Thanksgiving, redefined

I had not expected much out of a Thanksgiving in Paris.  And then one of my friends I made here in Paris, invited me to hers.

The place was decadent.  Not in the overwhelming white linen table cloths, five or more pieces of silverware kind of way.  But in the way where every candlestick somehow has charm.  The ceilings were painted, like Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel.  And the whole room was vast but somehow quiet, and warm.  It was a welcome reprieve from the bitter Parisian winds and I took my place at this long table full of family members I did not know, but who welcomed me like an old friend.

Bottles of wine made their way around the table, and deep red wine glowed cherry inside my goblet.  For my entrée, I ordered escargot followed by duck topped off by crème brulee.  Thanksgiving redefined, as one of the girls on my program said.  It was sumptuous and wonderful and I felt at home especially when the girl's mother assuaged my confidence, now shaken, of my upcoming job hunt, as I'll be graduating soon.  Pay it forward? I hope one day I can one day be in a position where I can help the next nervous senior as others have helped me.  And they have helped me.  And I am infinitely thankful for that.

So this Thanksgiving I have to be thankful for new friends, their families, for brilliant and talented Parisian cooks, like artists, and for my own family and friends waiting for me back home.  Family comes first, and being abroad has made me realize that.  I'm thankful that I'll be home soon.

Ana bahib Tunis barsha barsha

I touch down onto the tarmac wearing a scarf, hooded winter coat, and underneath it all a thick woven sweater. Now I'm hot. I think about all of the cold weather clothes that I packed with me and know I'm an idiot. I'm in Tunisia for christ's sake. I breathe in and can taste Africa on my lips.

Tunis smells like dust and sunshine and salt, like the sea. The breezes that blow through the trees carry with them tendrils of cigarette smoke and something much sweeter, shisha. I can hear the clanking of tongs not so far off even though the chairs I'm sitting in are much more comfortable than the Cairo ahua-style plastic seats that have become so familiar to me. Interlaced in this melee is also a soft murmur that flutters through everything. The language is complex at first, being a rapid-fire hybrid of Arabic and French, the two languages that I know separately, but never together. Never together. The words become easier to tear apart as time goes on, and the part of my brain that has worked so hard to compartmentalize languages by Wednesday has dissolved, like a rubber band released. I can now type in English what the members of these meetings are saying in French and sometimes Arabic at a nearly fluid rate and I feel good and proud and as if I have actually earned my living wage.

I met the most fascinating people while in Tunisia - members of the Finance Ministries, members of the Prime Minister's cabinet, internationals working at the World Bank and the IFC and prominent consulting firms like ECOPA, other Tunisians dealing with the promotion of foreign direct investment, brilliant minds dealing with the intricacies of trade... I have never learned more, nor have I ever had to so severely test my own limited knowledge - built from the haphazard scraps of first hand experiences crudely strung together by an-almost university degree. O what life has given me.

The woman who has hired me and who has taken the risk of bringing me along to Tunis, talks to me on our second to last evening about God. She tells me the story of her life, from being raised in a Soviet-occupied Armenia to this vengefully successful reality in which she lives now. And it is vengeful, and beautiful, and twisted and yes, blessed beyond belief.

I feel that I have lived seventeen lifetimes in the span of my 21 years and so many times my mother and father's friends congratulate me on being so lucky. And I've never been one for blind belief and I've never been one to really put stock in serendipity, but as I'm standing on the edge of a precipice staring out at the Mediterranean with the cobalt blue doors framed by stark while stucco-ed walls of Sidi buSaid behind me, I know that it has to be just a little more than luck guiding me.

Tunis Awaits

I'm on a plane to Tunisia.  Nervous jitters keep me suspended between a fine line between calm and chaos.  I’m missing a week of school to interpret for a woman who works for the OECD.  My boyfriend came this past weekend to Paris to visit me.  It’s been a whirlwind.  I miss him.  I’m excited for the future.  Wish I could remain suspended in the past.  Of all the things I’ve ever done this feels of the most important.  Something that could help me get a job after I graduate.  Aside from drowning and cockroaches, being unemployed is my third biggest fear.  This is the transition between student and real person.  I just signed my first real person professional contract.  I’ll be making money doing work that I anticipate actually being challenging.  The trip is paid for.  It feels surreal that this opportunity fell in my lap, like being thrust abruptly into a dream.

I’m in Tunisia.  It’s different than any other Arab country I’ve seen.  The sidewalks are dusty.  The buildings carry remnants of old French architecture – gothic spires rising up into the sunset, gargoyles casting monstrous shadows across the concrete.  Some of them are unfinished apartments, and I am reminded vividly of flying down Ring Road towards Maadi where unfinished buildings line both sides of the street.  Tunis is small.  Walking through the streets for 45 minutes near my hotel I’ve seen two of the dozen or so tourist attractions already.  One of them is a beautiful church, which is interesting.  The taxi driver I spoke to earlier said that there were no Christians in Tunisia.  Also, the town shuts down on Sundays.  Interestingly enough, the weekend is on Saturday and Sunday of every week as opposed to the Friday and Saturday schedule of most other Arab countries.

Chairs and tables line the sidewalks of the main roads – Cairo style – but these chairs are wicker instead of plastic and the tables have tablecloths.  Also there are tourists scattered haphazardly amongst a sea of Tunisians but the Tunisians aren’t staring (mostly), and some of the foreign girls are even wearing tank tops.  This is all new to me.  The language that I’ve spent years and classes and what feels like lifetimes learning is suddenly put to waste.  I can barely make out the accent and they can barely understand my Egyptian.  Everything is far easier in French though it sounds so out of place, cutting through the coarseness with cloying delicacy. 

I’m curious about this town. I'm excited for what awaits me. Translating will be easier said than done, especially when on a subject with which I have limited familiarity. But the challenge is half the fun, isn't it? I'm excited, and ready for tomorrow and looking ahead to the future, thankful that my past has been so shamelessly blessed. Keep on moving, like the night train rocketing towards the horizon and keep your thumb outstretched like an antenna to the stars. The work day starts at 9 tomorrow. Ready or not, Tunis awaits.