The Village of Maztouria (Tunisia)

Said's family is delighted to see me. Having lavished kisses on my cheeks, Said's mother Aida takes me into the familiar courtyard where I used to spend hours, back in 2006, enjoying the family's conversations, songs, dances and laughter, interrupted occasionally by offers of nana'a (mint) tea, food and questions about my family.

This time, though, I am invited to a small bedroom that, like most other rooms, is whitewashed and windowless. A piece of cloth hangs over the doorway to ward off the intrusion of noxious insects as well as the unbearable summer heat--the "Tunisian sauna" as Aida laughingly calls. Inside, clean synthetic and handwoven mats cover the floor, while oversized Arabesque pillows lean cozily against the bright walls.

Said's 70-year-old father, Ali, a short but energetic man who has worked hard his entire life, summons me to lie down on a light mattress and pillow specially prepared for me. The family comes to greet me.

The Znaitis are a rather large family by Taiwanese standards. Three generations and 13 people live under the same roof, although Said has moved to Djerba for work to help support the family. Hedi, the eldest son, and his wife Riim have four children: Kawla (10), Hamadi (8) and Uiselle (1) are familiar to me. But I am pleasantly surprised to find that the Znaitis have had a new addition to the family: a 2-month-old toddler named Yusuf.

Without warning, in less than 20 minutes after my arrival, Said's sister Zena (36) brings me an omelet and a baguette, disregarding my protestation that I have already eaten. Momma Aida and Zena are especially chatty and inquisitive. Aida talks to me in a jovial voice accompanied by a huge smile and big, welcoming gestures. And though her Arabic is incomprehensible to me, her kindness and facial expression require no translation.

Loss

It has finally sunk in. Despite the reflections of the day past, I still cannot get over much of the sorrow I held deep in my chest. I tried to maintain a smiling countenance and composure, but this was quickly overshadowed by the barrage of put-downs I continued to face. Sometimes I wonder how even trivial words can have such a monumental impact on a person's aura. And when you feel being deliberately discriminated against and ignored, while someone else you respect gets all the praises and attention, it makes life weightier and harder.

Last night, a thought constantly entered my mind. "What is the meaning of being ALIVE?" If being alive means being disappointed, unfulfilled, unaccomplished, attacked, ignored, deprived, then what is it that keeps a person holding onto this thing called "life"? And then I realised most of the actions I had taken for the past 5 years, including the decisions to study at Oxford and travel abroad, were meant to address this lingering question. But these were not, by any means, solutions to the problem. Rather than face them, I merely put off the troubles so that they have intensified to such an extent that I can no longer cope with.

The countless people I met during my travel were on my mind, too. Sayeh, the beautiful and generous Persian woman, who had given me more than I could offer. Yet in her true life, she faces numerous obstacles, perhaps worsened by the fact that many young people in Iran have to constantly fight for basic freedoms. And then Said, the man who looks too mature for his age, who can be a kind brother and a realist at the same time, being forced by circumstances to become independent. Or Mohammad, the hospitable engineer and shop owner who has accomplished many things on his own, including a stunningly spacious and atmospheric home. And yet he has a void in his heart as well. Despite being totally marriageable and financially independent, he finds it hard to seek a woman he loves...Or Miss Inour, 21, a bright, philosophical Iraqi woman refuged in Damascus who aspires to study at Beirut. She has lost so much at a tender age, having to work hard as a career woman unlike many of her counterparts. And though religion and the headscarf have empowered her, Inour continues to face battles like many Iraqi refugees who have survived the devastation of their homeland.

I, myself, have not had to face such harsh realities. And yet it is still hard to get over the emotional battles within. Dignity, perhaps considered by some as an abstraction that can be easily given away for more practical matters, is what I have wanted. And yet the quest for dignity can often be in conflict with your other aspirations. This is precisely what I have felt recently. I had to face a trade-off between my job and my dignity. In the end, I lost both and was physically and mentally exhausted. I stayed in my bed for two full days and in a hospital bed for 3 days.

