Fellows' Reflections: Neely Egan

I have two weeks left in my fellowship. Two weeks?! Of course, everyone was right when they said time will fly, because it does really feel like I arrived in Tunisia two weeks ago. But then I’m wonderfully overwhelmed by how much has happened in my time here.

First things first, my job. Teaching has been a beautifully difficult experience for me. I have the pleasure of teaching preschoolers and middle schoolers – so basically the age groups known for being sometimes… strenuous. In all honesty, I never knew my patience, of which I pride myself on having a lot, could be pushed as much as it was with my students.

However, coupled with that realization, I never knew how much joy my classes could bring me. There are few words that can explain what happens in your heart when a child speaks a full English sentence by themselves for the first time. There are few words that can explain the kind of smile that come across your face when a three-year-old runs and gives you a big hug and a flower. There are few words that can explain the pride that flows when a student writes an essay with ZERO grammatical mistakes. Though I won’t be pursuing teaching after this year, I will cherish forever what this year and my classes have taught me.

Secondly, Tunisia – what a fabulous home I have found here. For almost every experience and relationship I have had here, I am grateful. Even those moments that did not go my way, I hope that I have come out of them with a greater sense of resilience. All in all, I wouldn’t be able to say any bad words about this place. The country is beautiful and full of adventure, while the people are kind and jovial. Though I studied International Politics in college, and though I was sure that I wanted to move to the MENA region, there was always a part of me that did not know if I could do it. Thankfully, the MENAR Fellowship, ClubAnglais, and Tunisia have allowed me the chance to prove to myself that I can do it. In fact, even though my contract ends in two weeks, you’ll be able to find me here in Tunisia for the foreseeable future!

Fellows' Reflections: Neely Egan

I can hardly believe that six months have already passed in my fellowship in Tunisia. Time has moved so strangely – it feels like I’ve been here forever, but at the same time it doesn’t feel like any time has passed. Adding to this confusion is the difficulty that comes when I try to put my time here into words, because few people at home can picture anything that I’m talking about.

There is one exception – for our last school break, two coworkers and I went on a major road trip all across the south of Tunisia. We covered miles upon miles and ended up seeing it all. It was an amazing trip for many reasons. First of all, it was my first time outside of the greater Tunis region. On our drive across the country I was completely struck by how diverse the geography can be in such a small country. Throughout our drive we went from beach town to olive groves to desert to mountains to oases. At home in Florida, I could drive 8 hours and still be on a beach, so I found even the drive incredible.

Secondly, I camped in the desert, rode a camel, and got to see the set of Luke Skywalker’s home planet: Tatooine. If you know me at all, you know that all three of these truly touristic activities would make me jump for joy. I love camping, but camping in the desert was something entirely different. This may seem funny to say, but you’ve never experienced true silence until you’re in the middle of the desert … unless you’re riding a camel, and then they can make funny noises. I certainly wobbled when I was on that hump, but I got to cross it off my bucket list! I also embraced my inner nerd when I saw the Star Wars set. It felt so funny to see something so familiar in the middle of the desert. Even though I was actually farther from home than I am in Tunis, while I was on that set, I was, for a moment, back on my family room couch watching George Lucas’ movies with my family, which leads nicely to the last reason I loved this trip.

My trip was something that my friends and family back home could experience (somewhat) with me. I wish that all of my favorite people from home could come visit me here in Tunisia, but of course that is a bit hard this year, given travel restrictions. So, I’ve just had to bring Tunisia to them instead, which funnily enough came most easily through George Lucas and camels. For them, these moments of true tourism were easier to picture than normal life like my day-to-day interactions with my homeni (Tunisian for “neighborhood friends”). So for now, I’ll stay in my galaxy far, far away and try to convince people to move here, instead of New York or Washington, DC.

Fellows' Reflections: Neely Egan

It’s hard to believe that 3 months ago, I was boarding an international flight to come to a country where I knew no one… during a global pandemic. This opening line maybe lends a bit too much drama to my American departure and my Tunisian arrival. During my travel here, I printed out three documents to present along my way: my negative PCR test, a letter of sponsorship from ClubAnglais, and a hotel voucher that proved I would quarantine in a hotel upon my arrival in Tunis. These three items meant I had a relatively stress-free journey here to Tunisia. I won’t bore you with musings from my two week quarantine period (one week at a government-approved hotel and one week at home), so instead I’ll get to the good stuff.

