Tunisia

On 20 March 1956 Tunisia gained its independence from France. Perhaps because it is the smallest of the countries situated along the Atlas Mountains, I feel like I often forget Tunisia when I’m thinking of the countries along the northern coast of Africa: it’s wedged between Algeria and Libya, which in their way have figured more prominently in my consciousness, along with Morocco and Egypt, which round out the northern end. But Tunisia is the home of Carthage, which I have to say makes me want to go there. (Not that there are any places I don’t want to go.) The capital is Tunis, and official language Arabic.

Tunisia has been settled by outsiders since the 10th century BCE, with travellers from Tyre (in Lebanon) founding Carthage in the 9th century BCE. In the Aeneid, on his way to founding Rome, Aeneas stopped in Carthage. From the 5th century AD onward the country changed hands a few times, including, in the 7th century, being conquered by Arab Muslims. Later Tunisia was under control of Turkish Beys.

In the 1800s the Turkish Beys borrowed money from Europe to finance modernisation in Tunisia. Following this, the country was bankrupted, and the country’s finances fell into administration under an agreement by France, Britain and Italy. With a little dealing (the British gained control of Cyprus, and then backed the French in their Tunisian interests) in the 1880 France gained control of Tunisia, and the country was made a French protectorate in 1881.

From the early 20th century the movement toward self-governance and independence was strong, including a group known as the Neo-Destour—declared illegal by France. One of the leaders of the Neo-Destour, Habib Bourguiba, spent a lot of time in French prisons, but following Tunisia’s independence, Bourguiba became first Prime Minister, and, after 1957, the first president of the Republic of Tunisia. He remained President until, in 1987, he was deposed by the current president Zine El Abidine Ben Ali in a coup. There is a distinct lack of public political discourse, and it is apparent that dissidents are routinely arrested—there are significant restrictions on freedom of speech and human rights.

Today’s poem is by contemporary poet Amel Moussa, born in 1971. She works as a journalist for „Al-Shark Al-Awsat” and has published three volumes of poetry.



A formal poem

In the old house
where my grandfather composed his formal poems
I live as a concubine in my kingdom,
my dress is wet,
and on my head I place a crown.

In the old house
where the jug is tilted
water seeps out
mixed with prayers.

In the old house
where my first cry echoed,
I spread the soil of lineage
for us to sleep on,
one soul stacked next to another.

In the old house
where my grandmother was throned a bride
I search for her shawl
and place it for my shoulders to kiss.

In the old house
I cross ancient nights
and carry food to dervishes.

In the old house
I hand away my embers as a dowry
to lovers bathing in rain.

In the old house
Love wears us like a cape
and the courtyard becomes
twice its size.


— Amel Moussa
translated by Khaled Mattawa
from: A Crack in the Wall: New Arab Poetry