15th Ramadan

Yes, I know you are completely loving the constant Ramadan commentary I am giving you... but I really am living this. While last year, I moaned and complained and shut myself up in my house, in my knickers, under my air conditioner, this year I am embracing it all, and learning so much. It's a journey - do try to keep up.

Tuesday night was the Fifteenth night of Ramadan, the mid-way point, halfway through the fast and a very special night indeed. Islamic cultures all around the world celebrate in different ways. While my Cape Malay friend, Jasmin, yearned for Boeber, a milky noodle soup from Cape Town, in the UAE they were busy celebrating, Qarqe'an, (from the Arabic 'Qarqa'ah' meaning 'Click', a reference to when dishes are filled with sweets and treats for children and they all click together).

In Tunisia, it's time to have the biggest, fattest bowl of couscous you can imagine. I didn't actually engage in the couscous eating per say, as I've had quite a bit of couscous lately, but I did go and meet some of the Tunisian colleagues of my friend for a games night of Taboo (in French!), Rummy (with a 14 card hand - 14! in the UK we play with 7) and Monopoly (Tunisian edition). The shisha was smoking, the tea was flowing and my French vocabulary was growing by the minute (Chinese chopsticks? Les Batons!), when they place this beautiful plate of heaven on our table:

Remember how I told you that I love these "ouedhnines el khadhi" - Arabic for ears of the judge). Remember how I told you that they only come out in Ramadan? Did you forget? Remind Yourself.

Well, here they were, glorious and lovely and boys and girls, it was time!

Iftar - The Feast of Champions

If  kilometers were miles, then on Saturday, I ran a marathon. Of course, they're not, so I actually ran 64.3% of a marathon, but it was really hot and really hard and I didn't get a medal, so credit where credit's due, eh?

As you can see from my snazzy-pants watch, it took 3 hours 24 minutes, which is just 9 minutes longer than the Titanic film... I know what I would rather be doing.

At about 24km, I said to Penny (who had joined me for the final 10, to help keep me going), "It hurts, it hurts, I really can't do it"

She was lovely, with all the "yes you can, you're almost there, you're really brilliant" that I needed... but it was actually a big, fat wasp, circling my head that made me tear off like a maniac and actually do the fastest km of the whole run, screaming and waiving my hands.

From the picture you can see that I burnt a whopping 1611 calories. This would not do. This is Africa... Skinny is the new braces. I had to eat.

After a day at the beach, we decided to eat the Mother of All Iftars. No-one had fasted, no one cared. Seven courses, here we come...

[Yes, I was the obnoxious girl taking pictures in a restaurant. Look guys, I did it for you. I wanted to give you an education. Knowledge is power, and I'm all about empowerment. Plus, I did it sneaky-like with the flash off. I'm still not proud of myself]

Here's the menu. You had to pick one thing from each of the little lists, plus you got some starters (which are already on the table), including dates stuffed with butter and walnuts. Traditionally the fast is broken all over the world with dates and water or milk, but dates stuffed with butter... doesn't that sound disgusting...?

Yes. My friend Senvy thought so. This is his dates-stuffed-with-butter face. Haha!

Then it was a brik. When breaking-fast, you must have a brik. Most people had the traditional tuna one, which looks like a half moon, but I decided to mix it up and have the chicken one, which they made with the same pastry, but it was rolled up like a spring roll.

Then Soup, traditionally you have Chorba, which is a barley and tomato soup (with Harissa obvs), but they also had a seafood one which looked good (but a bit octopussy - I like octopus, but not that much) and I picked the chicken and coriander one.

Still going strong, it was time for the Salad course. I had the Tunisian Salad, which is just chopped up tomatoes and cucumber and onions and please-mind-the chillis, but they also had Salad Mechouia, which is spicy grilled salad. Grilled Salad? Yep.

For main course, I was still feeling brave and so I went for the cous cous au poisson, which was served with grouper fish. There were lots of chickpeas going on. Honestly, I tried my best, but I hardly made a dent in this bowl.

[NOOOOOO! I was editing this on my 'other laptop' and I accidentally deleted the picture. You didn't need it anyway. I'll paint it for you with words. It was just a white bowl of cous cous and some chick peas with a big hunk of white fish and a green pepper on top. There... all better]

Following this, I whoffed my dessert down too quickly to take a picture! I had Muhallabia which is a ground almond pudding, it was a bit nice. I took a picture of Senvy's, he didn't like it. It looks like a chocolate mousse, but it's actually not, it was like zgougou. It was a bit gritty and gross.