“The good stuff” includes fabulous friends, delicious food, great students, afternoons of exploration, and, well, normalcy. In other words, I’m running out of “firsts.” I have an ongoing joke with one of my good friends and colleagues. Whenever I’m doing something for the first time in Tunisia, we giggle and say, “awwwww, your first time _____!” We’ve applied it everything: from quotidian things like eating a keftaji sandwich to bigger moments like traveling to different cities. When I arrived at the end of August, my life was full of my firsts in Tunisia. Now three months in, I don’t have as many firsts. The trade-off, thankfully, is that Tunis is becoming more and more of a home. My life is slipping into normalcy. That’s not to mean I’m bored or I’ve stopped trying new things, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t randomly struck by the awe I feel to be here.

Now, instead of firsts, I’m beginning to build an intimacy with my new home. People in my neighborhood know me and I know them; I practice my Arabic with the tabouna (a kind of Tunisian bread) vendor; I can go on runs and never get lost; I can make meal and café recommendations to new expat arrivals. Of course there is still so much that I don’t know and still so much I haven’t seen (COVID certainly doesn’t help in this area), but I do find a thrill in reporting that things are becoming prosaic here in Tunis. I love my friends, my students are good (at least 80% percent of the time!), and I feel, simply, at home.

Fellows' Reflections: Jessica Murphy

Avenue Habib Bourgiba, the primary pedestrian street in downtown Tunis, was packed with children and adults of all ages. Strings of Tunisian flags, with their distinctive bright red color, had been strung between light poles and strewn throughout the crowd. People cried and cheered and danced as they held their own personal flags. Others wore a chechiya, a traditional hat, beaming with pride for their country. Cars honked, music blared, and streetlights glimmered. At one point, I heard a cry from above; looking up, I noticed a man crouching among the branches of a tree, cheering and dancing to the beat. Strangers kissed each other on the cheek, offering blessings for their families and friends. Tunisia had just elected President Kaïs Saïed and had taken to the streets to celebrate. The hope in the air was palpable.

I stumbled upon this celebration accidentally; though I knew it was the day of the election and eagerly anticipated the results, I had no idea they would be received with such fanfare. It was only October and it was the second of three elections I would witness within my first few months in Tunis. In the weeks leading up to the election, I had participated in and witnessed countless conversations with colleagues, friends, and strangers about their opinions and predictions. Coming from a country where electoral politics are reminiscent of a competitive sport, I am accustomed to discussing politics in public spaces. To me, and, seemingly, to others around me, these interactions felt natural, even normal. I had to remind myself that Tunisia’s democracy is still fairly young. Of the country’s sixty-plus years of independence, less than ten have passed since the 2011 revolution that ousted the country’s former dictator. The newest version of the constitution was enshrined in 2014; this past election cycle fell on the constitution’s five-year benchmark. As my friends and I pushed our way through the crowd at this impromptu, city-wide results party, it dawned on me that we were witnessing history.

Since arriving in Tunis this past August, I’ve noticed other visible signs of democracy. The weekend before the election, while driving into Tunis from a nearby town, I saw young volunteers passing out campaign flyers for various candidates at traffic stops along the highway. It was raining, and traffic was at a standstill, so by the time our car passed the intersection we had accumulated a handful of promotional material. As I struggled to read aloud campaign promises, trying to decipher the Arabic text, I realized that the men and women standing in the rain, shoving paper after paper through car windows, were children or teenagers at the time of the revolution. In their lifetime, the country had changed so much, and — as people often remind me — it is still in the process of changing.

At l’École Canadienne de Tunis, I work at the secondary school, and as an English teacher I often have the opportunity to decide on topics of conversation. As a self-proclaimed political enthusiast, I often encourage students to share their own opinions and perspectives on current events — particularly because last trimester was replete with election after election. Mixed English levels notwithstanding (it is most students' third language, after Arabic and French) we had some fascinating discussions. In one class, a student proclaimed that the revolution was bad for Tunisia, and that Ben Ali was better than any of the candidates this year. In response, another student disagreed; many of the consequences of the Ben Ali regime were hidden, she said, primarily impacting marginalized groups. In more advanced classes, we read articles profiling each of the candidates, analyzing the strengths and weaknesses of each platform.

I feel lucky to have exchanged thoughts and opinions with a wide range of people outside of the classroom as well, each person with his or her own particular perspective. One Tunisian friend told me she decided not to vote, claiming that both candidates were equally dangerous or potentially harmful for the future of the country. A coworker, fearing Saïed’s alleged conservatism, told me he opted for the other finalist, former businessman and media mogul Nabil Karoui. My neighbor at the time, convinced that Saïed’s lack of experience in politics was an asset, chose to vote for the former constitutional law professor and even volunteer for his campaign.

