Pausing for Effect

I do love a bit of honestly, and right now, I can honestly say that 2013 has so far, been the best year of my life. 

Yes, she has had challenges and failures and heartache, but she has also been bountiful with opportunities and risks and excitement, and certainly not in the least the past two weeks. So please bear with me as I try to update you on France, the UK, Greece, eating competitions, super-long marathon training runs in HEAT, theatre trips, art festivals, impromptu trips to Disneyland, weddings, concerts and my parent's new kitten.

It all just happened and I am exhausted.

I'm back in Tunisia now, but I have to go to India for work in 6 days.

This is my wonderful, wonderful life x

Ramadan Greatest Moments

Tomorrow night, we'll all be out looking for the moon, and if it is seen then it means that the Month of Ramadan draws to a close and the festival of Eid al-Fitr will begin. In Tunisia, we get two days of holidays and the fun really starts.

It's been an amazing month and I'm so glad that I took the time to hang around and enjoy it this year. This is likely my last Ramadan in a Muslim country and although it was frustrating at times, from the challenges of trying to source your lunch everyday to the impossible mission of finding a taxi between 7:15pm and 8:30pm, it really had an aura of magic about it too. That a whole country can single-mindedly come together in a spiritual pursuit for a whole month, despite the effect it has on their daily comfort, convenience of life, and national economy, is completely remarkable. Here is a list of my favourite moments:

Number 1: Office Logistics

My workplace encourages flexible hours during Ramadan, you can either come in late, and leave late, or start early and leave early. Whatever suits. Most people come in late and leave early, but who am I to judge? It's Ramadan... Relax! Meetings are discrete with comfort breaks and all of the restaurants and the cafes in the area have paper up at the windows, so as not to taunt the fasters. And yet, my company offers NO PRAYER ROOM. This means that for the five-times-a-day prayers, you have to leapfrog over colleagues who have determined that the best place to pray is ... wait for it... the stairwell! The 4:30pm prayers have been my the biggest problem, I was usually carrying coffee.
Number 2: The Ladies' Get-Out-Clause

There are get-outs of fasting. If you're a child, ill or disabled or a lady during her monthly magic-time. My favourite email all Ramadam was from a (female) Muslim colleague:

"Yo Michelle, Let's go for lunch, I just got my period! Yippee!!" Nutso.
Number 3: The Mental Strain

Productivity levels are so low - your brain is made up almost entirely of water. When preparing some data about various countries, my colleague asked me whether we were assessing the Democratic Republic of Congo. I replied, "No but we need the other one, the other Congo,"...then I smiled and said "y'know the Undemocratic Republic...". He gazed at me blankly. "I'm sorry Michelle, during Ramadan, I am too slow for your best jokes."
Number 4: No Potty Mouth

During the holy month, you're not supposed to curse, get angry, be mean or nasty or gossip. I find it hard not to do any of that stuff and so kept getting told off:

"Michelle, Please stop swearing... it's Ramadan" It was just a regular day in the office for me.
Number 5: No Moaning

You're also not supposed to moan about how hungry/thirsty/miserable you are. I failed at that too. The office intern said during one of my fasting Fridays, "Oh Michelle, I like it so much more when you fast - I see how greatly you suffer and it makes my own burden easier to bear"
Number 6: The Physical Effects

On another fasting Friday, I got a ride home with my Muslim Friend Dana: 

"Oh my God!? are you okay!? What happened to you face? your eyes?"

I just replied "fasting." 

"Wow..." she said, "It shows..."

Number 7: The Awakening of the Spiritual Senses
On my final fast I chose to break it with Lucy over dates and Gin and Tonic. Not exactly traditional, but maybe part way there. She told me how if any more of her colleagues recommend that she fast because it's healthy she was going to scream. I launched into a impromptu speech about the differences between spiritual fasting and will-power fasting and the differences between Ramadan and Lent and the popular 5:2 diet that is taking the UK by storm. I went on and on for ages, barely taking air. 

"Wow..." said Lucy, "I don't think I'e ever heard you speak so passionately about anything before, you didn't even do that little smile that you do when you're talking about something serious to show that you are not really taking yourself very seriously at all". 

I looked her in the eyes and I told her the truth, "I am just really, really hungry."   

Number 8: Pockets of Munchie.

My absolute favourite thing about Ramadan, is the little pockets of fast-breakers who just pop out of nowhere, somehow manage to find a table and chairs and break the fast with whoever's around. Like the instructors at the gym who have a little table by the entrance, or the arm guards at the end of my street with their tank, or these security guards at the shopping centre near my house.

Bon Appetite!

