This Week in God (beep-boob-boo-beep-beep)

Photos: The cathedral in Tunis, the Synagogue in Tunis, and the great mosque of Kairouan.



















The only bad thing about Stephen Colbert leaving the Daily Show in order to host his own was the end of the This-Week-in-God segment. Using his God-o-meter Stephen would beep-boob-boo-bee-beep his way into some news pieces on the antics of a tiny religious sect or the shenanigans of one of the major world players as they smite others and in so doing ignore their own religious tenets. Sometimes snide and offering biting criticism, sometimes just pointing out the absurd, it was always hilarious. If it were still running, I could pass along a number of worthy tidbits from the past week to the Daily Show writers.

A friend of a friend was over for coffee earlier this week. Our discussions ranged from relationships and sex (only reasonable as we were eating Lindt) to Tunisian politics, to poetry. Israel came up; I don't remember how or why. I give this young woman credit, because she clarified that it's not the Jews rather Israelis she has a problem with concerning the rights of Palestinians. I agree with her on points of Israel's non-compliance with UN resolutions, the separation wall, and the settlement expansion in the West Bank. It was only days earlier that Obama gave his carefully worded criticism of the development of new settlements, which was followed by Joe Liberman's reiteration of U.S. support of Israel and Netanyahu's brother-in-law calling the U.S. president anti-Semitic. Sigh. However, when she (the friend of the friend) says that she directs her frustration towards Israelis then I think, what of the Israeli peace activists? What of Martin Buber and the binational Zionists, who basically wanted to escape an actually anti-Semitic Europe, immigrate to British Mandate Palestine, and live peacefully along side the current residents of the land (like immigration everywhere, in principle). From reading Haaretz, it seems that there are people in Israel who are pro-peace and pro-Palestinian rights. I feel it would be good for people in Tunisia to know this, to know that many Israelis do not agree on these issues. In this discussion my solution was to grab a book of Mahmoud Darwish's poetry (we had already discovered our mutual admiration) and turn to a poem wherein Darwish describes a young couple, a Jewish girl and a Palestinian boy (and they have a daughter "and she'd be Jewish by birth"). We ended on a note that if Darwish can see a possible future, than so can we...inch'allah.

Later that week, while innocently copying pages of a book, and chatting with the nice guy who works at the photocopy shop, a guy walked in, greeted everyone, noticed I am foreign and started guessing where I am from. Italy? Spain? (Thank you dark hair!) France? No, the U.S. Oh, Obama! Do you like Obama? Yes, I like Obama. Ensuing non-interesting conversation about how the photocopier-guy looks like Obama (okay, he kind of does). Followed by conversation about how the U.S. congress is run by Jews and that Jews control all the money in the world. Sigh. I said that there were very few Jews in the American congress. He didn't seem convinced. I said that I didn't think Bill Gates was Jewish (maybe he is, I have no idea). Well, the guy didn't seem interested in my comments and after clearly not listening to me, walked out the door in the direction of the huge and beautiful synagogue in my neighborhood. At that moment I recalled an e-mail I had recently received from the Jewish Voice for Peace, on additional Passover questions wherein a Rabbi described ways to discuss peace in Israel at the Passover Seder. He advocated adding an olive to the Seder plate to recall the shared traditions of Arabs and Jews. (See the link below if you are interested.) At that moment, I wanted to apologize to this rabbi and to the people at JVP; they deserve better that this fool in the photocopy shop (and those who think like him). On my way back home I passed the Kosher butcher shop (sign on his door is in Hebrew, Arabic and French) and saw it was closed. I wondered what whether the genius from the photocopier thought that the local butcher was one of these rich Jews who ruled the world. In seeing the abandoned shop, I entertained the stupid fear that he had a run-in with the aforementioned gentleman. Then I realized it was Passover. Three guys were sitting out front the butcher shop drinking coffee and chatting. Whenever he's closed it seems that someone is sitting outside his shop on folding chairs drinking coffee. Do they watch it for him? Does someone need to? I'd love to ask.