The morning after the election, the optimistic spirit from the previous evening remained, even as municipal employees gradually scratched off the campaign posters located at the designated spot in each neighborhood. The city buzzed with nervous energy as voters walked around with ink-covered forefingers, marking that they had participated in the election (ostensibly to prevent voter fraud). Some were gleeful, thrilled by the election results, while others were somber, worried about the future of the country. Regardless of individual opinion, there were murmurs of hope and uncertainty, and I am glad to have shared this moment of anticipation for the future of Tunisia.

Fellows' Reflections: Kirsten Mullin

“Let’s go to Malaysia when this year is done,'' my roommate and MENAR co-fellow Angela said to me one late night in our apartment.

“Why Malaysia?”

“It’s about as far away from Tunisia as you can get!”

Angela, our other roommate, and I had this conversation while we were drowning in advertisements searching for a new apartment. About a week before, I was wheezing so intensely at work that I could feel my chest vibrating. I left work in a hurry and went to the nearest English-speaking doctor I could find. When I finally got there, she told me in no uncertain terms that I had to move out of my apartment, because the recently discovered mold growth was having a serious impact on my health.

The apartment search was not going well, and a strained relationship with our landlord added another layer of stress. During the three weeks of our apartment search, I was sleeping on a couch in our common room to limit exposure to the mold in my own room, while going to viewings after work and dealing with the normal daily stress of living in a foreign country.

By the end of December, I was ready to go home to New York. The week before my Friday flight home for Christmas, I was working extra hours to accommodate for parent-teacher conferences, battling a mixture of bronchitis and a sinus infection, and was in the process of moving to our new apartment. When Thursday finally came, all I wanted to do was go home, watch a movie, and pack — but I realized I had forgotten to buy Christmas gifts for my family.

All day, I dragged my feet on whether or not I was going to go into the medina to buy presents. Finally, when the bell rang at 3:30 pm to signal the end of my class, I decided to go. Twenty minutes later, I found myself standing at the entrance to the medina, making a mental list of all of the things I needed to buy.

Once inside the medina, I navigated the shop-lined alleyways to go to my favorite shopkeeper, Moncef. When I saw him, he greeted me with an enthusiastic “3sslema binti!” (hello my daughter). For the next twenty minutes, I stood in his shop, surrounded by the beautiful metalwork made by him and his father, and talked about family, adjusting to life in Tunisia, and the upcoming holidays. By the end, I walked out with two handmade metal plates, upon which he had engraved special notes for my family.

On my way out of the medina, with all of my gifts in hand, I ran into one of the former security guards at ECT. During my first few days at the school, he had helped me find taxis, organized rides home with friends, and just generally ensured that I was taken care of. I missed his presence outside the school everyday and was ecstatic to see him.

We talked for a bit, and I learned that he had recently started working as a security guard outside of a popular hotel in Tunis. After a couple of minutes, he invited me to sit down at the hotel’s cafe for a coffee. Then, the boss of the hotel came over with a piping hot coffee, and told me that his daughter goes to ECT. We chatted for a little and when I left, he told me that I am always welcome to come and sit down for a coffee at the hotel.

In the few weeks leading up to holiday break, Tunis did not feel like home for me. I longed for a break, stability, and most importantly, a mold-free living situation. However, leaving the medina on the day before my departure, I felt an overwhelming sense of belonging and contentedness. On my way home, I reflected on all of the small ways that I have been made to feel at home in Tunis — from the old man I say hi to every day on my way to work, to roommates that did not hesitate to move apartments with me.

If there is one thing I’ve learned so far in Tunis, it is this: The path to feeling at home in a new place is not linear, but rather is paved with small, inexplicable moments of belonging. Although I am still grateful for the opportunity to go back to New York for Christmas, I cannot wait to return to my home in Tunis and continue to have those moments.

Fellows' Reflections: Angela Pham

I met Sayeda while sitting on a bench overlooking the Mediterranean. It was a Tuesday, the last day of my weekly long weekend, and I had spent the morning cleaning and grocery shopping at the nearby farmer’s market. The day was perfect; I had recently started teaching, the summer heat and humidity had subsided, and a cool sea breeze encouraged loungers and working people alike to slow down in the area overlooking Marsa beach, called the corniche. I was eating fresh figs when a woman passing by asked if she could sit on the bench next to me. We quickly started a conversation and she patiently worked with my halting Arabic to communicate. Within thirty minutes, I had a tutor to teach me Tunisian Arabic.

