I was excited to read about “Café Tunis” in chapter 4 of Cantwell’s book…I just so happened to have spent a few weeks in Tunisia on a cultural immersion trip in 2009 and a whole group of memories were recalled. I experienced something similar to what Bess Lomax Hawes noticed: “I wonder how many attending the Festival had any idea where Tunisia actually is?” since most of my family and friends had no idea where I was heading off to…and truthfully, I didn’t know either, until the trip of course. On my first day in Tunisia (discounting that vague day when we landed and the jet lag sent us all to bed) I walked into a coffee shop with a male friend. I dressed conservatively, and was comfortable seeing the familiar words for coffee, tea, and small food items listed out in Arabic (I had studied the language for about a year at this point). I was surprised when my friend was served a small cup of thick espresso and no one even bothered to ask if I wanted a drink. I was immediately unsettled when I realized that all eyes were on me, in a not so friendly manner. I asked the waiter (in Arabic) for mint tea, please, and was “Shushed” in a ridiculously overdramatic fashion. Needless to say, I was confused, offended, and wanted to get the heck out of there. It was only later after speaking with my professor (who was born in Tunisia) that women were not allowed in coffee shops, ever. They maintained their status as a sacred “watering hole” for men to talk, drink together, and establish relationships. The burgeoning feminist in me was appalled by this. I think, however, that this initial reaction was wrong. I was an outsider, someone not aware of the intricate reasons why the men had their coffee shops. My professor was kind enough to help me understand the issue better because men were often “kicked-out” of the house when the women prepared a large meal. He explained that men were simply not allowed in the kitchen, and with no one around to talk with, the need for camaraderie and friendship sent them in search of their “exclusive” realm. Just as his mother/aunt/sister/wife talked in the kitchen, kicking the men to the streets when it was busy, the men had their realm away. When we were invited to my professor’s house (rather, his childhood home) for a “family” dinner of sorts, I never once saw the women who cooked our amazing food. When we were invited in, we sat in front of a TV and socialized with the father of the house, were seated in the dining room, and served without every seeing the mom/aunt/wife who graciously cooked (all day) for us (the sister did come out and serve the food, but she was reluctant to linger). It was odd not being able to thank the women who made that amazing couscous, and I felt uncomfortable as the only other women in the house not being part of that definitive household sphere where I would normally be helping to clean up. It was a cultural experience, and one filled with moments of complete confusion, and delicious couscous!
More directly in context to Cantwell’s chapter I see how hard it would be to adequately (accurately?) convey a sense of a culture when that “culture” is not the same between family members. The Tunisians had since moved to Canada; their culture was something unique from my in country experience. How to invite a positive “glance” into a culture without putting that exclusive “box” of authenticity around it that negates all that do not make the cut?? Cantwell reflects: “The coffeehouse has something of a private character, like the household, and yet also a public character, like the marketplace; each man appears independent of his household relations, but at the same time as the representative and guardian of them” (88). The social patterns of a community are difficult to elucidate as an outsider, and as an insider, they are likely even more difficult to translate. What an American female in their coffeehouse meant to those that I intruded on in Tunisia was evident from their stares, but it is not that in another circumstance I would have been glared at for being an American or a female, it was that particular insight where I had unknowing trampled upon a custom, something important and crucial to their culture. Just as the men are expected to be that guardian of their household relations, and accurately represent himself as such, the coffeehouse itself must also guard the “expectations” of its role as a coffeehouse. The experience was awkward, but helps me reflect on the need to not pass judgment too quickly; often my “American” and uniquely “Krystal” lens will not help me see others more clearly, it can often serve to mar and corrupt my understanding.
See you all tomorrow!!
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