Apparently David Patreaus also sees the importance of addressing this issue. In my catching up on American news, I was shocked and pleasantly surprised to read a piece that included comments General Patreaus made to congress concerning progress in "the region." He stated that no matter how the U.S. troops progress in Iraq and Afghanistan, Americans will not be able to meet strategic goals without addressing the Israel/Palestine conflict which lies at the heart of the issue for most Arabs when it comes to U.S. involvement in the Middle East. I am officially impressed with a U.S. general. That's a first. Now let's see if anyone in congress listens to him.

Then there have been a plethora of other religiously themed news pieces and none of them good. There was Glenn Beck telling his listeners (and me via Stephen Colbert) to leave their churches if on the church websites there is any mention of Social Justice. I mean, can we blame Glenn for failing to know that the Popes have been writing encyclicals on Social Justice for years, and years? These encyclicals are even pro-union and protecting worker’s rights! Maybe he's not Catholic and he does not know this? But even having to think about Christians being anti-social justice is exhausting. Then there are the multitude of articles from the U.S. and Europe, on the endless parade of cases of Catholic priest sexually torturing children and the pope's compliance, even endorsement of shielding these priests from civil prosecution. (Note: I am borrowing the phrase "sexual torture" from a columnist, I think from Salon.com. I felt that describing the behavior of priests in this way was stronger and therefore more appropriate than the term "abuse"). Then there were the comments on those articles, the Pope's denial of wrongdoing or rather his non-response to whatever new allegations there are. There's even a petition circulating in Great Britain to stop the Pope from visiting this fall! Apparently over 10,000 have signed. Then back to African news articles and more violence erupting between the Christians and Muslims in Nigeria, many killed, I don't remember how many.

I miss This-Week-in-God, as I am not finding any of this funny on my own.

Maybe in need of religious uplifting, maybe because there's nothing to do here at night, I went to mass on a Saturday night at 9 p.m. It was the Veillee Pascale mass, it began at 9 p.m. and ended at 11:30. The cathedral in Tunis was filled with the Catholics one would find in Tunisia, bluish-haired, wrinkled white people (maybe some expats and maybe some tourists) and young black people, all seeming to be roughly 25, all attractive, well dressed, and elegant. Ah, the Church's past (old, rich, white Europeans) and its future (non-English speaking, non-European, non-white). The mass began beautifully beginning in darkness, we passed around candles, and lit the candles row by row. Lovely. Then after a long and very drawn out prelude, the liturgy began. Ester leans over her friend Amin (who is sandwiched between us so he can ask of each of us questions about what's going on) and says with genuine concern in her eyes, "they are starting with Genesis?" After Genesis, we read from Exodus, and Ezekiel, and Isaiah, and who is Baruc in English? Well, then we read from the book that is called Baruc in French. By the time we reached like the 18th reading it was clear: Ester was bored, Amin was bored, Ester's poor siblings who flew in that afternoon from Milano, after driving to Milano from Switzerland, were also bored. Me? I was fascinated the whole time. One, I had my candle to play with and Amin kept trying to blow it out. It was like being at church with my brother Patrick when we were kids! Two, it was kind of fun explaining the Catholic mass to a 22 year old Muslim. But I didn’t know what to tell Amin about the standing and kneeling. After kneeling or sitting or standing for the 800th time Amin lets out a very audible "oh putain," which means “oh whore,” but is more like an “oh damn it,” but stronger, but not quite as strong as “oh fuck.” No matter how you translate it, not a great thing to say at mass. I was temporarily terrified to see how others would react. Happily, I realized that the people in the row in front of us were of the old white tourist type who blessedly were Anglophone and therefore took no offence to the putain comment. Then when Amin was not offering entertainment, I had all these amazing African women and their hair and clothes to admire. Oh, the hair extensions, the braids, the wigs, waxed hair, straighten or curled hair, dyed, and highlighted. It was incredible. And they were dressed to the nines. There were women dressed in silk a la the typical Nigerien boubous, long flowy, silky dresses that billow about and make the wearer look positively royal. Some wore the matching top and bottom set made of high quality, waxy African cotton, printed in bold colors and striking designs. When I decided it was rude to stare, I also could try to work on my French and actually listen to the readings. Or take time to admire the beautiful cathedral. But above all there was the choir. They sang a responsorial psalm in between each reading. They were elegant, sounded like bells, crisp and ringing in a clear tone. Their alleluia made me want to be Catholic forever. Oh, God they sounded amazing! Then, they sang in Ki-Swahili, and I decided I would not miss another Sunday mass. They sang this song that managed to be soft, sweet, uplifting, and energetic while they, dressed all in white, waved white, pom-pom looking things above their heads. Glorious. They could raise the dead with this music. A person might be facing the white light of heaven and turn back to hear this African choir signing in the one cathedral in Tunisia. The kiss of peace was lovely, at the end of mass the choir kept singing just for fun. People were cheery, and kissing on checks in the aisles. I liked it almost as much as midnight mass.

