Fellows' Reflections: Kirsten Mullin

“Let’s go to Malaysia when this year is done,'' my roommate and MENAR co-fellow Angela said to me one late night in our apartment.

“Why Malaysia?”

“It’s about as far away from Tunisia as you can get!”

Angela, our other roommate, and I had this conversation while we were drowning in advertisements searching for a new apartment. About a week before, I was wheezing so intensely at work that I could feel my chest vibrating. I left work in a hurry and went to the nearest English-speaking doctor I could find. When I finally got there, she told me in no uncertain terms that I had to move out of my apartment, because the recently discovered mold growth was having a serious impact on my health.

The apartment search was not going well, and a strained relationship with our landlord added another layer of stress. During the three weeks of our apartment search, I was sleeping on a couch in our common room to limit exposure to the mold in my own room, while going to viewings after work and dealing with the normal daily stress of living in a foreign country.

By the end of December, I was ready to go home to New York. The week before my Friday flight home for Christmas, I was working extra hours to accommodate for parent-teacher conferences, battling a mixture of bronchitis and a sinus infection, and was in the process of moving to our new apartment. When Thursday finally came, all I wanted to do was go home, watch a movie, and pack — but I realized I had forgotten to buy Christmas gifts for my family.

All day, I dragged my feet on whether or not I was going to go into the medina to buy presents. Finally, when the bell rang at 3:30 pm to signal the end of my class, I decided to go. Twenty minutes later, I found myself standing at the entrance to the medina, making a mental list of all of the things I needed to buy.

Once inside the medina, I navigated the shop-lined alleyways to go to my favorite shopkeeper, Moncef. When I saw him, he greeted me with an enthusiastic “3sslema binti!” (hello my daughter). For the next twenty minutes, I stood in his shop, surrounded by the beautiful metalwork made by him and his father, and talked about family, adjusting to life in Tunisia, and the upcoming holidays. By the end, I walked out with two handmade metal plates, upon which he had engraved special notes for my family.

On my way out of the medina, with all of my gifts in hand, I ran into one of the former security guards at ECT. During my first few days at the school, he had helped me find taxis, organized rides home with friends, and just generally ensured that I was taken care of. I missed his presence outside the school everyday and was ecstatic to see him.

We talked for a bit, and I learned that he had recently started working as a security guard outside of a popular hotel in Tunis. After a couple of minutes, he invited me to sit down at the hotel’s cafe for a coffee. Then, the boss of the hotel came over with a piping hot coffee, and told me that his daughter goes to ECT. We chatted for a little and when I left, he told me that I am always welcome to come and sit down for a coffee at the hotel.

In the few weeks leading up to holiday break, Tunis did not feel like home for me. I longed for a break, stability, and most importantly, a mold-free living situation. However, leaving the medina on the day before my departure, I felt an overwhelming sense of belonging and contentedness. On my way home, I reflected on all of the small ways that I have been made to feel at home in Tunis — from the old man I say hi to every day on my way to work, to roommates that did not hesitate to move apartments with me.

If there is one thing I’ve learned so far in Tunis, it is this: The path to feeling at home in a new place is not linear, but rather is paved with small, inexplicable moments of belonging. Although I am still grateful for the opportunity to go back to New York for Christmas, I cannot wait to return to my home in Tunis and continue to have those moments.