What, in your opinion, can be said about a country where 25% of national income goes to education, and only 2% to the army? A young Tunisian's entire future life depends on how he passes the baccalaureate exam. The higher the score, the more chances. The smartest get the opportunity to study at the most prestigious universities in the world at the expense of the state. Those who fell a little short study at universities in Tunisia.
At the beginning of the academic year, each student is given about 150 dinars for textbooks. A dormitory room costs six dinars a month, a pass for all types of transport for a year is 30 dinars. Lunch in a student cafeteria is 100 millimes, meaning for one dinar you can eat your fill 10 (!) times. And that's considering that in ordinary cafes a regular lunch costs 8-15 dinars...
When the student's "good life" naturally comes to an end, those who received a good education take a sharp start in their career. The minimum salary in Tunisia is 180 dinars per month. For comparison, a college teacher receives 400 dinars per month, a university teacher 1,200, a doctor in private practice up to 3,000, a lawyer up to 4,500. The advantages of a good education are obvious, and Tunisian children do not have to be forced to study well.
While we are talking, the cozy cafe opposite is slowly filling with men. They don't drink (naturally), don't smoke, and seem to be doing nothing. What attracts them here? I risk asking Yasmin this question. She indifferently shrugs: that's the custom. In her deep conviction, a man in the house is worse than a child. He will wander from corner to corner, be bored, demand coffee. If the baby cries, he will not fail to remark: "Why is your child crying?" In short, nothing but trouble. In the cafe he shares news with acquaintances and friends, and there he might get a side job or news of an open vacancy. Memories flash through my mind of familiar Ukrainian families where in the evenings the head of the family, with another can of beer, intently assists the football commentator. Meanwhile, the wife fusses in the kitchen, checks the child's math, or simply knits in the corner.
And also, Yasmin adds, in Tunisia it is not customary to visit in pairs – echoes of Islamic traditions are felt. And although in the capital they will ardently convince you of the complete Europeanization of the country, here, in ancient Hammamet, everything is still a little different.
Fortress of the Ukrainian beauty
We are sitting in the quiet coolness of a modern office in the very center of Monastir. "Tunisia is a peculiar country," she quietly lets drop and falls silent, as if diving into memories. A sunbeam got tangled in her golden bangs, and her hand unconsciously strokes the photo frame where they are all together – Marina, Faouzi, daughter Rada, and son Mohamed-Ali (Alyoshenka, as we would say).
Marina first came to Tunisia 13 years ago. By that time, she, a "sportswoman, Komsomol member, and simply a beauty," had graduated from the Kiev Institute of National Economy and worked successfully as a programmer at one of the capital's research institutes. Her friends, a married couple of professional athletes, were coaching Tunisia's national handball teams. Their contract was running out, and they threatened: either this summer, or... In short, when Marina was looking around in confusion at the airport of the unfamiliar city of Monastir, a tall, stately man with a luxurious bouquet of flowers approached her. The handsome Faouzi was sent to meet her by her sly Kiev friends. And they were not mistaken.
"I understood that this was a journey into a fairy tale – the sea, exoticism, gallant courtship, but still something touched my soul," recalls Marina. "Then I returned to Kiev and gradually began to forget about my visit to a distant country. And suddenly the first letter arrived..."
Faouzi Sreha could not forget those amazing eyes and golden curls on her forehead. He wrote in French, and by that time Marina knew only German. Oh, what romance it was: looking for someone to trust with translating the letter, composing a reply, translating it, waiting for an answer...
And then Marina came to Tunisia, and there was a wedding. She was the first Ukrainian woman to marry a Tunisian. "It so happened that my fiancé is an only child in the family. In Tunisia this is extremely rare. So our wedding was modest – only five hundred guests," laughs Marina. "The bride is the main character at the wedding. She sits with the groom on a special platform, and everyone admires them. Also, during the wedding days, the bride constantly changes outfits. As a rule, these are elegant and very expensive clothes in the national style, with the richest embroidery and decorations. And only on the very last day do they put on a white European dress.
In addition, a Tunisian bride must not have a single hair on her body. For this, depilation is performed in special salons. A dough-like mixture of sugar with lemon juice is applied to the skin and, when torn off, removes all hairs. Then special craftswomen paint the bride's feet and palms with henna. Cars loaded with all sorts of utensils and household items drive out of the bride's house, honking desperately. So when the young family moves into their home (or at least onto their floor), they have everything for further independent life."
