It was time to leave Tunis. We checked out of the hotel as our driver waited. The receptionist addressed us when we handed over our room keys. “When you go home,” she implored “tell people our country is safe!” When I first heard her say these words I knew they would be the end of my blog post about Tunisia. We’d had an amazing experience.
The situation deteriorated the day after we’d left. Thousands protested in the streets. The prime minister resigned.
We were in Tunisia as the guests of my friend’s family. Upon arrival they made sure we had an itinerary planned. They also saw to it that we were set up with a car and driver.
The first day we set out to see the ruins of Carthage, which is spread out through modern day Tunis. The second involved a long car trip to the ancient city of Dougga. Then onward to the bi-level town of Bulla. On the third, we went to El Jem. We all agreed that being able to walk the various levels of the amphitheater unrestricted made the experience superior to visiting the Coliseum. During the entire trip our driver, Ali, saw to it that we got admitted to archaeological sites without a problem. He made sure that we sample the local flavors of each town, market and roadside fruit stand. And he made very sure that we never had any trouble from street irritants. Even on the warmest of days he never took off his heavy trench coat. We began to wonder if he was packing.
On the way back from El Jem, Ali got a phone call. He sounded agitated; we realized something was up. Finally, my mother asked in French if there was a problem. He replied that one of their opposition leaders had just been shot by extremists.iThat evening we took dinner in our hosts’ home. They were unsure about what the immediate future would hold. “We are in transition” my friend’s father opined.
Indeed, conditions in Tunis seem to have worsened since the dawn of the Arab Spring. My family inquired about the trash in the streets, and the barbed wire near the old city. We were told it had become a fact of life since the revolution. We also asked about our driver. It turned out he knew my friend’s father. He didn’t have a gun. Yet, he’d been specially instructed to protect us.
The following day was our last in Tunisia. My friend’s father took us on a tour of the Marsa. He seemed cordial as we ate at his favorite restaurants and toured his friends’ shops . But, the atmosphere was tense. Our driver seemed truly on edge for the first time. He parked below ground as we arrived. At the end of the tour our driver and host’s father had an animated discussion. Then, we were driven directly to the seaport where we’d planned to depart late that evening. While the protests in Tunis broke out, we visited Greek ruins in Sicily. Had we been in Tunisia on that day, I’m sure we would have been protected by our host family.
Can I honor the request of the hotel receptionist? Made even after the assassination?
I’m home. I’d like to say that I can.
But I can’t.