 

 Then Tea. Thank Heavens. Mint, naturally.

Afterwards we had planned to go to a club, but everyone was bloated and tired, so instead we just went to my friend Lucy's house and had lying-down chats while we digested.

This morning I did some sums (on my fingers, while I was on the loo) and I have been in Tunisia two months longer that I was in Uganda. Blew my mind.

British Girl Office Super Powers

Until I lived overseas I never really considered the effect that my nationality had on my behaviour. Believing in individuality and free will, I didn't believe that I was distinctly British in any way. Infact, I never even knew what "being British" involved. But a recent essay that I had to write as part of my Post-Graduate Certificate on project management in cross-cultural teams has forced me to consider how my culture and up-bringing have affected my work-style and mannerisms. In addition, and lucky for you here, I have started to notice very special British-Girl Office Super Powers that I didn't even know I had, and for your pleasure, here they are.

1. Fire-Proof Fingers

This is something that I'm quite sure that only British Girls can do. My fingers have almost no heat-sensitivity. This is from years and years of lifting teabags out of mugs of boiling hot water, from being too lazy to get up and get a spoon. This has now become one of my top office-tricks. Especially as I can squeeze the steaming teabag with my bear fingers so that not a drop of tea is wasted.

2. Light-Free Photosynthesis

British girls don't need light to photosynthesize and turn carbon dioxide into energy and oxygen. It's quite something, and sometimes may have to be seen to be believed, but another thing that no one seems to understand in my workplace is that I can walk into my office (which has no natural lighting) at 8am and can leave at 7:30pm, having never left the building. Everyone else goes out for lunch at restaurants for three courses of brilliance - but my British work mentality makes me happiest with my packed lunch and a quick skip though online newspapers from home and emails to my friends. I know it's not so sociable, but sometimes I don't feel so sociable, not with my face-to-face colleagues, anyway. Before, my behaviour had gone largely un-noticed, but now with no-one taking lunch breaks through Ramadan... people are on to me. I just tell them I'm from the UK; our Vitamin D comes from tablets and our tans come from bottles.

3. Flawless Manners

Learning, understanding and being capable of explaining the offside rule is a special talent of any British Girl. You should develop this skill young, to avoid hours and hours of lads in the pub explaining it to you endlessly "Someone, pass me the salt! We need two more things! have you finished with that glass? Can I borrow it? Right. Are you concentrating?". Seriously, it's not rocket science. I think people pretend not to understand the offside rule because they think it makes them look cute. Please. If Wayne Rooney can understand the offside rule, then by not grasping this concept, you make yourself look like a neanderthal. Obviously, I got it down.This reflects in my professional life, and not only when performing manual tasks and noting the position of other colleagues so that you don't swing a meeting chair into their heads. It transcends to workplace etiquette. It's throughout impolite to loudly close a massive deal that you had no part in negotiating or setting up. The offside rule, is really just good manners.

4. Eloquence
"Ahh, but English is my Mother Tongue..." is one of my favourite catchphrases at work, and although people often dive back into their venacular languages when with co-patriates, the true nuances of the English language are really only understood by Brits, and furthermore British Girls. Take the work "Great" for example. The best thing is that only other British people know the true meaning of Great. When I say "Great" is never positive, "great" can usually be translated as "really? you want me to do that? seriously? well that has wrecked my whole day". Of course, my manager thinks I'm delighted. The weighted sarcasm of the word "Great" for the British can be most strongly felt in the title of our country. And with that, it's time for a musical interlude, only if you like grime (not for you, Nan):

Scorzayee - Great Britain

5. ...And I get all my power from British Music.
So yesterday was Friday and so I was fasting like a Muslim.  Around 5pm is the worst time. You feel so weak and spaced out and you still have almost 3 hours to go. I have a massive conference on Monday, and being an all-hands-on-deck, I'm-the-youngest-in-the-office kinda girl, I don't mind getting my hands dirty and doing a bit of admin-y stuff from time to time. So I was exhausted and dizzy, but I had a stack of stapling to do. I reached for my headphones and put on some Drum & Base, notably, Katy B - Broken Record, and Chase & Status - Time, and wow, I was on fire. I declared loudly that I actually think it's easier to go a day without water than a day without music. Maybe I'll try a day without music... but it sounds like actual hell.