In Tunis news, we have just entered Limbo: The head of the Constituent Assembly and Secretary General of the centre-left party Ettakatol Mustafa Ben Jaffar announced to the nation that the constituent assembly or parliament would be suspended. What does this mean? Nobody in my Facebook newsfeed seems to know.

Say a little prayer for Tunisia?

Storytelling

Once upon a time (four weeks ago) I went to London for the weekend to celebrate a friend's Hen Party... I did tell you. Remember?

I flew Tunisair, who give you more food than British Airways, but are always, almost-predictably late. Landing at Heathrow, I darted down to the tube to fly across town to meet the other Hens and begin celebrating my friend's final moments of 'freedom'. I had come straight from the office, and was moving with just hand luggage. I wasn't exhausted, but I wasn't looking my finest either, having come off just a cheeky three-hour flight.

So I assumed my seat on the tube and started re-clock-in to all the social norms of my country. It's all strangely familiar, and yet, you feel like such an outsider at first, it takes the brain a little while to catch up. I remember when I came back from Uganda once and all I could see everywhere, on the train, on magazines, on posters was those funny black and white boxes, the mobile barcodes. It took me a while to work out what on Earth they were.

A lad sat down opposite me. He was groomed, very groomed. I'm au fait with the whole metrosexual thing and all, but this guy is new levels. plus he is wearing bright green trousers, which makes me smile as it reminds me of this so I chalked him up as being some over-groomed toff, just off a flight from Zurich and I take out my book.

When suddenly, Oh My God! he's staring at me... This is the London Tube. Eye contact is an actual crime. Is he actually staring at me? I thought this just happened in Tunisia, why is this stranger looking directly at me? Am I actually in the UK? Am I on fire? I will look up very quickly to ascertain if he wants to engage in some kind of exchange. Why is he staring? Is it really a starable offense that the hem has fallen down on my dress and you can see some loose threads? I will fix it, y'know.... I just haven't had time yet....

I glance up quickly, aware that if our eyes meet, we will certainly burst into flames.

And then I see it. He is checking out his reflection in the blacked out window behind me. He is actually rearranging his hair.

Mate.

Do boys in the UK do this now? Is it socially acceptable for boys to be that vain? Then (and just to note, I was not staring, I was merely observing discretely) he took out his Iphone with it's reflective casing and continued to play with his hair, like it was the most normal thing in the world. I was flabber-ghasted. This was not my country.

He then took out a wet wipe from his leather carry-on and polished up his shiny shoes, smiling with satisfaction as he did it. My eyes rolled.

He reached into his bag again, and although, I felt like nothing, ...a hairdryer, ...a vanity table, ... some tweezers... could surprise me at this stage, I was still curious to what Rupert (as we were now calling him) had for us next...

...When out came a brand new, freshly-printed, Penguin copy of Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment, the same book as I was holding (though my copy had lived a bit). Imagine my surprise and delight! Then we did a bit of real eye-contact and a nod for being book-twins.  I secretly smiled to myself, wondering if this book about a depressed, poverty stricken Russian scholar, who leaps around St Petersburg like a madman is really a book for Africa Girl and her un-hemmed dress, or just an outfit-accessory for vain, green-trouser Ruperts, straight off the plane from Zurich?

Nevertheless, I just finished it, and I LOVED it.

Please: No Religion, No Politics.

I come from a country where it is not considered polite or proper to talk about politics, or religion in company. Africa is different (the rest of the world may be different, but as I have only lived outside my country in Africa, allow me to draw on my experience). Here you can throw politics, or religion, or ethnicity into any conversation, and that's okay.

I was in Zambia for the 2006 elections and surprised when women from a farmers' group spoke to me openly about who they had voted for. And it was not unanimous, many had voted for different candidates, but they spoke openly and proudly about their chosen candidate. Allow me to find some pictures from my trip to Zambia...

Wow... looking through those old pictures from Zambia made me miss living in Sub-Sahara Africa so much! Hopefully I am going on a trip there in a month (Nigeria), otherwise, my relocation next year (although the country is still to be decided... ) cannot come soon enough!

The top picture is from the school that I was working at. Some of the classrooms were turned into polling stations, and your little finger nail on your left hand was painted once you had voted. One bottle of nail polish remover could topple a democracy. The second picture shows the moment the winner was announced.  We were in a car going home, but in the end we were stuck in traffic for hours as a huge street party broke out.

In Uganda for the 2011 elections, it was the same, people talked about the issues. Really talked. Office debates every lunchtime and long discussions. Perhaps is the African culture of talking a problem out and convincing each other of the solution, rather than the western way of taking a vote and disgruntedly going with the consensus. 

