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Nestled away behind a corner of broken and worn stone, hidden within the Medina of Tunis, a solitary figure stands. Emblazoned on a wall, the etched caricature of Mohamed Hanchi stands alone, the black and blue ink complemented by only by the clear sky above and the rose red anger or blood on his cheeks, a tribute to the eighteen year old killed earlier this year when the people rose up against the government of Ben Ali. Another martyr of dozens, hidden away in this city on another wall, another street, another square, standing silent until rain will eventually wash them away.
But people remember. Across from the mural, where an old machine shop is built into a run down wall, several men sit sipping coffee, eager to tell us about Mohomed. As we take pictures a pair of passerby’s look at us and to the wall, “Martyr” they say, and keep walking.
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Hopscotching Towards Democracy
After saying our goodbyes and continuing further a block, another image catches the eye, hidden down a small alleyway under a flowering branch of tree and partially obscured by a parked three wheeled cargo truck. Upon it, stylized figures climb on each others backs, forming an improbable ladder to the Tunisian flag on top, the figure on the bottom hop scotching along a numbered pathway spiraling to la fin, ‘democratie’.
What an amazing way to experience Tunisia – to grasp the hopes, the dreams and aspirations, and to see the challenges that have faced them. I was glad too that we were able to share these experiences with our new friend Irene, an incredible Palestinian photojournalist and blogger we had met at the Arab Bloggers Conference earlier in the week, and in town for only a day longer.
We met up only a little bit previous, under the great Porte Française (French Door) , the western gate to the Medina and named such only after the french demolished much of the original area to create the large plaza that now exists, lined with expansive cafe’s, restaurants and beautiful building tilework and facades. We didn’t really have a plan for the day, but Irene wanted to spend her free day in Tunisia exploring and getting a feel for the unique culture and feel of the city. Mike had found the address for a couple of different galleries and open cultural centers, though we had missed a photo journalism exhibit focusing on their recent revolution, and so diving into the tightly packed alleys of shops and markets we set off for the closest one Centre Cultural bir Lahjar.
It was turning away from these main streets that we stumbled across the first mural of Mohammed. Having Irene with us, who by speaking in Palestinian Arabic communicated with people far better than we would be able to, was helpful in many innumerable ways for helping us grasp the meaning behind what we saw. Later, we continued through the warren of cobblestone streets towards Centre Cultural bir Lahjar, finding it with ease after only a couple wrong turns.
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In the centuries old madrassa, an older Tunisian woman helps her student as they design new silkscreens
Housed in a centuries old converted Madrassa, the Arabic word for islamic school, the Centre is incredible, now primarily serving as a community art space and school. Walking through the open archway and into the courtyard of black and white striped columns, we were eventually greeted by a welcoming little man in pinstripe suit who introduced himself as Gamal Abdel Nasser – of no relation to the President and so called father of Egypt, he said with a smile. He explained to us that after being converted from a Madrassa, the space was used by one the largest schools in the city the University Zezetoun as a housing dormitory for some it’s poorest students. Walking through the entrance, more than 25 small cubbies line the bottom of stone benches and that everyday, children would rush to them to find fresh meals cooked by the community, left anonymously to avoid awkardness.
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Candy and juice are forced upon us, we had no choice.
For a while we wandered around, into a room built into a passage leading from a corner of the courtyard, where a painter was busy teaching a student, but who welcomed us in fluent English as he told us come in, and look at the artwork hanging all around, an exhibition currently being held by his students. As we were preparing to leave, Gamal brought a small little table, covered in mirage of color and a childlike fish painted on top, and we sat upon several Berber rugs sitting in the courtyard and talking while little girls from the class brought us candy and juice. Then he ushered us into the back room for a demonstration, where the small girls were excitedly folding a piece of silk cloth, painting it with little bottles of yellow, blues, reds and purples – folding it on top of itself again and again before finally unravelling it to dry. Behind them, some of their earlier silkscreening was still drying, emblazoned with beautifully intricate images of Bart Simpson, Winnie the Pooh, Snow White and others.
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Art class is in session.
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Just one of the current pieces on display by local Tunisian artists and students.
It turns out that Nasser is somewhat of a Jackson Pollock of Tunisia. He showed us pictures of his last art show, in which he as he danced in a theatrical manner, he splattered the canvas and as a side effect himself, in paint, then cut it up and gave a piece to all those in attendance, keeping only a small piece for himself. He has studied in Canada, at the Louvre in France and now heads up the cultural Centre as a teacher, working with paints, silk screening and alternative art methods, and as one of the premiere art therapist in Tunisia. Aside from art shows, the community space is also used for music lessons, exhibitions, photographs, concerts and show space for bands as diverse as free style rap to hip hop.
Afterwards, we picked up some Tunisian flags for Irene to take back to her friends in Palestine, some of whom were supposed to attend as speakers at the Arab Bloggers conference, but had been denied travel visas. We then wandered down to a bookstore along Habib Bourghiba, read through books of Poetry and Art on the recent Revolution, sat, talked and had some coffee and finished our tour by walking past some of the iconic sites of the unrest, including the now renamed 14th of January square, and the now abolished headquarters of the previous interior of the ministry building, access still blocked by several military vehicles and razor wire.
Saying our goodbyes we bumped into two Belgian documentary film makers, in Tunis to finish filming for work they began in March of this year and Sami ben Gharbia, founder of the Tunisian collective blog Nawaat.org and the Global Voices Advocacy Director. After exchanging information, we agreed to meet up some time soon for coffee, and went our separate ways, since they were on their way to a movie (in Arabic unfortunately) and we had our own serious need for some much needed pizza and relaxation .
Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
Image may be NSFW.Clik here to view.