In the Summertime, when the weather is high...

One of the best things about Ramadan in Tunisia (besides the brik à l'œuf every single night - no joke, on the fourth day, I realised I had eaten one every single day so far and had to take a vow of abstinence against those little critters) is the Festival of Carthage, a big, international music festival hosted at the Roman Amphitheatre in the suburb of Carthage.

On Saturday night, we trotted along to see the American band, OneRepublic. For me, as a non-fan, it's surprising that it was not actually my first time seeing them, I'd already had the pleasure in 2008 at the One Big Weekend in Kent. Back then, they just had one song. Now they have a load more, and a load of International fans. Who'd have thought that five years later, I'd be watching them in North Africa, in an outdoor Roman Amphitheatre, in the rain? The moment was not lost on me. Stop and Stare indeed.

Then, last night, it was the turn of the Jamaican, reggae artist, Shaggy.

Oh, hello Shaggy!

There is a gigantic mosque in Carthage that I run past on every single running day. It used to be named after Tunisia's no-longer-popular-at-all, former president, but his name has now been scrubbed out on all of the direction signs. Ramadan dictates that people break fast at home, and then can go along to Tarawih (this is an Arabic word that my colleagues make me practice after I mispronounce it every morning) prayers, which usually last about two hours. Following this, families tootle down to the theatre with their cushions to sit on, and a sing-along spirit. Perfect, perfect.

So yesterday Shaggy popped along to deliver us some tasty, Caribbean beats, as we sweat it out, dancing in the hot, African night air.

And The Worst Moment? As Mr Boombastic flowed into Oh Carolina, my friend who is always late to everything, but whose ticket I was holding, arrived and I had to run like Usain Bolt, out of the stands and back to the entrance to let him in. Missed it. Balls.

But The Best Moment? The banter.

Thank you Tunisia!!! Shout out to all the Tunisians in here tonight!!! (Mad applause)

And I know we have some Africans in here!! Is anyone here from Africa?!?

Ahh, the age old: Tunisia is a country and Africa is a country and Tunisia is not in Africa. Dynamite.

Well, Shaggy, get yourself an education. Africa was the name that the Romans gave to Tunisia once they destroyed Carthage at the end of the Third Punic War in 146BC. The Afri tribe was the Latin name for the Carthaginians, so naturally Africa mean "Land of the Afri".

And in Africa, in the remains of the seats of the Carthaginians and Romans, we all sat, stood, clapped, danced, cheered and sang:  

"...But she caught me on the counter..."

It wasn't me...

Rama-doing it!

On Friday, I did it. I fasted like my place in Paradise depended on it. It was mainly due to peer-pressure and feeling left out. Everyone in my office was fasting and it looked like so much fun. Okay, not fun, but it certainly looked like they were going through something, I couldn't help but want to be a part of that. So I decided to dive in head first, to go for it. To spend all the daylight hours of Friday neither drinking or eating.

My preparation was a bit shoddy. I went out for work dinner the night before, so with some typical slow and lethargic Tunisian table service, we were still eating at midnight. But I was drinking alcohol, which probably didn't help with the dehydration. I didn't get up for Suhoor, which in Tunisia, you have to stop eating by 3:30. I was already proper full from dinner. I just went to bed after several glasses of water and hoped for the best.

Here's a wee account of my day:

7:00am

I work up with a dry mouth and it was strange not to drink straight away. I had lots more time in the morning without making tea and sitting to eat breakfast. I even straightened my hair and went to work looking like a girl. I didn't feel especially hungry when I woke up, though I did have a thirst, which was strange not to quench. I brushed my teeth. More than once. Ramadan breath is legendary.

9:00am

I had a meeting at work. A room of cakes, pastries and hot coffee. I took a picture so that you can share in the pain.

Plenty of people were fasting, so I didn't really mind. Lots of people knew I was planning to fast, so I felt that I couldn't back down in front of them.

11:00am

My stomach was growling like a crazy thing. I was still in the meeting and the cakes were now looking really appealing. I try to stay calm and focused and luckily had lots to do, so the business kept me sane.

