Escape from Tunisia

​At the beginning of January, I flew back to Tunisia to do a long-term visa for France. At the time, it seemed like a great idea. It was inexpensive, two hours away, and we knew people. Moez was convinced it would take only two weeks. I pleasantly disagreed, and cast my vote that it would be at least two months, and maybe three. As I listen to the barking of a savage dog next door, I have decided I will not spend all of February here. Regardless of how much money it costs me, I will winter in quieter places where neighbors are more respectful.
 
Unfortunately, I have neighbors. Even more unfortunate is they are Tunisians. Consequently, they are loud. They are not the obnoxious nouveau rich who enjoy honking their horns, or the pet owners who think allowing their animals free reign is a part of civilized society. In fact, my obnoxious neighbors are my landlords and are very nice. They are old school, even bringing us traditional meals from time to time.
 
We are renting from an elderly couple who took in an impoverished woman. This woman became their housekeeper, and in thanks for her room and board, always does the housekeeping. When I say always, I mean from 7:30-8:00am until 9:30 at night. Every. Day.
 
The lady of the house informed us that she is a bit deaf – certainly a blessing if one must live in Tunisia. Although she seems irritated by the wild animal living next door, and his wannabe gangsta owner, I wonder if she can even hear the wolf life creature’s bellowing. For sure, she cannot hear the noise her housekeeper makes.
 
I roll my eyes towards the ceiling, and chant: I don’t have to live here. I am not going to stay here. I am leaving soon. I can handle this.
 
Boom! Thud! Thump! Scraaaaaape!
 
I close my eyes for a moment and then finally get up and go to the kitchen to check on the soup. Having caught the flu only seems to prove I should never have come back here.
 
Clang!
 
I shutter and gather my things to retreat back to the living room. I pause on my way out and listen to the new sound. It sounds like someone is trying to collect too many sticks in one hand, making one fall out. Then the person attempts to recollect with the same problem, and the same result. It then happens over and over again.
 
I trudge back to the living room. It is noon and I know what’s coming. Tunisians like to eat – and far more than Americans. I hear a thud and nearly jump out of my skin. A child’s hysterical screaming pierces the air – for a very long time.
 
This continues throughout the day and evening as people come and go. Finally, around 9pm, the flu is just too much and I head to bed. As I lie there, I hear yet another noise above me. It sounds like a gigantic hamster running on his wheel. I have stopped guessing at what they could possibly be doing. It is common Tunisian behavior to nervously buzz from one part of the house to the next making as much noise as possible. I can’t change it. I’m in the wrong place. I need to leave.
 
I wish we had set aside an astronomical budged for a stay in the States, and Moez is right alongside me ruing the day we ever came back here. He is more determined than ever to never set foot back in this country again. For the first time, I am as determined.