Bayt Al Hikma

Last weekend I took a little trip to the South of Tunisia with my Aunt and cousins. We made the usual tourist rounds. We visited various desert oases and took a trip in a four by four across the vast, sandy dunes. I got to see a couple of places where "Star Wars" was filmed, which was like a trip to Mecca by my family in the United State's standards. I even got to try some "typical" Tunisian dishes, including a lamb liver and testicle stew. The cities in the south were interesting, each had its own style of architecture and distinct atmospheric flavor. The one thing that I found to be consistent, however, were the vendors on the street trying to sell anything and everything to just about anybody with ears.
On one occasion, as I was walking down the streets of Tozeur, the largest city in the south of Tunisia, I was approached by a vendor who was standing outside of his shop. As I passed, he stood in my way, pointed into his shop and began trying to speak with me in Arabic. I just said, "No, no..." and tried to brush past him. He shuffled back into my path, "American?" he asked. I knew better than to admit I was American. I've had previous encounters with vendors and my biggest mistake while speaking with them was admitting that I was American. I had eventually learned not to carry money with me unless I was looking to buy something, since I had been sharked into buying things I didn't need before, but once a vendor had heard that I was American, they would become dead set on selling me something. I'd had men demand that I search my wallet for money to show that I had none, or refusing to believe that I didn't have a credit card. Admitting my nationality would condemn me to at least fifteen minutes of harassment. So, this time I decided to try something a little different in hopes that it would cut my encounter short. Instead of admitting that I was American, I said, "No, Espanol." I expected that the guy would give up, that he would step out of my way, bested by the language barrier I had put up between us. I did not suspect, however, that this fellow spoke Spanish. He replied, "Oh senor, tengo una pregunta, de donde es?" I couldn't believe it. I had found the one street vendor in Tunisia that spoke spanish and my oh so cunning plan had blown up in my face. "Madrid," I lied through my teeth. The man smiled and said, "Come with me," in spanish. I felt bad for doing it, but I just turned my back on the man and replied, "No, ya tengo que irme," and left, despite his continued pleas. Needless to say, the whole trip to the south was loads of fun.
All this week has been full of Arabic. Now that I have begun learning conjugations (there are a monstrous 13 different conjugations per tense!) my tutor has been giving me lots of work to try and get through all of the tenses in the next few weeks. I'm sitting on a solid thesis for my paper and feel very good about it right now. I've been looking through the internet and have started filling out a few pages. I've also been told about a library called Bayt Al Hikma (house of wisdom) that I might have a bit of luck at. I am going there tomorrow morning with my Aunt. I plan to go to the library and spend the day in Carthage since it is supposed to be an incredible place to visit.
- Duncan