So, as my butcher closed shop while he celebrated Passover and said “next year in Jerusalem,” I think about all these little Jewish neighborhoods I've passed in various Tunisian towns that have faded away as many residents actually moved to Jerusalem. Then I go to mass with a Muslim who is as bored as my own siblings would be, but he's polite and curious and laughs about the standing and kneeling in a friendly way. I think we should attend one another's long Seders, and sit, stand, kneel, sit, stand, kneel and find everything interesting at mass save the priest. Then we should eat everyone's delicious holiday food, and recall being bored by everyone's endless prayers, and poke gentle fun at ourselves and one another. We should be able to recognize our own religious failings, and laugh, if they are in fact funny. But when faced with Catholic priests being criminals and torturing children, and the irony of Passover prayers recalling slavery in Egypt as Palestinians are denied freedom, and anti-Semitic beliefs such as "Jews control all the money on earth," well, I’m at a loss for a good response. Stephen, we really need This-Week-in-God. Can't you fit in into The Colbert Report?

The Tunisian-Mediterranean Diet a al my roommate et moi

Whenever I leave the U.S., I consider packing Grape-Nuts; often I have one or two large boxes in my suitcase until I realize that I am being an idiot and I should bring another sweatshirt or pair of shoes instead. I know, I know, you think Grape-Nuts are hard as rocks and tasteless. You are wrong; they are delicious. And I always anticipate living without them to be sad and depressing. Yet, I generally adapt rather quickly. For instance while walking the Camino in Spain this fall I found it rather easy to adjust to Grape-Nuts less living. I often ate breakfast twice, one breakfast at 6:00 a.m. which usually consisting of some combination of nuts, granola, yogurt and fruit, yum. Then I would want to eat again at 10, generally breakfast numero dos was cafe con leche and a chocolate croissant. In my backpack I would always have almonds, Milka chocolate, fruit, fresh bread and cheese, so that when I wanted to rest I had a perfect little picnic. Then I would eat a large meal either in the late afternoon or early evening upon arriving at the days' destination. This meal would inevitably consist of bread and olive oil on the table along with garlic soup, a salad with olives and tuna, then a meat, maybe escalope or some tasty, tasty fish. And obviously, you need to wash it down with wine, preferably a Spanish red. I do not think there was a day that I did not finish nearly an entire bottle. The amazing thing about walking between 25-35 kilometers a day is that you can really put down an impressive amount of food and alcohol!

