Let’s talk about that camel.

This is from my last newsletter. Look at all the chaos you’re missing if you’re not subscribed! Remedy that today!

Buckle in—we’re heading to Tunisia for this chaos-loving tale!

SCENE

2011. Tunisia lies in disrepair following its revolution. The United Nations is working with them to help rebuilding efforts even as carcasses of burned-out cars still sit where they burned.

CUT SCENE

2011. Canada is kinda chilly as it always is nearing November. A communications manager of a national non-profit association (my last full-time gig) gets invited to share Canadian best practices on marketing the skilled trades as a desirable career path.

CUT SCENE

2025. You check your email and wonder: Wait, isn’t this a writer’s newsletter? What’s going on? You fear you’re in the wrong place. Let me assure you that you are not. You are exactly where you’re meant to be.

TUNISIA

The invitation to come to Tunisia is sketchy at best—it comes out of nowhere, with barely two weeks to prepare. It says Canada has been selected as a lead example of creating awareness of skilled trades careers. They reach out to us as one of the creators of the national awareness campaign and, since I am the project manager and speak French—the second language in Tunisia—I am invited to join a summit convened by the newly appointed (?) president and his advisors.

I say yes. I receive weird plane tickets. I board a flight they promise will get me to Europe, and then on to Tunisia depending on the stability of the nation. I’m okay with that.

Europe!

NOT EUROPE

I see the inside of Charles de Gaulle airport as I race for my second flight, and then arrive in Tunisia. It turns out I haven’t actually prepared for my trip, aside from making sure I am properly attired and at least somewhat culturally aware. And so, dimly aware of the revolution, I am surprised by the machine guns, barbed wire, and tanks. I hire a reputable driver and tourist firm and enjoy one day of amazing touristing. 

Carthage!

Then the new president decides to convene the conference a day early, so we are all called to a secluded and heavily defended resort. I give a presentation, make friends, outdrink a Frenchman (the Québécois rule!), and share lots of appetizers with a German UN representative in a joyfully kitschy bar.

But I’m not done, even with just over twelve hours left before my flight. Oh no. You see, my friends, I’m on a mission.

MISSION PARAMETERS

To see a camel. That’s it. I'm in Africa, and I want to see a camel. Except I'm in Tunis, in northern Africa, bordered by the Mediterranean Sea. Camels aren’t just wandering into our highly defended resort (so. many. guns.). Still! The conference ends at noon. I intend to see me a camel that afternoon. My flight is off the next morning. There is limited time.

I need to focus.

THE ALLY

I arrive on time for the closing ceremonies and am the first and only person in the room (my cultural research failed to indicate that “on time” isn’t on time in Tunisia). A middle-aged woman enters and sits right beside me. She greets me in Arabic. I greet her in French. We barely speak each other’s language, but she understands that I want to see a camel.

“Follow me after this,” she declares, this stern-featured woman whose name I do not know, who speaks a language I do not understand, in a country I know very little about.

So, of course, I follow her.

THE ONE CAMEL

She drives me to the heart of Tunis in her blue Ford Focus. We head into a café, where I am informed lives the one camel in Tunis. 

A Café Camel, as it were.

In the middle of the open-air café stands a well, where apparently the camel usually labors. My host questions the owner and reports that the camel is on break. I do not know camels take breaks, but it’s nice to know they have excellent benefits.

While we wait, we go look at the Sea, beautiful and sparkling below. 

"THIS IS HOW I GET KIDNAPPED"

...or so I think as she grabs my hand, shouts “CAMEL!” and tugs me into the market area. Like in Aladdin, with all those tents. And, like in Aladdin, we’re going through the merchant tents, not in front of them. My polite Canadian self is mortified, my (small, mostly silent) smart self is worried.

She drags me all the way through with her frenzied grip, and then we arrive on the beach.

And there it is.

The camel.

Nonchalantly eating old veggies out of a box. It’s suspicious. I’m suspicious. My host is grinning wildly.

I have found my camel.

POST-CAMEL

Now lost in Tunis and having no idea how to do anything or where my resort is (but successful in my camel quest!), I follow the woman home (I know, I know, my personal brand is “how are you even still alive?”). Her visiting niece speaks perfect French and we hit it off. We laugh, share stories, look at pictures. 

And then, they say the magical words:

HAVE YOU EVER HAD A PERFECT CUP OF ALMOND TEA?

I had not. I am certain I haven’t had anything resembling what they refer to. All I know are cheap tea bags and slightly mouldy tea taste. So off to adventure again! They stuff me in the car. 

As the sun sets, we drive out of Tunis and up a nearby hill. For an hour the wild beauty of Tunis stretches around me, until we reach a small village, where I'm told they make the finest cup of almond tea.

I REMEMBER YOU, TEA

This cup fits perfectly in my hands, warming me against the cooling Tunisian night, the breeze flowing from the Mediterranean which shimmers below the mountains as the last rays of sunset vanish. I hold the tea near my mouth and the fumes enrobe me with calmness and the sweet fragrance of almonds. I close my eyes, bask in the scent, the only interruptions coming from the gentle nudge of sea and mountain air, stealing some of the fragrance for their own ancient rituals. Then I take a sip of the honey-like liquid, large clumps of almonds lazily waltzing along, demanding that I gently chew their softened exterior.

As the night cools and we silently watch the sea below, the noise of the nearby street, booming with laughter like a background orchestra of joy, I eat more almonds than I ever have in one sitting, still not clear what honeyed tea I drink, but enjoying every gentle caress on my taste buds.

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED

I met a camel. I had the most perfect cup of tea ever. I made some friends. I did not get kidnapped. I did not get shot. I barely had a difficult time getting back to Canada. (Except for not having my police papers, but that’s a story for another day.)

Somewhere in the hills near Tunis, in a village whose name I do not know, I imagine you can still get the perfect cup of almond tea.

END SCENE

The stories we experience live on in us. I don’t know if I’ll ever make it back to Tunisia in real life, but I chose to revisit this unforgettable land in a story, and experience it through very different eyes than my own. 

In Shadowrun: Wasted, my chaos-loving rock and roll band ends up in Tunisia, after having to leave a second country (perhaps they're too chaos-loving). In it, my main narrator, a giant red orc named Twinkle Toes (the bass player, of course), enjoys a cup of almond tea in the Medina of Tunis.

Go visit Tunisia with them! And, also, enjoy a picture of the camel! In the distance is the café in the shorter building, if memory serves right.

May you enjoy as many memorable adventures as your heart desires!

Glittery regards,

Marie