What is the most difficult thing in an international marriage? Marina thinks for a second. "Probably, still the fact that you don't fully realize how different we are. When I was about to leave, there was so much lamentation among my acquaintances: 'You are going to a wild country! There is no civilization there! You will be sold!' And here, in Tunisia, my husband's uncle casually inquired whether there were televisions in Ukraine. I tell him: 'Ali Baba, do you think we watched Yuri Gagarin's flight through a pipe?!' After all, we know very little about each other.
Tunisians are very kind, cordial, childishly open people. But even here there are nuances. You live very openly. Becoming a member of the family – and in Tunisian families, as a rule, there are many children – you become part of it. What's yours is mine, but also what's mine is yours. There is always some relative hanging around the house. This does not burden Tunisians at all, but it is unusual for me.
At first I was just a mother. Rada was born, and a year later I was already expecting Alyoshenka – Mohammed-Ali. And then my husband got into an accident and seriously injured his leg. I panicked. I began to feel that I had lost my support in life. Anyone who claims they never miss their homeland is being dishonest. But the one who constantly whines is also wrong. I know many Ukrainian girls who married "to Tunisia", "for a beautiful life", "for wealth". Having arrived and seen that here, just like at home, one has to work hard, they begin to sour: they gossip, quarrel with their husbands, and badmouth those around them. Moreover, those Tunisian guys who studied in Ukraine too often see what our girls are capable of for the sake of a "profitable" marriage.
Life went on as usual, the children grew, and Marina was wistful. She wanted some new activity. And then one of her husband's friends suggested: what if they opened a travel agency together? Marina was fired up. "My first thought," she laughs now, "was that I could go on business trips to Kyiv!" But everything turned out to be much more complicated. Marina translated documents, urgently studied Arabic, flew to international exhibitions. Gradually, things began to fall into place. And then...
The laws of business are cruel and treacherous. As it happened, after several years everything Marina put her energy and soul into had become someone else's business, and she... She could remain in it as an ordinary employee. She gave up. And then, for the first time in all the years of their marriage, her husband's firm voice was heard in the family. The gentle and silent Faouzi suddenly stated decisively: she must not back down, she must continue what she had started. Let her organize her own firm, and he would help her. So began new difficult years. Marina registered the company, re-established contacts with foreign partners, rushed around exhibitions, hired staff, argued with guides, met and saw off the first groups.
"It is not easy for a woman in business at all, and for a foreign woman, especially in a Muslim country, even more so. For example, there is an unwritten law: in summer the working day lasts from six in the morning to one in the afternoon. But tourists arrive in the afternoon and in the evening. Or one of my employees comes up to me and, beaming, tells me that tomorrow is his brother's wedding. And for a week he drops out of the work routine!"
Today Marina can say: your place is where your loved ones are. When she comes to Kyiv, she misses Monastir, and there she will occasionally drift off in her thoughts to the happy days of her Kyiv student youth. Her mother lives with her in Tunisia; this is her home. Marina's son, Mohammed-Ali, is only nine. His Ukrainian grandmother reads him Pushkin's fairy tales and Krylov's fables, checks his math and German. And his Tunisian grandmother diligently attends all the weddings of her numerous relatives, presenting the happy newlyweds with wedding gifts: the time will come, and they will all certainly honor Mohammed-Ali and his chosen one. Eleven-year-old Rada runs off to school, shares girlish secrets with her friends, and laughs at her mother's mistakes in Arabic. And her Tunisian grandmother carefully prepares the dowry: forty sets of bed linen, preferably linen, wool blankets, food processors...
Our conversation is often interrupted by phone calls: guides are checking the dates of the nearest excursion, the assistance service is complaining about the hotel owner, one of the tourists needs to urgently return home for family reasons. Marina listens, reassures, clarifies, contacts the airline. She is fluent in French and Arabic, easily turns to representatives of Tunisian state structures to resolve issues. In a week, Madame Marina, as everyone respectfully addresses her, receives up to six hundred tourists. Their company is called "Ribat Tour". "Ribat" means "fortress" in Arabic. You can build a fortress of your happiness anywhere in the world.
Outside the window, the Kyiv chestnut trees are waving their branches again. Here, at home, Tunisia seems like a distant sunny fairy tale. And only the sand rose in my palm reminds me of it. "What is it woven from, rose of the Sahara? A little dust, a little tears, years of hardship and patience – that is how beauty is born," said the Tunisian poet and philosopher Aboul-Qacem Echebbi. Or maybe it's not about a rose? Maybe it's about them, the women of fairy-tale Tunisia?