The first thing one notices about the food in Tunisia (after you stop crying over the severe lack of Rioja) is Harissa. It is a red spicy sauce mixture, a combination of various chilis, garlic, and oil. It's potent, and reminds me of a spice from Niger called pili-pili, and its stronger version known as pili-pili ha-ha, because when the white people would eat it they would open their mouths, hold up a hand and go "ha-ha," hence "pili-pili-ha-ha." Harissa goes into most dishes. And when buying street food people very nicely ask you how much harissa you want. I generally opt for "shwaya, shwaya" (a little) which can either be a tasty small amount or a lot depending on the food vendor's definition of a little. The most common Tunisian food-snack is a sandwich called bric. It consists of fried thin filo dough, stuffed with vegetables, cheese and eggs. When eating bric, there is generally a game to see who can eat it without getting drippy egg yoke all over his shirt. They are good, but the egg is only partially cooked. And yes, I will eat sun-dried crickets in Niger, but I like my eggs well done. So I prefer the fricasse sandwiches; they are little round things made of fried dough (think beignets) and stuffed with hard-boiled egg, potatoes, some veggies, olives and harissa. People usually eat two of them and you should eat them quickly so as not to see how much oil soaks into the paper that the goodies are wrapped in. Also, take care not to swallow the olive pits!

Another dish that is common and affordable is Lablabi; think of it as a North African ratatouille. Lablabi is basically a stew-type thing made with whatever is in the kitchen topped with olive oil and harissa. Often when you order lablabi in a restaurant, you first wash your hands, then get a chuck of a bread that you tear into small pieces and put in your bowl. Then you bring the bowl up to the counter and tell the cook which of the vegetables you want. There are potatoes, carrots, olives, a mixture of very overly cooked onions and green peppers. Then he adds cooked chickpeas, pours vegetable broth over it, adds harissa and voila-dinner. It's really tasty and even more so if you can manage not to look at it much, since it basically looks like pig slop.

The general main courses are cous-cous based dishes. Cous-cous in North Africa is spicy, as it usually includes harissa. It is prepared in special pan that allow the cous-cous to steam over the meat and vegetable mix that cooks below. The result is a soft, fine cous-cous that has absorbed the flavors of the meats, often fish, lamb or goat, and vegetables. I have only had it a few times, and the best versions (aside from the homemade kinds) are in good restaurants that are a bit more expensive. My favorite was a small, elegant restaurant owned by a Jewish family that serves a lovely mixture of Arab and Jewish North African specialties. It's a popular place and people agree that they have some of the best cous-cous in Tunis. (see attached photos)

Since dining out is not an every day occurrence, my typical diet here is a Mediterranean inspired mixture of Swiss and American style cooking. My roommate Ester and I both love fresh fruits, vegetables, good chocolate, and experimenting in the kitchen. We begin the day with cereals, often a bland corn flake and if you try you can find versions in groceries stores without pounds of sugar. Which is really important to look for since the milk only comes in "so-much-fat-you-might-as-well-melt-a-stick-of-butter-and-pour-it-over-your-cereal" or the healthier "will-still-clog-your-arteries-but-you'll-get-a-few-more-years-of-life-with-this-milk." Along with cereal, some freshly squeezed orange juice and a coffee made in a perfect Bialetti espresso maker. We eat our biggest meal at mid-day, and these meals range from onion, mushroom and cheese risotto, Spanish tortilla, vegetable stews, or spinach, zucchini and eggplant over pasta, and Indian dishes, made more potent with harissa. We always have a delicious fresh salad. Fennel is plentiful, and we've invented a fennel, carrot, onion and parsley salad that is heavenly. Typically we eat something smaller for dinner. We love this cooked spinach salad Ester makes, along with homemade fresh cheese from the market. Last night we made steamed artichokes with a homemade garlic, cheese, and yogurt sauce. Then for dessert, I made fruit salad of dates, oranges and almonds. I toasted and caramelized the almonds, cut up some of juicy blood oranges, along with fresh, soft dates and added lots of cinnamon. Since Ester's parents are here from Switzerland, we are living in the lap of luxury with a fridge full of exquisite Swiss cheeses, fresh prosciutto and copious amounts of Lindt and Toblerone.