And then the events of the past two days forced me into a dilemma. Should I defend myself, with the possible trade-off of losing two friendships? The end result turned out to be much the same as the events of the previous month. I lost both.

Outlet

I remember keeping a diary of the ups and downs of a teenager while growing up in the U.S. Many of my entries recorded my frustrations. I recall being chronically unhappy, but in retrospect it was good that I had related my blues to someone I could trust wholeheartedly--my diary. Not only did it give me an outlet, it also gave me something to reflect on, and I had probably learned a few lessons from this whole experience. After all, disappointments and failures are a part of life, and I have to realize this early on and learn from them.

Lately, I haven't been very happy. In fact, I am not satisfied with how I live my life. And when I recall the emaciated southern Sudanese man who held onto the crowded army truck despite being stranded in the flooded Abyieh region (a refugee camp)--a man who had lost so much and looked too frail to survive--I feel ashamed of myself. He appeared weak, and yet his determination to go beyond the trials and tribulations of a refugee and live to his life's end revealed an impressive inner strength.

I have many things that he didn't--I have never had to lose a loved one because of war; I have never had to leave my home and forgo the daily comforts that I once took granted; I have never had to live a day with fear, not knowing how I will cope come next day. I have so many possessions that more than a third of the world's children and even adults will probably never get to have because of developments totally beyond their control. I have been blessed with a good education. I have been blessed to have been able to visit so many countries at the age of 25, and to have studied in 3 different continents, not having to work my ass off like Said, Niyazi, Inour and in the end only earning enough to get by.

And when I think of all this, I realise how foolish I have been today. What little disappointments I felt this day cannot compare with those faced by Palestinians, Sudanese, Lebanese, Egyptians, Ethiopians, Somalis, Yemenis, Iranians, Pakistanis, Indians, Syrians, Libyans, Tunisians, Moroccans, Djiboutians, Iraqis, Afghans, on a daily basis.

Looking back, I see how pointless my anger and sadness have been. Just because my efforts and hard work are regarded as worthless or trivial by others, doesn't mean I have to give up, be resentful and stay put. To do so would only prove to others that I do not have what it takes to be respected and applauded. I need to demonstrate to others that I, too, can accomplish something beyond the college and master's degrees from Berkeley and Oxford.

So, I will shut up for now, and will look to tomorrow with the same passion and excitement I felt when I woke up.

Al-Hamdulilah

Reunion (Tunisia)

Tataouine had changed quite a bit in less than 2 years. Many avenues and housing were being developed as the pickup sped through roads that were now decorated with grandiose--though rather gaudy--ornaments like white cement statues and vases. A vast expanse of sand, hills and desert oases soon came into view, along with exotic, eco-friendly houses that were made of honey-infused clay. Occasionally, women adorned with brightly coloured red, blue or green flowing robes ebbed and flowed in the distance.

The lad who had invited me for an afternoon tea got off from the pickup, reminding the foreign guest to visit him the next day. In a minute, the pickup stopped abruptly in front of a humble adobe graced with two rusted iron gates. The kind interloper rushed indoors; an elderly man in a Muslim prayer cap and a woman adorned with a patterned red dress, silver bracelets and necklaces ran out to greet the Taiwanese visitor.

The man hugged me tightly to his heart; the woman kissed me five times on the cheeks, as if I were a long-lost son that had returned for a family reunion. I was touched, not believing this was the same family that I had stayed with for 3 unforgettable days nearly 2 years ago. And while the little Arabic I picked up was inadequate for the occasion, it did not seem to matter.

Emotions transcended social and language boundaries.

The Land of Star Wars (Tunisia)

I had read on Thorn Tree that at least 3 independent travellers had secured 7-day transit visas at an obscure Libyan consulate in the suburbs of Tunis. As I found out later, this was the only consulate in the entire Tunisia and possibly the only place in the world where one could apply for the special permit to enter Libya as a backpacker. The vast majority of travellers have to join expensive tour groups, paying at least $200/day, for the privilege of visiting Libya's impressive archaeological wonders. Independent traveling in the Jamahiriya is absolutely discouraged under official policy. As a Taiwanese American traveller, I knew for certain that my U.S. passport would not work. So I had to take chances on my Taiwanese passport, hoping the Libyans would not be too friendly with the Chinese as to deny my entry.