A week later, I’d had my first language lesson with her and was stopping by to drop off the Vicks VapoRub she had loaned me for my cold. I expected to hand it over and leave, but she of course she asked if I would stay for tea. It was mid-afternoon, and I was about to experience a new layer of Tunisian daily rhythm and hospitality. She ushered me in, sat me on the couch, and rustled in the kitchen. She emerged soon, but empty handed. Maybe I had misunderstood about the tea? She spoke a stream of Arabic, of which I understood perhaps 50%, and I came to understand that I was supposed to lay down and rest a little before tea. She lay down on the couch adjacent to me and then looked up to check if I was laying down. I was leaning against the cushions and she immediately urged me to get horizontal. I slid further down the cushion, only to have her prod me again. Finally I laid down properly, blanket and all, and started drifting off to sleep. The call to prayer woke us both up twenty minutes later, and then she got up, prayed, and said something about tea again. The next thing I knew, she was standing by the door with her purse, looking at me expectantly. What in the world are we doing? I wondered, and followed her out the door.

The Tunisian accent combined with my out-of-practice Arabic brain makes situations like this fairly frequent, but when we ended up in a nearby park with two tea glasses, a thermos of tea, lemon slices, and a Tupperware of cookies, I finally understood what she meant by na3ml jo, which I mentally translated as “make an atmosphere,” in the jneena (something I would normally call hadiqa, or “park”). The surprise picnic with my new language tutor was a sweet experience that epitomized several of the things I fell in love with quickly upon arriving in the suburban beach town of La Marsa, Tunisia.

Fellows' Reflections: Hannah Byrd

A young boy on a bicycle rode alongside our car. “There are more that way!” he shouted through the open window, gesturing across the street. He lives in the Erriadh neighborhood in Djerba, a small island off the coast of Tunisia. This neighborhood was selected as the location of Djerbahood, an open air museum established in June 2014. Over one hundred artists representing thirty nationalities painted murals on walls throughout the neighborhood. The result is delightful. Diverse styles and cultures swirl over white and brick walls, greeting visitors at every turn.

I thought about what it meant for that young boy to grow up with these beautiful paintings decorating his world. In our brief interaction, I saw how he appointed himself as a guide. I imagined much of his summer break spent riding around on his bike under the intense Mediterranean sun, interacting with strangers from all over the world who have come to see his neighborhood.

I visited Djerba at the end of my fellowship year in Tunisia. After saying goodbye to my students at ClubAnglais, I piled in a car early on a Monday morning at the end of June with three of my closest friends in Tunisia. On the long car ride there, I alternated between sleeping and monitoring the playlist, trying to enjoy this time with my friends and ignoring my impending departure.

Djerbahood, however, demanded my attention and reflection. This neighborhood is a living testament to the beauty of cross-cultural exchange. Artistic styles from around the world each tell a different story, yet enrich the overall message of the project. When people from different backgrounds come together and share experiences and customs, a similar phenomenon happens: our perspective and empathy grows. Fortunately, cross-cultural exchange is not limited to living abroad, although it is a fantastic way to experience it. It happens in coffee shops, classrooms, over lunch: anywhere people from different backgrounds gather and share their stories. The simple act of listening and seeking to understand can create profound change.

Now that I am back in the United States, I hope to follow the example of the boy on the bike. I want to be hospitable and welcoming to newcomers and embrace encounters with those different from me. We have a lot to learn from one another, if we just take a moment to engage.

Fellows' Reflections: Hannah Byrd

I have been fortunate to have Tasnime work as my teaching assistant for the after school program I teach for ClubAnglais at the Canadian School of Tunis for four months. She graciously agreed to share her perspective on Tunisia for this blog.

Q: Thank you, Tasnime, for agreeing to share your perspective on Tunisia with us! Can you give a little background as to who you are?

A: My name is Tasnime Hamdi and I am 22 years old. I’m a medical student at the Medicine School of Tunis and I live in Tunis, the capital of Tunisia.

Q: How would you describe Tunisia to someone who had never visited before?

A: Cosmopolitan, traditional, and modern are the first three words to come to mind when I think of how to describe Tunisia to a foreigner.

Tunisia is cosmopolitan because Tunisians are ethnically diverse due to the rich history of Carthaginians, Romans, Turks, Spanish, and Arabs settling in Tunisia among the indigenous peoples called Amazigh. In addition to diverse physical appearances, Tunisia’s history manifests itself in our language. The Tunisian dialect is not just Arabic but includes terms from the languages of all the groups that have settled here. The result is a beautiful, mixed language with a North African spirit.

