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.
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.
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