March 2004

The Road to Tunisia - Day 6

Editor's note: Annie Warmke traveled to Tunisia and documented her travels in a series of columns. Today's story is the seventh and final in the series on her trip.

Another day on the bus ... another day of amazing ruins.

The trip to Dougga is a long one, but Tunisia's best-preserved Roman town is well worth the trip. For most of us, especially if we grew up in the United States, it is impossible to picture ruins from A.D. 166.

Many of the columns of the buildings are still standing where thousands of people once lived. There is a 10-seater toilet and the remains of a brothel. Those Romans were big on saunas, too. This place had a huge thermal bath indoors for the winter that was heated under the floor. There was another, outdoor bath for summer.

Our guide was brilliant. He was a tall, dark Tunisian that told story after story about the ruins. I can think of about a dozen Americans who know as many English words as he does. And he knew the meanings of the Latin words carved on the stones.

As we climbed upon the ruins, we could look out over the ancient valleys filled with olive trees and wheat fields. Far off in the distance on the side of a hill, a farmer guided a plow pulled by a cow. His dog followed behind. Watching him made me think that 2,000 years ago men had stood right where I was standing and they had watched a similar scene. I could have stayed there all day.

As I waited back at the bus, I recognized three Muslim women I'd seen walking on the beach early in the trip. I swallowed hard and asked, "I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I was wondering how you keep your scarf on your hair. My scarf just slides off constantly." They started to laugh as they removed my scarf and showed me how to fold it into a square and tie it on to my head. Then they quickly produced a little brown clip that looked similar, but smaller, than the cheap, claw-teethed ones you can buy to hold your hair back.

After they clipped the scarf under my chin they took their own scarves off to show me how they kept theirs in place. I was deeply touched.

On the long drive back to the hotel I was thinking of the Muslim women and their kindness. They reminded me of the four 15-year-old Muslim girls I met in El Jem -- and how intrigued they were to find out more about Americans. They were sure Cat was a movie star and stayed to talk in fragments of English and French for 30 minutes.

I was thinking of how much courage it takes to reach past the gap we tend to make between ourselves as white middle-class folks and those we think are different from us.

When we reached the hotel, whom should I run into but the three Muslim women?

They ran up to me chattering a mile a minute about a gift. Quickly a beautiful black scarf was produced because "it goes with anything and it's square." Then something was pressed into my hand. For a moment I didn't quite understand what was happening.

They explained that the small black beaded necklace in my hand was actually an Islamic rosary made of hematite. They showed me how to pray to "Allah" with each bead. Then they announced that these were things that would serve me well the rest of my life.

I cannot tell you how touched I was by these gestures. At first I protested because I had nothing to give them in return. They said these things were not given to receive anything in return.

We kissed each other's checks and I walked away feeling overwhelmed by their goodness.

The next day as I handed my plane ticket to the cabin steward to board the late plane, I heard three familiar voices saying they were starving. I looked up to see my new Muslim friends behind me. After we exchanged kisses I dug down into my bag and handed them bags of nut mix, cheese and crackers. It's amazing how life works.

Annie Warmke lives in Hadleigh, England. She writes a weekly column on life in a small town. Some day in the not too distant future she intends to return to live at her farm near Philo. E-mail her at annie@bluerockstation.com.