The North African Exposure
(11 Months in the Mediterranean)
By Apolonia G. Aragones
PUBLISHED: OCTOBER 2009

TUNISIAN TOUR. "Welcome to Tunisia. A tiny north African country wedged between Libya on the right, and on the left, Algeria. The Sahara desert forms the southern border. A country of 10 million people, predominantly Muslim, Arabic and French speaking. Divorce and abortion is legal."

LEAVING
The evening of 29 October, 2005 found me fighting back the tears threatening to flood the pre-departure area. Already, I was too homesick for my own good. Twenty-four hours and three airports later, I was blinking into the too bright hot autumn sun, being escorted to my pick up transport.

ARRIVING
Welcome to Tunisia. A tiny north African country wedged between Libya on the right, and on the left, Algeria. The Sahara desert forms the southern border. A country of 10 million people, predominantly Muslim, Arabic and French speaking. Divorce and abortion are legal. It used to be a French protectorate. Capital city: Tunis. I hope I got my facts straight. Though a rabid traveler (which includes anywhere outside my doorstep), I never am one to list things about the place I am going to, save for the maximum five things my mind can save in kilobytes. I prefer to learn things as I go on my way, or work my way backwards. I digress.  

SETTLING
My first impression of Tunis was the space (or the lack of overcrowding, depends on how you looked at it). As the English-speaking driver oriented me to the basics, my eyes devoured the blue sky all around me. Glorious, wonderful, clear blue skies that seemed to envelope me like a blue and white patterned tent. Or at least it was to my smog-accustomed eyes. The minute I was left alone in my studio flat, with its door knocker in the middle much like a hobbit house, waves of homesickness crashed, and the tears started flowing.  But never the drama queen, I was soon walking down towards Zephyr in La Marsa, the mini-mall with the prerequisite grocery: Monoprix, it is called. Literally, I think it means one price. Ha! Ha! Ha!

A few strange things immediately impressed on my jetlagged brain while queueing at the cashier. For instance, you pack your own grocery stuff. Another thing, no 5 liter water bottles, you get a 6 pack of 1 liter bottles instead. Juggling the 6-pack non-beer, Tunisian dinar denomination, and stuffing all foreign branded items into the plastic bag, my first grocery-purchasing experience was a nightmare.  Life would later be kind when we get to the part where I meet the Kabayans.

THE KABAYANS
“But Ma’am, are there Pinoys there?” I asked my boss when we were discussing my plans a few months back.

“Of course,” she said, reassuring me. “There are Pinoys in every corner of the world.” 

I met the Kabayans on my third week in Tunis. By then I was reading Nick Hornby’s About A Boy out loud to myself during the evenings, just so I could hear my voice. During the first few weeks in the new office, conversations were minimal. My office roommate was still on a month-long leave. Hence, the isolation.  

One fateful Friday evening, I was invited by some Kabayans I met through a Nigerian friend.  Ooops! I forget to mention how I met my first Kabayans. The previous fellow at work, a Nigerian, introduced me to his church friend, another Nigerian lady who worked at an international agency. She in turn knew of a Filipina who renders massage services on her spare time. Talk about a strange but perfectly predictable network.

So in turns out that the boss was right. Filipinos epitomize Global.

So there we were, all congregated at a residence of a Filipina who married a Tunisian. There was a welcome party for Filipino delegates to the World Summit for Information Systems.  Hearing your own language being spoken, after three weeks of English, French and Arabic, felt surreal to me. During the party, I found out that some of the Kabayans were my neighbors. Imagine that. The weekends then, became less lonely and I began to feel a little bit at home.

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