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One evening, very late, there was a knock at my door. It was rapid and continuous.
I yelled, "Shkoon?" (Who is it?)
"Besma," came the reply. "Fisa, fisa." (Hurry up.) I opened the door. "You must come over to my house right now, please."
"What's wrong"
"My mother wants to see you and dinner is waiting." Although it was very late, I was accustomed to these impromptu invitations to meals at the Tounsi household. We walked hurriedly through the narrow streets, in and out of the complicated labyrinth of the medina to her neighborhood.
I was flooded with kisses by Besma's mother, Laila. She seemed especially excited to see me. She held my hand and escorted me through the courtyard into the family living area. The roomful of waiting people stood up to welcome me. I recognized almost everyone in the room as family and cousins. The only person not to greet me was an older gentleman who did not move from his seat but fixed his stare on me from the moment I came in the room. He seemed amused. Besma's mother once again grabbed my hand and led me to the couch. I was seated facing the stranger and the room became very quiet.
Then the stranger started to speak. In perfect English, with a strong Arabic accent, he introduced himself as Uncle Mohammed. He gave me an abbreviated life story. He told me he was educated and that he took a degree in dentistry. He was financially secure and could promise me frequent vacations in Europe and a yearly trip to America to see my family. He explained that he had seen a picture of me, one that I had given to Besma. He knew the moment he saw it that I should be his wife. And did I accept?
Dumbfounded beyond words, I looked around the room. Everyone was perched on the edge of their chairs. I shot Besma a what-have-you-done-to-me look. When I turned to Laila she was frantically nodding yes, yes, yes! I looked back at Mohammed, who was awaiting my favorable reply.
"How old are you?" I asked.
"Forty-six," he replied.
"Wow," was all I could say.
"It's a wonderful opportunity for you," he said. "Really the chance of a lifetime." Then Laila chimed in. "You will be in our family. I am so happy." She was already congratulating me.
"Besma, can I speak with you a moment?" I asked. [The PCV speaks in private with Besma and then returns to the living room, all eyes upon her.]
"I'm sorry I cannot accept your gracious offer," I said. "My family wants me to marry a man from my hometown, someone I have known since my childhood." It was a blatant lie. "He is waiting for my return. I am here because there is so much yet to learn. I want to be ready for marriage and right now I am not. I am too young. But when I am ready it will have to be him I marry."
"I understand," he replied. "Thank you."
PCV Tunisia
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