine.  It was so lovely.  We spent one afternoon in Versailles in the park and gardens and sat outside and had a crepe and shared a pitcher of cider.  It was lush and green in Paris and the city was alive and sparkling.  I was happy be back.  It was nice to have a little adventure, to take the train in Tunisia for the first time and see a bit more of the capital city in my travelling, too.  So I am back this week refreshed and ready to try and bite of a bit more and throw my weight into this internship.

A + (a plus)
AJ

Nationwide Curfew

Last night a nation wide curfew was put in place to quell unrest throughout the country following the demonstrations and uprisings supposedly caused by the art exhibit in La Marsa.  The curfew has been instituted to dispel rioters, and ensure that people cannot be out all night with nothing to do but burn more police stations and loot more shops.

I have never been anywhere with a mandatory curfew before.  It is strange.  People take it very seriously, which I guess is to be expected.  Bilel and I had left the house to go out with a friend of his, when midway through our trip to Kantaoui we learned of the curfew (couvre-feu) that would take effect at 9:00pm.  It was 8:30.  All of the louages (shared taxis) going past were full, and the individual hire taxis were largely unavailable.  So, we decided it was best to just hoof it home.  We walked quickly, our conversation was lighthearted, but it was clear that we should be in before curfew started.

I asked what happens if one is out after curfew.  "I don't know," Bilel said.  "I guess they have the right to shoot."

I assumed they meant the military, and as we walked home we passed a group of four soldiers in fatigues with large guns standing in front of a truck painted in camo paint.  The were lit by a yellow street lamp, their faces mostly in shadow, lighting up only when they took a drag of their cigarettes.  Mostly they just looked bored, casually glancing at us and then returning to the smoky haze of their own conversation.

We made it home with a few minutes to spare, and we spent those few minutes explaining to Kamel and Sheriffa why we hadn't taken a taxi.  They were irritated, but seemed to understand that there just weren't any taxis.  They then spent half an hour convincing me that things are safe, that the curfews are normal, and that after the revolution this happened all the time.  They seemed sincere, and really not too concerned, but I knew that they wouldn't have reprimanded us if there was no cause for concern.  Either way, I felt fine knowing the family wasn't worried.  It was a quiet night in Bouhassina.  No cars passed my window, no music drifted in, no conversations wafted in broken bits.  Just lamp light peeked through the window.

The curfew was lifted this morning at five am, and if nothing else it was calmer when we went down to the beach.  Rioters had cut down a beautiful 70 year old palm tree at the post office and burned 3 police stations over night.  We saw the downed palm tree being dragged away.  On the way back from the beach after exercising we went to find the police stations, but didn't find the first one so we returned home.  We left a bit later to get groceries and on the way back traffic slowed and there was a crowd of people in the middle of the street.  We approached the scene and there was a police van and a military truck.  There were about 15 men with AK-47s standing in front of a house and some around the sides.  People were staring at the roof and we could see officers with billy clubs circling the sides of the house.  And then traffic picked back up and I don't know what became of the house or its residents.  Kamel speculated that it was a house where there were rioters hiding.  Its hard to know either way.

Things are tense here, but not as bad as they seem in the newspapers.  People are carrying on normally, and there is really nothing to be afraid of.  There is a little more activity and people have their hackles up, but it isn't ominous here.  The curfews are precautionary, meant to quiet unrest rather than inspire fear.  They will likely persist through the end of the week, but I am headed to Paris Friday, so I don't have to worry about that.

It continues to be an adventure here.  I can't wait to see what happens next.  Safe and sound in Tunisia, until next time.

Pulled in Many Directions

I find I have the problem that I am pulled in many directions.  On the one hand, I came here to work as an intern for ACEO, and that is my main purpose.  On the other hand there is so much interesting culture and language to learn, and so much incredible food to eat that I cannot help but want to participate fully in immersing myself in that, too.  Third there is the constantly unfolding news of developments pertaining to culture wars, religion, politics and current events that perpetually catch my eye (especially as it potentially pertains to my safety).

So how do I prioritize?  Well I am responsible first to ACEO, and I was funded by SIS to come and work, so I try to maintain focus on that.  Fortunately (or unfortunately) I work from home so I am able to stretch my work out over about 10 hours, during which I actually work about 6 to 7 hours.  This flexibility allows me to maintain a blog, keep up with current affairs fight with Tunisians on facebook about posting news articles from the US that are apparently uninformed (see my facebook wall if you are interested in the reference).  Work also includes site visits to the poorer suburbs, municipal offices and working meetings cafes throughout the city.  There is a lot of collaboration, which is like, but I am frequently left to my own devices which can be challenging.

After work and current affairs I guess I go after culture.  I am usually working in the kitchen at the table in the house I rent a room in.  I live with a delightful family (who are all good cooks to my good fortune) and the kitchen is a hub of activity.  I am surrounded by the smells of roasting vegetables, pastries, garlic, onions, paprika, cumin, peppers, capers, olives.  I get to watch, partially engaged, as meals are prepared.  The pots ring, sing and dance on the stove-top, all four burners going at once.  The oven is full of bread and dishes are being cleaned for reuse.  It is busy, and on the 100 degree days it gets hot.  But the aromas are heady and delightful and the companionship while I work is as welcome as the solitude I sometimes seek.  This way I also get to learn the words for foods in Arabic and many polite expressions (I was just given warm home-made whole wheat bread).

After all of these things I go out with Bilel and his friends, which is always delightful.  Sometimes we go for coffee at a Salon de The, or out to Port El Kantaoui just to stroll and take in the sights, or out to dinner, or my personal favorite, to the beach.  I get to enjoy the tourist sights on the weekend, and Bilel is a great tour guide, host and friend.  So I get to go out too.

But there is a level of politeness that we still haven't broken.  In our ever increasingly in-depth conversations of religion it has never turned bitter.  It approached more of a confrontation on facebook today because my intelligence was called into question, and that I do not tolerate, but religion gets people fired up here.  Just look at what happened in La Marsa, a wealthy suburb of Tunis.  This Blogger's perspective is more balanced and informed as he is on the ground, compared to Reuters quick assessment and reporting.  Or look at the ongoing problems of how the state is dealing with religion in its institutions (This is the article I posted that drew criticism on facebook).  Needless to say religion is the central point of contention as the country moves ahead.  I have a feeling clashes and demonstrations like this will only grow more numerous as elections approach.

There is so much going on and I want experience it all, but I have to remember why I came and that it is important to prioritize my goals, career development and academic achievement as well as the opportunities I have for social enrichment.  Cheers to staying the path, working hard and staying informed.

À bientôt