After living in Tunisia for nearly 3 weeks, I must be some sort of
cultural and social expert on all things Tunisia. (In much of the same way that someone who
reads a magazine article about Einstein is an expert in his theory of general
relativity.)
Here are three brief observations and contemplations, mostly gathered
while strolling the streets during this hot, humid month of Ramadan.
Black Sedans and Yellow Cabs
Black sedans rule the streets of greater Tunis. Black Peugeots, BMWs, Renaults, VWs and
Citroens roll past by the dozens. Not all cars on the road are black sedans,
of course, but it is a bit striking at first glance that so many are. The only vehicles that are perhaps even more
prevalent than the black sedans are the yellow taxis trawling the streets for
fares. Historically, I’ve not been drawn
to riding in taxis. The supposed
convenience of being chauffeured to my destination has in most places I’ve
lived lately been outweighed by the inconvenience of cost, riding in
broken-down vehicles, and drivers who don’t know how to reach my
destination. I also value the benefits
of walking from point A to point B and/or using mass transit if either or both
of those are viable options. But I
arrived in Tunisia during the peak of the summer heat (more on that below),
which makes walking during the day an uncomfortable affair. And the combination of fairly inexpensive
taxis fares, good roads, and competent taxi drivers makes taxis a more
attractive option for many destinations throughout large sections of the day.
Underage ‘drivers’
I’ve traveled extensively around the world and am accustomed to seeing
prodigious deployment of cars and motorcycles—a family of four on a motorcycle
is not an unusual sight; a one-year old standing on the passenger seat in a
moving car is terrifying to see but not out of the ordinary. However, Tunisians seem to be a bit more
ambitious when it comes to children and their vehicles. One very common sight is a small child on a
moped—almost always a young boy of around 4 or 5— grasping the handle bars while
standing in front of his seated father.
I don’t have a picture of this, but imagine a man sitting on the scooter
pictured below with a child standing in front of him; the boy’s head barely
reaches the handle bars but he grips onto them with his father as they motor
down the road.
Keep in mind that there are no helmet laws in Tunisia. And although I do see the occasional
motorcyclist with a helmet, I’ve never seen a child wearing a helmet, much less
eye protection. I’m sure it’s a thrill
for the child and is considered to be convenient transportation, but the
outcome of even a minor wreck conjures an utterly horrific scene.
Even more puzzling, the other day while walking home from work, I saw a
car—probably a black sedan, although I wasn’t paying close attention to the
outside of the vehicle—in the far right lane of the road that is essentially a
3-lane highway to Tunis. The car initially
caught my attention because it was on the road but not moving. When I looked closer, I saw a man in the
passenger seat and two men in the backseat, but nobody in the driver’s
seat. The car appeared to be stalled on
the side of the road, but nobody was outside of the vehicle trying to fix
it—rather, the man in the passenger seat seemed to be leaning over to the
driver’s seat trying to fix the problem.
As I kept walking down the sidewalk and could see inside the front seat
more clearly, I saw a boy of maybe 7 or 8 years old perched in the driver’s
seat. To my surprise, the man in the
passenger seat then started the car and to the apparent delight of him and the
other adult passengers, the child started driving the vehicle slowly down the
busy street. (I assume the man in the
passenger’s seat was controlling the pedals because I don’t think the child was
tall enough to reach the pedals and see over the steering wheel.) The car picked up speed until I lost sight of
it in the distance. As I continued down
the road, I feared I would hear a crash or see evidence that it had careened
off the road. My fears were not
realized—at least not as far as I saw.
It’s not the heat, it’s the…
The past few months, when I told friends that I was moving to Tunisia,
a common point of discussion was the weather here. Oftentimes, people would comment on how hot
it would be—especially in July and August.
I had consulted a few weather-related websites that indicated July and
August were the hottest months of the year with average highs in the 90s. I had also looked at the map and noted the
proximity of my new home to the Mediterranean.
(In fact, I live an easy 30-minute walk from the water.) After my 5-minutes of research, I determined
that it wouldn’t really be very hot.
I’ve certainly lived through 90-degree temperatures (and hotter); and
surely a large body of water such as the Mediterranean would moderate extreme
weather conditions, I thought. So when
my friends said something along the lines of: Boy, that’s going to be hot! I refuted their supposition, noting my
experience with hot conditions and/or the more moderate climate I expected to
experience.
Well, I’m here to admit some flaws in my logic. Apparently, when the sun wants to be hot and
intense, it’s going to be hot and intense, no matter the presence of a large
body of water. And when the heat is
combined with high humidity, as it turns out to be here in Northern Tunisia
most of the time, even an otherwise tolerable 90 degree day gets uncomfortable very
quickly. And last weekend, an unusual
hot spell sent temperatures soaring well above 100. Some sources reported temperatures of 45 or
even 46 degrees Celsius, which equates to temperatures around 115 Fahrenheit. Unfortunately, my curiosity took me outside
for a mid-day walk last Sunday. Under
the blazing sun, my walk started out ok.
But as the minutes wore on and the sweat collected on my face and
forearms, I realized that being out at that time was not a smart idea. There was scant shade to be found on the
streets and few businesses were open—both because it is Ramadan and because why
in the world would anyone be outside shopping in those conditions? After 45 minutes in the sun, I started
walking back in the direction of my house. But I am still not very familiar with the
neighborhood and my imagination started to get the worse of me—spinning through
a fantasy in which I was disoriented and unable to find my way home. Luckily, within a few minutes, I started
recognizing landmarks and knew that I was within 15 minutes of reaching my house. But by then the sweat on my forehead started
to flood into my eyes, bringing with it the sunscreen I had judiciously applied
before leaving the house. I was half
blind and half delirious for the final few blocks of my foolish outing. Needless to say, I spent the rest of the day
inside in an air conditioned room drinking cold water and juice—and trying to
restore the energy that had been sapped by the intense mid-day sun.
Which brings me to a slightly tangential question: What does it take to
coin a phrase? Because I invented a
phrase several years ago that I’ve tested with various people without much
success. I realize now, though, that perhaps
I was testing the phrase out of context
And only in thinking about the foolish escapade I just described have I
discovered the proper context for what I feel is a clever and useful
phrase. With that in mind, perhaps I
will re-introduce and try again to coin the phrase here: It’s not the heat, it’s the stupidity.
And with that, I conclude part one of my initial observations and
contemplations from Tunisia except to add one more thought. Based on this blog entry, you might be under
the impression that I think poorly of Tunisians or am having a miserable time
here. That is far from the case. My three weeks here have been filled with
many happy moments, little discoveries, beautiful sunsets, wonderful views of
the aqua blue Mediterranean, and hundreds of inconsequential but pleasant
interactions with Tunisians—who by all accounts are friendly, kind, and
generous. And last weekend’s hot weather
anomaly has not repeated itself—today I enjoyed a trouble-free two hour walk
around town. Here’s a glimpse from my
route today:
Stayed tuned as I continue my journey to knowing, enjoying, and understanding
Tunisia…
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