12:00pm

Someone said to me: "oh, are you fasting?" I was surprised that he knew, given that I don't quite look like your average Muslim. He says: "you have the glow"

1:00pm

At lunchtime, everyone went for lunch or to the mosque. I started getting an almighty headache. My mouth was dry and my lips were starting to chap. Concentrating was harder and I felt more tense. It really was the thirst. I wasn't hungry at all.

3:00pm

My office mate said: "Wow, your exhaustion is very transparent, I like how you are so expressive". I think he means stop complaining. My head aches and my mouth feels disgusting.

5:00pm

I feel okay, the end is in sight. I declare to everyone how okay I feel and then continue to work and feel spaced out. It was so hard to concentrate.

6:00pm

I started talking to Alli (my Ugandan, Muslim colleague who I share my office with) excitedly about Ugandan food. Before we can restrain ourselves, we're on facebook, looking at one of another colleague's recent photo albums from a trip to Uganda. Soon we're drooling over pictures of chicken luwombo, matooke, g-nut sauce. Time to go home.

Selfie at home, still going strong - looking a bit wiped out:

7:45pm

It was time to break the fast. I had been invited to dinner with some Muslim clients, but in my hazy, dehydrated state, I went gone to the wrong restaurant. There were now no cabs on the road and I walked for ages to find one. I finally flagged one down, and the driver thinks I'm insane on account of my wild enthusiasm. Finally arrive at the right restaurant at...

8:15pm

...and promptly down two glasses of water. I don't even feel that hungry, but the water tastes amazing. Then I broke the fast the traditional Tunisian way, with Chorba soup, Tunisian salads and Brik. Then I had fish and chips. Then cake. Then I started to feel okay again.

Wow. It was a ride. It was made easier by the fact that it was just one day, knowing that tomorrow, I could eat and drink as I pleased certainly made it better. But wow. The big thing was the dehydration. I kept feeling thirsty and standing up to go to the water fountain without even thinking about it. Then having to force myself to sit back down again. Discussing it with my colleague, Abdel, he said:

"Look, the water is just there, you can drink it if you want, but try not to. This is to teach us compassion. Many people live in the world and have limited access to water and only eat one meal a day."

He's very wise.

In Tunisia the first couple of weeks of Ramadan are all about families. Traditionally people eat the feast while watching a special TV shows that only gets shown during Ramadan. So imagine my delight that every table at the restaurant had it's own TV! I sneaked a picture:

Then the next morning I got up and did my longest run ever! It was so so hot. I melted - look at how swollen my hand is!

24.5km! and yes. I have amazing nails. Thanks.

Here's my melting face - delicious!!

Rama-done (until next Friday)

Ramadan Kareem!

We are in Ramadan! It just started, we are just a few days in. The daily sunsets, the Tarawih prayers at the Mosques, the eerie quiet on the streets, this is a dreamy time of year.

By daylight, the Muslims fast, no food, water. Normally the fast is broken with dates and water, before feasting on your national delicacies, in Tunisia it's Brik, Chorba soup, Tajine (which is like a fritatta) and sweet pastries. I've been invited for some Iftars so I'll update you accordingly, as and when. I'm planning on fasting Fridays as a cultural experience. I'm doing this mainly for the amusement of the four Muslim colleagues that I share my office with. I think without food, I'll be okay. I think without water, it will be hell.

This week, has been a big week for talking about Islam in the office. We had a Muslim-off where we competed to name the different Islamic months, needless to say, I didn't win. Then I got a big lesson on Women's rights and Islam (which I'm quite sure I didn't ask for!) and I was told that sexism in Saudi Arabia is caused by tradition and the Prophet's wife was actually a business woman who rode a horse and the Prophet actually worked for her. From horse riding, we got on to Game of Thrones, which my colleagues (all men) have decided to stop watching during Ramadan as it makes fasting that little bit more difficult (oh yes, it's not just food and drinks we are fasting...).

But the general feeling is excitement. My general feeling is fear, at sharing an office with four, hungry, thirsty, un-caffinated men... I'll let you know how it goes.

In other news, I have been away for centuries!! I'm so sorry, let me just give you a quick round up of some of the other fun activities that I have been up to...

Training in Hammamet

Now I've already taught you all about Hammamet, but I just spent another week down there on a training course. It was extra fun because we were allowed to bring our families, and they could sit by the pool all day, while we filled our brains with all sorts of nonsense. In lieu of my own family, I just borrowed a bit of everyone else's and spent the long evening testing my American colleague's daughter on her SAT words - I knew hardly ANY of them!! It was quite traumatic. Luckily, she was a smartie pants, so she'll be just fine in her exams.

