Good-byes (Tunisia)

For lunch, Zena and Mabrouka teach me how to cook couscous Tunisian style. We laugh as the women, Khawla and I help each other out, peeling and dicing potatoes and bell peppers, mixing in spices, and steaming a mound of wheat granules on top of the stewing vegetable and lamb concoction. The pungent scents of turmeric, cumin and harisa (chili) soon fill the air, as Zena happily opens the lid and proceeds to pour the soup into the couscous.

The national dish is spicy, sweet and filling. In the typical Znaiti fashion, the guest is given the largest portions of the meat served with baguette slices and mint tea. This time around, I have mastered the art of eating with the first three fingers of the right hand: I used the bread to soak up the juices and fold in small pieces of carrots, lamb and peppers.

It is then that I learn more of the family's stories. Papa Ali has worked diligently his entire life; as a youth, he worked in Libya. Later on, he returned to Tunisia and became a farmer and owner of a small grocery shop near their home. Now, at age 70, Papa Ali has achieved most of his goals with the notable exception of one: the hajj pilgrimage to Mecca--the milestone event in a Muslim's life--for which his sons are trying hard to accumulate savings. The women, too, are helping Papa Ali towards the realisation of his lifelong dream: they tend a plot of ancestral land and knit yarns and make bead necklaces on the side. Apart from Said, though, none of them benefits directly from the booming tourist industry that is concentrated in Djerba, Tunis, Kairoan, and Matmata, the latter made famous by Star Wars.

Unfortunately, the urgent needs of the family and rural tradition also mean that Zena and Mabrouka will remain unwed and stay behind to take care of their elderly parents. Wrinkles and sunburns are strikingly visible on 29-year-old Mabrouka and 11-year-old Khawla, despite their relative youth. Yet, even without the luxuries and choices that many of us take for granted, the women of the family seem content, optimistic and never complain. Zena is the jokester and chatterbox in the house; we laugh a lot even though we barely understand each other. (I still remember the time when she picked up my deodorant and smelled it out of curiosity!). Mabrouka is the chef who knows how to make the best couscous, brik, macaroni, and chips. And Khawla is the mature girl who aids the family in every possible way she can, including cleaning, cooking, farming, and running errands; a girl half so mature as Khawla is increasingly difficult to find in today's developed world.

The sons of the family are amazing, too. Selam has a musical talent. He dances and plays Egyptian drums and a Tunisian leather bagpipe that emits a distinct high-pitched sound and tempo that are reminiscent of Tunisian artist Samir Lousiff's masterpieces. Habib, born in the same year as I, is always cheerful and laughing even though he wears scars, sunburns, and bruises from working long hours in construction. And Said, the friend who opened his home to me when I first visited Tunisia, at a time when I felt alone after parting with my travel buddies!

The heart-warming hospitality of the Znaitis has been inspirational to me. So when we wave good-bye, it is one of the most sentimental moments in life. I know that I will probably never see them again. But the memories of their smiles; their dances; their laughters; their food; and their kindness will never fade.