I think that food habits, new ways to prepare dishes or cook with different spices are among my favorite souvenirs from traveling. Learning to love someone else's food is a great way to keep the experience of living abroad alive when you return home. I came back from a summer in France with a Camembert addition and loving soup for dinner. I learned to make Spanish tortilla as a student in Madrid and I've been perfecting it ever since. I stopped fearing spice in West Africa and learned that what we call mangoes in the U.S. tastes nothing like the real thing. I've picked up great Indian, Afghan, and Argentinian recipes and cooking strategies from roommates and friends who've learned to cook from their mothers. In Tunisia I've come to appreciate that a simple mixture of good fresh ingredients makes a satisfying meal. The Tunisian cuisine leaves me with the impression that heaven is fruits that taste like the actual sun ripened them, vegetables that seem to have grown in the ground, the smell of thick, Italian espresso, and freshly-squeezed juice made from blood oranges that give the juice the rust color of a perfect summer sunset.

Classic Rock: don't leave home without it (i.e. homage to my Running Mixes)

It's spring time in North Africa, and much like spring time everywhere, this means that everyone wants to be outside. ("It's been a long, cold, lonely winter, little darlin' it seems like years since it's been here...here comes the sun....and it's alright"). Yesterday afternoon I spent three hours pretending to study in the Belvedere Park while I was really watching every living child in Tunis parade about in adorable matching outfits. Millions of small people were running around, giggling and slapping siblings, blowing bubbles, tossing balloons and drinking Fanta. I don't blame them, who doesn't want to run outside in the spring?! For me this time of year has always meant lacing up the shoes and hitting the pavement, running outside preferably along the Charles ("along with lovers, muggers and thieves ... love that dirty water, Boston you're my home!"). Why is it that I forget what a luxury running outside is, until I find myself once again in places where running outside is completely unacceptable? ("Nobody left to run with anymore, nobody left to do the crazy things we used to do before, nobody left to run with anymore"). No one runs outside here. I've never seen it. Two male friends, one is Spanish and the other Turkish, tried a few times and kids threw rocks at them. ("But...everybody's got a mountain to climb... don't get discourage if the sun don't shine... gotta keep on rollin' gotta keep on trying!").

Upon completing my exams last week, I celebrated by joining a gym. There is a nice, two level fitness center approximately 8 nanoseconds from the front door of my apartment. I have never before lived in such close proximity to everything convenient! I can fax transcripts, dye my hair, purchase a vacuum, haggle for fresh fruits and vegetables all without walking more than 50 yard from chez moi! ("What you want, baby I got it, and what you need, you know I got it ..all I'm asking is for a little respect..just a little bit"). Glorious. Back to my gym, it costs about 22 dollars a month. While this is more expensive than running at the Hillcrest Rec. Center in St.Paul, and a lot more expensive than running outside, my new gym offers me the chance to exercise and simultaneously not be bothered in the streets. The second floor of my gym is for women only. It's quite interesting as the gym is frequented by veiled women as well as the lyra-clad, and teenagers and grandmothers attend the same aerobics class taught by a sixty-something year-old woman who has the ass of a twenty-year old. ("We are family, I got all my sisters with me!")

While it is great that I have a gym, there are a few elements of non-awesomeness. For example, there is a 20 minute limit on the tread mills, of which there are only 4. What exactly can you do in 20 minutes? Nothing. Ah! (Cue bad ass music: "I'm a sailor peg and I lost my leg, climbing up the top sails...I'm shipping up to Boston"). To add insult to the time-limit injury most women walk on the treadmills at a pace at which I would not be found grocery shopping. ("Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am stuck in the middle with you!"). There are bikes, but you cannot program them and the resistance is akin to sitting on the ground lifting feet slightly off ground and air peddling. Not exactly a work out. I should not complain, as I am ridiculously lucky to live so close to a gym where lots of normal Tunisian women work out. Luckily I've found a solution: go to the gym at 7 pm when all Tunisian women are at home, and have treadmill to myself for over an hour! ("Wild, wild horses couldn't drag me a-away!")