I crossed my fingers. Since the visa would take a week to process, I decided to venture south to Maztouria where my Tunisian friend Said's family resided, before returning to Tunis to retrieve my passport that would, hopefully, have obtained the desired permit.

Maztouria is a tiny, traditional Berber village with a population of 3,500 in the outskirts of Tataouine. In March 2006 I was lucky enough to be invited to stay at Said's home for 3 days and 2 nights. We didn't know each other beforehand; Said, 22, simply wanted to show me a part of his village life with typical Berber hospitality. This time around, Said told me to head straight to Maztouria, to which he would try to find a way to head home from Djerba where he was working.

I rang Said's sister when I arrived in the scorching hot Tataouine, a 40 degrees+"sauna" as Said's friendly sisters and mother laughingly described. I had forgotten about our language barriers: I could not speak Arabic and Said's sister could not understand French. But somehow this didn't matter. The public phone vendor quickly intervened to act as my interpreter, and kindly boarded a shared pickup-taxi to take me to Maztouria, located 10km from downtown Tataouine. En route, a young villager told me repeatedly that I must have a cup of mint tea with his family.

I was extremely happy to have come upon the familiar Berber hospitality that I fondly remembered from my last visit. And I was dying to see Said's big family.

A Year Ago...in Libya

After finishing my Politics master's at Oxford in June 2007, I began a 5-month journey to North Africa, Middle East and East Africa treading mostly land and sea routes. I had planned this major trip for at least half a year and had intended to visit less-frequented countries especially those that were, at least in popular minds, "conflict zones." Many people had asked why I was traveling solo to these "dangerous lands." For me this was a journey of discovery--to get a first-hand glimpse into what it means to live in a deprived environment and to understand how ordinary people fare behind the traumatic and not so child-friendly stories we read on BBC, CNN or Al Jazeera. I also thought that traveling for an extended period to unstable polities would build on my political science training, which was getting a little abstract and methodological for real world applications.

To put it short, I wanted to see the normality behind the wars and suffering that we take for granted. The reality is of course much more complicated, mentally draining and mind-boggling, as I will relate to in my later entries.

Despite much planning, research and questioning on Lonely Planet's Thorn Tree forum, my journey was filled with uncertainties from the start. Budgeting time and money for such a long trip was difficult, as was figuring out the safest and most efficient routes to cross 2 continents and 13 countries. But the biggest worry was getting the proper visas to set foot on so-called pariah states: Libya, Sudan, and Syria. Visiting Israel and the Palestinian territories was also problematic, as an entry/exit stamp from the Jewish state would get me shunned by most Arab countries. Add to this were complications on my Taiwanese nationality, which many governments either downright refuse to honour (e.g. Lebanon, Pakistan, Tunisia) or hold unpredictable policies towards. My trip, in fact, underwent several changes to account for the dizzying array of possibilities.

Eventually, I narrowed down to 2 overland routes to end in my home country Taiwan: 1) Turkey, Syria, Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, Egypt, Sudan, Ethiopia, Djibouti, Yemen, Oman, India, Singapore; 2) Tunisia, Libya, Egypt, Jordan, Syria, Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, Egypt, Sudan, Ethiopia, Djibouti, Yemen, Oman, India, Singapore. The two paths were by and large similar with the exception of the initial legs, and both posed challenges. In the end, I took a gamble and settled for the second route. I wanted to pay a return visit to Said of Maztouria, who was my host during my first trip to Tunisia in 2006. So Tunisia was a logical starting point. Besides, I wanted to visit the rather secretive Libyan Arab Jamahiriya and its famous Roman and Greek ruins. Thus on 20 June, I boarded a British Airline plane departing London for Tunis despite much opposition from my mother.

It marked the end of my studies at Oxford and the inauguration of my overseas adventure. I was very excited.