Southern Tunisia of Death!!!

Our experiences with our host, Mehdi, and our Tunisian Manager, Amira, were better than anything our wild imaginations could have ever come up with! We enjoyed time with the best of the best - kind, generous, loving, intelligent, ambitious, the list goes on. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear their hearts were made of pure gold! Unfortunately, as I began an exploration of the south, I was rocked back to reality during the first five minutes on the train!

After our projects in Tunisia were completed, Tim and I decided to spend a few days apart to maintain our sanities. I decided to head south to see where Star Wars was filmed, and Tim went hitch hiking and camping somewhere else less Star Warsy.

I bought a ticket on a night train to Tozeur and was reading my book while I waited for the train to send me on a journey to a place far, far away. All of a sudden, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a hand slowly creeping toward my bag from behind me! I turned to look at it more clearly and it shot back behind the seat. I turned and made the facial equivalent of "WTF?!?!" There sitting behind me, was a guy in his mid-twenties, with a big, stupid smile on his face - embarrassed to have been caught and very obviously guilty. In his embarrassment he couldn't think of what to do. I stood up to confront him and he pulled off one of his fake gold rings and tried to sell it to me. Thanks, fella, but no thanks... I packed up my stuff and found another seat after calling him a bad person. Didn't sleep for the rest of the night!

I arrived in Tozeur, a small town that perhaps once had something interesting to offer, but is now just dominated by tourist shops all selling the same tacky souvenirs. I don't like places like these because although the locals go through the motions of being nice and welcoming and smiling - it's all 100% insincere. These types of places are nearly impossible to experience anything true of the culture, or to meet real people.

After I found a cheap enough hotel, I decided to take a walk outside the town, which sits in an oasis, to see if I could find the desert! I walked for over an hour in a southerly direction until finally I had found my way out of the oasis and palm forest and into the great Sahara. As I entered this ecotone, I passed four kids on a cart pulled by a horse. Two were about 12 years old, and two were about 18. They were all staring at me, naturally, as I was way, way out of anywhere tourists and even locals usually go.

Tim and I had been taking private Arabic lessons, 10 hours worth, so I gave them the typical Arabic greeting, which translates literally to "Peace be upon you!" and received what's becoming the typical response to my Arabic attempts - laughter. They looked as if they were ditching out on their afternoon chores as they rode their empty cart laughing. One of them was holding a sickle - a typical farming tool used for cutting tall grass, or woody palm branches/leaves. However, this particular sickle had a different destiny - it was to be used for cutting wandering Andrews...

I walked passed them and they continued on their way. I stopped to take in the view, listen to the birds, and enjoy the peace before my next month and a half of Tim's shenanigans are to begin. I noticed that they had stopped just as the road went around a bend. They backed up and started calling out to me, "Monsieur! Monsieur!" That's French for "Hey guy, come here!" They motioned for me to come over to where they were.

They sat along the only way back to town so I started walking back towards them slowly. After all, they had just corrupted my enjoyment of the peace and quiet, what else did I have to do?

As I neared, I took note that one 18 year old was missing, as was the sickle, and one 12 year old was standing in the road. I greeted them again as my new vocabulary is quite limited and the one 12 year old in the road put out his hand and said, "Cinq Dinars!", which is French for "Five Dinars, Buster!" He was dirty and looked as if his eyes had never before smiled. He was demanding the equivalent of about four USD, so I tried to respond with, "French is for sissies, I speak English!" but what actually came out was, "I don't understand French." The 12 year old on the cart spoke rough, but impressive, English and asked my name. I introduced myself and asked their names and shook their hands. On the cart, Ismael, the only English speaker, and his older buddy, Ahmed, were all smiles. Nabi reluctantly shook my hand but refused to look me in the eyes after I denied his fee for being a foreigner. I praised Ismael's English ability and complimented them on their country and oasis. After a very brief conversation, the two smilers called to their fourth friend, the other 18 year old, who was hiding in the bushes. He came out, sickle in hand, and disappointment all over his face! I extended my hand, testing him, and said, "Andrew". He mumbled something beginning with 'M' and climbed up onto the cart. Ismael invited me to ride with them, but I politely declined saying that I preferred to walk.

I had used my most important Taekwondo training to conquer their ill-willed plans, but still, my drugless high, instilled by my new friends in Tunis, had come crashing down in flames in less than a day! It was a sobering reminder that even in a country of superstars, there can be bad people. The lesson here is not to be afraid of everyone, everything, and everywhere we travel, but to treat each situation as a different situation, and each person as a different person! Maintaining openness and awareness, and perhaps a bit of caution, are key to what Tim and I are doing and are some of the reasons why we are successful!