When running I often feel nostalgia for previous moments of great running experiences. ("Give me one moment in time, when I was more than I thought I could be, when all of my dreams were a heartbeat a-way and the answers were all up to me!" Yes, Whitney is on my running mixes. Because I love her.). The summer I lived in Vermont I was in great shape, one the athletic facilities at Middlebury College are insane, two, because I so badly needed the physical release after hours of studying, and three, you share the gym with men. And, men are good competition. Not that I am ever trying to run as fast or bench press the same amount of weight. But well, sweating next to men makes me rethink stopping at 3 miles, and I find myself saying "I can do another rep. of my girlie 10 lb. weights." ("Pressure, pushing down on me....It's the terror of knowing what this world is about watching some good friends screaming 'Let me out' …This is our last dance this is ourselves Under Pressure"). Pressure is good. Also, I like the camaraderie, we study together, we sweat together, we're not the same but equals.

Ah, so unlike my Tunisian gym, where I'm annoyed that we, the women, have the shitty equipment, the run down treadmills and bikes that don't work and zero free weights. I am still working up my courage to venture into the men's world to see if I can borrow weights. I'll really have to blast the Dropkick Murphys for that excursion! For the moment, I have found that the best course of action is to take out my aggression on the rubber-asphalt. As I mouth the words to songs that would be seen as less than culturally appropriate. ("This bed is on fire with passionate love, the neighbors complain about the noises above, but she only comes when she's on top...messed around with gender roles, dye my eyes and call me pretty-eeee!")("Well I ain't seen my baby since I don't know when, I've been drinking bourbon, whiskey, scotch and gin. Gonna get high man I'm gonna get loose, Need me a triple shot of that juice!") ("I'll never be your beast of burden, all I want is you to make love to me...!)

While packing for my "trip" here, I stupidly neglected to bring my running shoes as they take up too much room. Therefore I had to purchase a very seventh-grade-boy pair of black and red knockoff Nikes at the second hand market. I also failed to bring any proper running clothes. Again the second hand market to my rescue! I paid 3 dollars for an excellent warm-up pants, that dry in about two minutes and go nicely with my yellow-sparkly Minnesota University est. 1975 t-shirt! Yet, thank God, I did not forget to bring my running mixes. I don't think I could find the Allman Brothers in the second hard market. And the miles would be so long and lonely without them.

Kristof, Dowd and the necessity of unnewsworthy news

This week while dutifully procrastinating from actual studies, I caught up on a little John Stewart and NyTimes. Ah warm fuzzies. When I last lived in Africa, I had no internet, no computer, no phone; it was as if I had actually traveled to another country. Actually, it was as if I had traveled to a different century. Well, that was Niger, and this is Tunis where the wireless connection is impeccable and the only hindrance on communication with the fam is the time difference. So here I can have my Colbert and eat harissa too (Will write future post on the food! Wherein will explain harissa, hot but yum!).

Well, after drooling over Paul Krugman and his painfully beautiful commentary on health care reform, I read Maureen Dowd and Nicholas Kristof. Kristof has done some fantastic reporting on Niger (he may be the only American reporter to have ever been there), so I am biased and I like him a lot. Dowd is a woman, smart, and therefore a feminist. So clearly I like her too (usually). But I was slightly deflated after reading their articles. Kristof relates this incredible story of a Yemeni child sold into marriage at the age of ten, who escaped her 30 year old husband who raped and beat her, and successfully sought a divorce. Wow, rock on little kid! That's pretty noteworthy and impressive. Then Dowd tells us that Saudi princes are arrogant and don't like Israel, earth-shattering. These articles show us what we already think we know about the Middle East and North Africa. Are child brides that common? I don't know, that's a genuine question. I would have liked to see some statistics in Kristof's otherwise great article, least we all think that every other 10 year old in Yemen is sold off as a child bride. Dowd makes some interesting points about the glacial, yet consistent pace at which King Abdullah is loosening the restrictions on Saudi women. Then she throws in the line, "Wahhabism, anyone?" What do you mean, Dowd? Would anyone like a tall glass of Wahhabism? No, and we get it, there are some pretty creepy people out there with strict interpretations of Islam. Uh, like some pretty creepy people in the U.S. don't have nutso ideas about the Christian bible and also marry teenagers?