Tunisia is the same, we can talk and talk and talk about politics. To strangers, to shop keepers, to children and young people. Every taxi driver is a political scientist and every citizen knows the proposed constitution by heart - especially the wording on the legal status of women, which thankfully was revised from original edit last August:

"The State guarantees the protection of women rights and the promotion of their gains, as a real partner of men in the mission of the homeland building, and the roles of both should complement each other within the household ..."

"Complement..." Sheesh!! Don't worry, they changed it!

Does the UK even have a constitution? How do I, a seemingly educated adult with three post-graduate certificates have to even ask this?... I just looked it up. We don't have one. Not a written one anyway. So there.

Anyway, I'm rambling, sorry. On Monday night last week I was invited to an Iftar dinner at Ishrack's house, the colleague of my friend Lucy. The conversation was awash with politics, everyone was patiently waiting to see if enough MPs would step down to force a re-election and excitedly discussing how they had been at Bardo the night before, handing out food to the protesters. We were a party of about twenty, with a number of over-sugared children running around on push bikes and other ride on toys. I noticed that all children are the same the world over as their mother kept shouting at them to partagez! partegez! (share) and jouez gentiment! (play nicely). Cultural note - these were high society Tunisians, and so spoke French at home, luckily for me.

The sun set and the eating began. All the usual dishes, but this time homemade with special touches. The couscous especially was superb, I asked Ishrack how she made it and she told me that it was all ground by hand my her belle-mère (I love this phrase for mother-in-law, literally "beautiful mother"). Ishrack's belle-mère was a real character. She came late with a sullen face and as she entered everyone leapt up to give her the best seat at the table. She smiled at no-one, spoke to no-one. Later, I asked Ishrack whether something was wrong, fearing that us strangers at the table had annoyed her? But Ishrack explained that her father-in-law, the old lady's husband had died two years ago. The old lady had cried so much that she had ruined both of her tear ducts. She had just undergone an extremely painful operation on one of them to help relieve the sinus pressure in her head, and so her quietness and lack of conversation should be forgiven. I think it's one of the saddest things I ever heard.

After dinner, I was delighted to see GIANT Ouedhnines el Khadhi - I just cannot get enough of these!

Then we played with the children on the terrasse, something like "Simon Says" and Lucy spoke to Ishrack about schooling and challenges with different education systems. Some people smoked shisha and digested, and just relaxed.

Some of the group were inside watching the news and let out a cry and called us to go in. Eight Tunisian soldiers had been shot and killed during an ambush in the Chaambi mountain region in Western Tunisia. Their bodies had been mutilated. We all went inside, (even the children who were quickly ushered out again) and tried to understand what was going on. The footage had got back to the crowds who were protesting at Bardo and they turned their volume up a notch. Then the President spoke live and said their was no plan to dissolve the government.

Our companions hugged each other in fear for the future. We had some birthday cake and went home.

It's hard to understand what it is to be Tunisian at the moment. To have such an intense national pride for being the first Arab countries to stand up against a dictatorship two years' ago and trigger something spectacular. To be considered the most forward thinking Maghreb nation in terms of women's rights and the state of Israel in the 1950s. Tunisia was a trailblaizer.

Now I hear people saying:

"I don't recognise my own country"

"I am frightened for the future"

"Things were better before" (pre-Revolution)

But whatever the future holds, it is fundamentally important, that we never stop talking about this.

The Longest Run, the Fastest Ride

Sorry for the blog-silence, I have obviously been calling the Mamas and the Papas and emailing all you lovely friends intermittently as the political situation has broken down here over the past week. But I'll just jump on now, tell you a bit about what is cooking here and how it has affected everyday life and what went down last weekend. Forgive me for not knowing too much, most of the local news is in Arabic, and the French and English sources seem to have a looser handle on what's going on. I ask my Tunisian friends and colleagues a lot and usually take it from there.

So last Thursday, on Republic Day, Mohamed Brahmi, the leader of the opposition was assassinated by a gunman outside his home in Tunis. This is not the first time the leader of the opposition has been assassinated, as you will remember. Not good, at all. Everyone was outraged. But as it was daytime, and they were hungry and thirsty, they stayed calm through the day until the fast was broken at sundown.

Then at sundown thousands marched to the Bardo region of Tunis and demanded that the Government be dissolved and all the MPs step down for re-election. There was chanting and excitement all night long. The next morning 6 MPs had stepped down, but around 60 were needed to leave to force a re-election - there was still a long way to go.