I spent some time by the pool and at the beaches. The tourists aren't really about, so it was lots of Tunisians at the beach - lots of Burkinis!

You wanna see a selfie of me enjoying the sunshine? Yes you do! because I am a rockstar, pure and simple, and I am fuelled by your jealousy.

I also spent loads of time researching for my essay and revising French because I had a massive french exam... more on this in a hot minute.

Total Tophet-Tastic

A couple of weeks ago, my friend Jess left Tunis. This was her second placement here, and last time she came, she was involved in the attack on the American Embassy and was trapped in the shelter inside for several hours, before, being shipped off to Germany, and then Poland. I promised her that she would have a good send off this time, although I couldn't guarantee the drama and excitement of last time.

So we went to the Punic Port and the Tophet at Carthage. It was after work and both were shut, but some smiles and some dinars managed to grease those gates back open. It was quiet, tranquil, the sun was setting... it was all very dramatic. And we had whiskey. In plastic bottles.

The remains of the Punic Port, from around 300BC are clear and visible, you can climb all over those monsters. In its hayday, the area hosted up to two hundred of the biggest and most fearsome warships of the time. Now it's overgrown and breezy and you really do wish you had bought a picnic.

Afterwards we went to the Tophet. Woah kids, this is not for the faint-hearted. I was scared. Here is a list of things that I fear:

1. Cochroaches

2. Changing a light bulb when you can't remember if you left the light on or off

3. Infant Burial sites at sundown.

This was a solid case of number 3. 

The Tophet is the site of a Punic infant burial site, where babies and young children were sacrificed to the goddess Tanit (the sky goddess of Carthage) and the god Baal (the god of rain). The excavations are on three levels, showing three separate uses of the site, and remains of both children and animals, have been found. I can't even begin to imagine what went down in Phoenician Carthage. Standing here, on the same ground, under the same sun... makes my brain explode.

Then we did more cheerful activities, like go for coffee and then go to my most favourite, lovely pants, fish restaurant where I haven't been for about 100 years. Everyone thought we were lost finding it, but I knew the way all along and just followed my heart. Everyone's expectations were exceeded. They should learn to trust me.

Massive French Exam

Then after that, I went for it and took the Diplôme d'études en langue française (DELF) exam, level B1. It was the one that I had postponed from March (actually, although I didn't want to do it, it was actually written in the stars because they didn't have any space left for my class to enrol in March anyhow). 

The exam was written for me. The listening was really fast and horrible, but one of the reading articles was on the growth of popularity of handcrafts in post-recession France. Knitting? Beautiful. The writing was okay, it's always hard, because I have quite an imagination, and lack the vocabulary to support it.

I had to go back the next day for my oral exam and there are all different parts, but at the end, you have to give a speech. Mine was on whether or not mathematics should be compulsory for all university entrants. Beautiful. 

I did my best. I hope it was enough. Fingers crossed.

Hen Party Madness

And then... as if that wasn't enough excitement - I went to the UK last weekend for a Hen Party as my friend Gemma is getting hitched, later this summer. It was in London, and I just flew in on Friday and out on Sunday. London was beautiful. So warm and gorgeous and sunny, for a split second I forgot about the 11 months a year of grey skies and almost thought that I could move back. Almost.

So I've been having a problem with all these hen parties. We always seem to do nice, classy activities, like afternoon tea, or spa days, or Britney Spears Dance Classes... can you see me?

There are no willy straws, no drunk mother-in-laws-to-be learning way too much information about their new daughter-in-law, and much to my perpetual disappointment, no strippers. These are all things that I would want need at any Hen party of my own (pending on finding someone mental enough to agree to marry me in the first place).  I spent a long time thinking about this (or strippers generally) over the weekend, and asked the other married girls about their hen parties. Similar stuff; photo treasure hunts, fancy dinners, cupcake making classes... then it hit me... this is possibly why no one has/will ever marry me. Note to self... be more classy.

Needless to say, I completed the obligatory fancy-dress night out sitting on the floor, picking off my eyelashes. At least it was the floor of someone's house and not a kebab shop. 

Baby steps...