So my concern today is, how does one make a news story about the many moderate places in Middle East/ North Africa? I have lots of cool stories about unmarried women in their 30s here in Tunis who have PhDs, can drive cars just fine, and are allowed to tell men to shove it, and many chose to do so, often. One of my Arabic professors, Samah, is one such brilliant, unmarried, and extremely pretty person. Another professor, Salwa, is the mother of two boys, perhaps in her early or mid-40s, and she loves to talk about how in Tunis women and men are equal but only on paper. She freely states that she's thrilled not to be in the Gulf but she clearly thinks that women in Tunis have a ways to go. Live, awesome Arab women, who don't veil (but so what if they did!), and speak their mind, are really opinionated, smart, bossy. Not all child brides.

Tunis presents another fun contrast to Dowd's article when she describes Saudi on Valentine's Day. So apparently in Saudi there's a "Commission for the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice" (dear God!) who made this enormous deal about banning red roses and teddy bears because they encourage relationships between unmarried people. (Which is just funny because a strong desire to have sex is what usually encourages people to have sex. Teddy bears have so little to do with it.) Well, you should have seen Tunis on February 14! I would have liked me a little crack down on all things plush and heart-bedecked. You know the line from Steel Magnolias, where they are describing how the church was all decorated in Julia Robert's "my two colors, blush and bashful." And then Sally Fields adds, "It looked like the whole altar was hosed down with pepto-bismal." Well, it looked like Tunis was hosed down with the same, pink and red everywhere! Hearts, teddy bears, pink and red polka-dotted everythings, and bras and lacy underwear in storefronts all across the city. Which really made me want some sort of control of all this immoral bad taste. Why is it that all the crappy American traditions are copied? Must you all wear skinny jeans, and why can't you blast John Coltrane from your cars? It wasn't just the stores either. I got text messages, many with sappy flower images, wishing me a happy Valentine's day from nearly all of my Tunisian friends -men and women! I kind of wanted to tell them that St.Valentine was a Christian martyr, but oh why spoil their fun? Okay, point being, in contrast to Saudi's looney-tune sex police, there are Arab countries that are way, way too into Valentine's Day.

My final non-news story that gives a glimpse into society in a way that glib comments about Wahhabism cannot, relates to one of the most awesome thing I've seen in Tunis. The other day I saw this little boy, oh about 7, run into a phone booth-shop and return with a little pack of a single sanitary path. He exited the little store front, holding pad in plain sight, and turned and trotted right past me, on his way home, I guess. I found this totally fascinating so I brought it up with my roommate who claims that this happens all the time. One, it's true that tampons are everywhere, in all the little kiosks on the streets, and at newsstands. These little kiosks and tiny convenient stores are everywhere and from them you can buy bread, water, light bulbs, phone cards and tampons. Clearly, the necessities of life. How often do you need a tampon? Often. Of course what of little boys buying them? So I asked some Tunisian friends about what was no doubt an extremely unusual occurrence. Nope, totally normal. "The kid's mom sent him out to grab a pad, what's weird about that?" this twenty something year-old Tunisian guy says to me. I am stunned. Nothing is weird about that here, because in Tunis apparently women having periods is considered normal. How's that for progressive? How normal do we consider periods in the U.S.? Well, I've never seen a little boy go buy a box of tampax for his mom! Dowd, Kristof, article on little boys going on tampon-errands for their moms in Tunis?

Incidentally, abortions are legal here and they cost about 150 US dollars. Birth control is available, and there are women's health clinics all over the place. Also, there are condoms on display at the counter in every pharmacy I've entered. Oh and I've mentioned it before, but I love it so I reiterate: female police officers, everywhere. So, please think about Tunis, and the red bras in store windows, boys buying tampons, before you go imagining that there is nothing but child brides and women who cannot drive from Morocco to Iraq. Tunis will likely not be in the U.S. news anytime too soon. Which, to be perfectly honest, is one of the reasons I am here! However, Americans (everyone) needs the type of news that is totally un-newsworthy in order to have a more complex and accurate view of a place.