Tunisia is traditional because we continue to practice Tunisian customs in our daily life. This includes eating traditional Tunisian food, warmly greeting our friends and family with kisses, and using old proverbs in our speech. Tunisia is modern because our country has done a lot to advance women’s rights and expand women’s power in society. There are many laws that ensure equality between men and women and protect women from all types of violence and harassment. Tunisia is also the only Muslim-majority country that bans polygamy. Apart from legal protections, Tunisian women are leaders in many fields like medicine and politics. Tunisia actually has more female than male college graduates.

Q: Many people in the United States know Tunisia as the only country to successfully democratize after the Arab Spring. Are you optimistic for Tunisia’s future as a democracy? What challenges do you think Tunisia still faces to thrive as a democracy?

A: I am very optimistic for Tunisia's future as a democracy because there are many Tunisians devoted to this cause. Corruption and terrorism, however, threaten Tunisia’s future as a democracy. Corruption in all forms is a huge threat not only to democracy but also our economic and social prosperity. Our military forces have done a lot to control the threat of terrorism, but since terrorist attacks in the past were often in retaliation to elections or laws, the threat can slow political progress.

Q: In your opinion, what are Tunisia’s greatest strengths as a country?

A: I believe that Tunisia’s greatest strength is its youth. Tunisians under 30 years old account for more than 60% of all citizens. They are full of energy and potential. They are greatly equipped to make Tunisia a more advanced country. Added to that, Tunisia has an advantageous geographical location, rich history, fertile land, and brainpower. If employed properly, these strengths have the power to advance Tunisia.

Q: As a medical student, can you speak a little about Tunisia’s healthcare system? What are one or two reforms you would like to see?

A: The good thing about the healthcare system in Tunisia is that it's public and almost free for all citizens. However, many reforms are needed. The quality of medical care is insufficient due to the Ministry of Health’s limited budget. Doctors and medical staff work in poor conditions and lack proper equipment. They are overburdened with patients which affects their quality of care. Medical students and residents are also fighting for reforms in the education system.

Q: Just for fun, what is your favorite Tunisian food?

My favorite Tunisian food is definitely mlewi. It is is a Tunisian bread. I think that mlewi with harissa and tuna is the manifestation of heaven in food form.

Thank you, Tasnime!

Fellows' Reflections: Hannah Byrd

As my airplane descended into Tunis in late August, I looked out my window and saw a white sailboat skimming through bright blue water. This first sign of life in my new home sparked the realization that I would have to find my place here in a country with distinct customs and language. In the almost two months since I have lived here, every day has felt like a test of whether I am succeeding at this. Like most things in life, the path to belonging has not been linear. There are days when I walk home from work at sunset when the pink sky frames the white houses and I feel an enormous sense of contentment. I feel cared for by my neighbors when I buy bread from the bakery near my apartment and the women owners ask how I am. I feel the joy of sharing life with others during moments of laughter at lunches with my co-workers over something one of our students did that day.

That being said, there have also been times when I have felt lost living here. I speak Modern Standard Arabic, but the Tunisian dialect is different. The phrases “Mora okhra?” meaning “Can you repeat that?” or “La afHam” meaning “I do not understand” have left my lips too often to count. An incident with FedEx challenged my ability to live in a different context. A package my mom sent from the U.S. with prescription medication was detained at the shipping facility for a seemingly growing list of reasons.

When I consider these challenges, though, I see clearly how I have been helped over and over again. The taxi drivers and shop owners who I give my apologies to for not speaking the dialect are always kind and persistent to communicate with me. My American and Tunisian co-workers helped me solve my issues with FedEx, translating over speaker phone for me, finding medication to act as a substitute, and asking a doctor to write a prescription. The issue was finally resolved thanks to my mom’s call to the company’s customer service, after which my package was delivered in full with no questions or cost. This is an excellent reminder of the support from my family and friends at home for which I am grateful.

I think often of my favorite poem here, Wild Geese by Mary Oliver. It has been a source of comfort since high school, but my experiences in Tunisia bring it even closer to my heart. Nearing the end of the poem, Oliver reminds the reader that “the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting — over and over announcing your place in the family of things.” The immense challenges life can bring in a new country are no match for the capacity of human connection. The place I inhabit in Tunisia I owe largely to the myriad of people who have made it for me through their deeds and words. I trust these relationships will continue to create a sense of home as I grow more acquainted with Tunisia.