On Friday - which is the typical day for protests after the mid-day prayer, were were all encouraged to leave the office at 12pm for safety. I was delighted as I was fasting, and so I could do Ramadan like a real Tunisian and sleep all afternoon work from home like an excellent employee. In the evening we went out for a massive Iftar on the beach. Yeah, were were all supposed to stay safe in our houses, but it was so boring and I had the fasting-hunger of a warrior. I started to take pictures, but then I remembered that it was rude and only makes you guys hungry anyway, so I stopped, but look at the weird drinks at this one... mud juice?? I have no idea what it was, it tasted nutty.

It was a brilliant Iftar and I ate too too much, because I was nervous about the BIG RUN on Saturday. But the quality was superb and they even had a nice lady making the traditional Berber bread, which is my total favourite.

I ate so much that I had to lie down, but luckily, because of all the shishas that you could do, there were areas for that anyway, so I didn't feel to bad about it. It felt beautiful to lie on a load of couches, under the stars, on the beach, with an uncomfortably-full tummy... well, almost wonderful.

So Saturday was the big run BIG RUN (gotta caps that fool). The longest Africa Training Run of the Marathon Training Experience. 29 kilometres. Come and get them. Some people will never run longer than that before a marathon. I plan to do one longer training run, as per my schedule, because I'm really nervous, I have time and I would prefer less surprises on the big day. But last Saturday was my longest Africa Training Run of the Marathon Training Experience, because this Saturday (i.e. this morning) I have a taper week, so I have a shorter run (still 22.5km > half marathon, mind) and my long long run is going to be in Greece. I got my running team all mobilised so that I would be able to use someone's toilet, carb replenish and drink like an infidel during the day behind a closed door, and then I set off at early-pearly o'clock (I won't even tell you what time I had to get up to carb-load before this, but it rhymes with more caffine). I did the first 2 hour, 18km loop solo, down to La Goulette, then met with the gang for the second 11km. It was all meticulously planned and perfect.

The first loop was good, through Carthage, past the ruins of the Basique de Damous Karita, where if you believe the legends (and I always do) the Council at Carthage was held in 397, and they picked which books to put in the bible. Past my friend Donkey, who is out grazing every Saturday morning, and is always in the middle of the road, and yet never gets run over. Over the train tracks, where it never matters what time I arrive, there is always a train about to come and the barriers are always down. Through Le Kram, where the people LOVES A GREETING - seriously... can you not see I'm trying to run up a bit of training here? But they see me, all Caucasian-like and they just can't resist a quick "bonjour". Full of politeness and manners, I bonjour them all back and it all becomes like the opening sequence of Beauty and the Beast, except that I am panting and sweaty and Le Kram is no provincial French village. Still, they are carrying baguettes, and they do think I'm crazy.

So through Le Kram and into La Goulette, where I had planned to run all the way to the monastery before turning around, but some boys started shouting to me from the other side of the road. This happens a lot, so I dismissed it at first, but then it seemed that they might be trying to be helpful. So I glanced over. They didn't have much French and were shouting mainly in Arabic, but I get a bit of C'est Interdit and look ahead to see the road is all blocked with police cars and maybe ambulance lights, or fire-engines? I gave them a thank-you (Y'ayshek), did an about-turn and recalculate the route in my head, though I probably only lost 500m.

The rest of the run was glorious, I met my team, we ran the town, the time was good, the protein shakes and showers after were amazing... here's the watch:

I checked the news when I got in. There had been a car bomb in La Goulette. I had arrived maybe 30 minutes after it had gone off. No one had been hurt. Lucky lady.

And then, after all that fun and excitement, and while Tunisia was still not really sure what was going on, we decided that it was Lucy's last weekend as a 33 year old and we ought to do something fun. I don't know if I have mentioned... but it's getting pretty hot here, and all of the salt lakes around the city have dried up, leaving excellent racecourse for... Buggy Races!

So this is what we did, the country may have been on turmoil, but adrenalin junkies need their fix. I didn't drive. I am a horrible driver. I am a great passenger. Screaming and taking pictures is my cup of tea.

And I wore my Pyjama bottoms, because they had Moomins on and were cool and I had just run 29km and really didn't care what anyone thought.

After a regular Saturday night, it was Sunday, and after getting my prayers on, we continued the Birthday Weekend theme with a trip to Ghar el Melh, where we once ran the 10km race. It was MAD HOT:

It was pretty rotten at the beach. We didn't realise how aggressive the men would be outside of Tunis and there were hardly any families or women around. After just a couple of hours it all got too much and we had to go home. We shouldn't have gone without boys. Lesson Learnt.

But I did want to show you this... They have started blacking out the roadsigns in Ghar el Melh, apparently to confuse the Salafists. 

"Ooh, it's like Bedknobs & Broomsticks" Lucy and I exclaimed in unison. And that's how I know she's my soulmate.

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.