From Jerba: meditations, ramble talk, and otherwise

The transitional government: game over!!

2011-01-26T19:07:00.007+01:00

I want to say a few words about what's happening in Tunisia nowadays. To be honest, I never expected this to happen. It has seemed to me, over the years, that people would never stand up for their rights. The thing is that Ben Ali's regime has done everything to keep the Tunisian people silent. People in all walks of life did not dare to speak out, did not dare to complain about what has been happening, didn't dare to question the staus quo.

What happened is completely unexpected. The spell of fear is broken. Now people can say NO; not because the new transitional govenment is for freedom of speech or is a proponent of human rights, but because Tunisians no longer fear the corrupt regime. What is clear is that the transitional government is trying to sell itself as the defender of democracy and human rights. Still, it does not want to listen to the voice of the vast majority of the people who made themselves clear: OUT, GAME OVER, NON C NON, etc. These are some of the mottos chanted by the demonstartors. Yet, the transitional government is turning a deaf ear to all this.

The thing is that Tunisians do not trust a transitional government simply because most of the ministers in this government used to be supporters of Ben Ali's regime. Tunisians think that the womb the baby floats in is infected beyond repair. My point is that how could Tunisians trust a government the majority of its ministers have shamelessly been supporting a corrupt regime. At least six ministers of this transitional governments did not have the slightest qualms about people being jailed for not supporting Ben Ali, about jobs given to those who were abler to pay, for the educational system which now sweeps the floor, so to speak. How could they believe that those who were once supporters of a corrupt regime will now take it upon themselves and build a new Tunisia?

For this country to stand on its feet, there is a need to oust all those ministers who have been branding those young voices who took to the streets in defence of their rights for jobs, for free speech, and for justice as terrorists. These ministers have never listened to the people. They have turned a blind eye to their misery, to joblessness, to corruption, to injustice, and to whatever made life unfortunate for Tunisians. To add insult to injury, these ministers, and many others, have swept away under the carpet all the blemishes of Beni Ali's regime and never showed a real interest in putting things to right. Now these ministers are asked to go home and leave the people choose a government which has the courage to fix what went wrong.

The message is clear: Tunisians are fed up with empty promises. They cannot trust those who have been turning a blind ear to their misery for the last 23 years. The game is over and now is time for a new start.

A new chapter

2011-01-22T18:12:00.004+01:00

A chapter is being closed in our lives; another has just been opened. Now that Tunisia is trying to stand up on its feet, some of us would need to forgive and forget. Some others would need to atone for past mistakes. Some others would need to be taken to justice and shown the door.

Certainly, the road to a new Tunisia passes through landmines. I think the oppressed (the victims) should be given a chance to talk, and the oppressor should come out and talk about what has been done. But I don't think retribution would lead us anywhere, except to perdition.

We have now taken one small step on the road to freedom. My hope is for Tunisians to be up to the challenge of making this process of change concrete. Cartesian doubt of all politicians seems one good thing to start with. My point is that we should take whatever comes from politicians with a pinch of salt and also to find ways to hold them responsible for what they say and do in order for this country to move on.

The Kite Runner

2010-05-20T17:35:00.006+01:00

I have been reading The Kite Runner, a novel written by Khaled Hosseini. It tells the story of two Afghani boys: Amir, the son of a well-to-do Pashtun businessman and Hassan, the son of a Hazara servant.

Broadly speaking, the story is an extraordaniry tale of love and hate, betrayal and trust, betrayal and forgiveness. It is the story if two boys, each from a different clan or sect. It is the story of us versus them, of me versus you, of the shiite Hazara versus the Sunni Pashtun. I find the story inspiring in the way it evokes the power of love to help people forgive and forget and shattering in the way it evokes the power of self-hate to inflict harm upon others.

The way I see it, the story is not only of two boys- each belonging to a particular sect. The story is about Afghanistan rising and then made to kneel and then rising again, and so on and so forth. The story, so to speak, is about the phoenix bird rising from the ashes, only to be reduced to ashes again in a never ending process of death and life.

سرقة و تجوبير في مقاهي شارع الحبيب بورقيبة

2010-05-18T17:00:00.006+01:00

الجمعة اللي فاتت مشيت أنا و صديق عزيز لقهوة من المقاهي الفاخرة في شارع الحبيب بورقيبة في تونس العاصمة. طلبنا قهوة "ألونجي" و كاس عصير. جاء النادل و طلب 3 دينارات في الوقت اللي السوم هو 2400 مليم. طلبنا تسكرة لكن سي النادل ما حبش. أحنا في بالنا اللي موش هاكا السوم. قولنالو نحبو تسكرة فيها السوم متاع اللي استهلكناه و شدينا الصحيح ياخي السيد حب يفكلي الهاتف الجوال متاعي اللي و قتها كان محطوط فوق الطاولة. القهوة هاذي كيما قلتلكم قهوة فاخرة و نورمالمون يعاملو فيها الناس باحترام مش يسرقولهم فلوسهم و كي ما ينجموش يعملو فيها باندية و يحاولو يفكولنا بورطابلواتنا

Garlic to fight H1N1

2009-12-01T13:05:00.003+01:00

William Lagadyn wrote the following:

H1N1 flu, swine flu, pig flu, or whatever the health community is labeling this recent virus, is not something you want to take lightly. Six weeks ago both my wife and I became infected with what I now call "the evil virus" and at first we thought it was just a seasonal flu bug so we would let it run its natural course. You know the normal symptoms... fever, chills, coughing, sniffles and no energy. But after a week we started to feel worse.

First came the hacking cough, coupled with sinus drainage which made our throats very sore causing swallowing difficulties. I suspect the sinus drainage was a contributing factor to the throat inflammation, but sipping non-acidic juices helped soothe our throats and made swallowing food a little easier.

Week 2

We started experiencing headaches, and sore muscles along with the sinus drainage and constant coughing which was getting worse. Add in several nights with not much sleep and you can imagine how fatigued we were.

Week 3

Our symptoms were worsening. We were feeling very rundown and exhausted, we had never-ending sinus drainage so bad now you needed to blow your nose every 5 or ten minutes, and chills one minute and sweating the next,breathing difficulties, and phlegm which required hacking and coughing to expel.

Week 4

Most of our symptoms were getting a little worse and some more frequent. Being in a warm bed at night slowed down the sinus drainage but the phlegm buildup was getting very bad. Phlegm so thick it would cause you to wake up several times at night gasping for air.

It's pretty scary when you can't breathe and have no idea what's happening to your body. Most phlegm you can cough-up and easily spit it out. This phlegm was very sticky and was extremely hard to clear and spit out.

Week 5

We started to fight the virus back because it was getting worse and we couldn't take it anymore. My wife is 57 and I am 66 and a virus can often cause other health problems which we didn't want. Especially the side effect called death.

Kill The Virus Before it Kills Us

We never take any OTC meds or prescription drugs but instead rely on the same natural remedies that have been used all over the world for many generations to kill viruses and solve other health problems.

The first thing we did in our fight against "the evil virus" was to take some "Oil of Oregano." Oil of Oregano is a very powerful antiviral which is natural and will help build up your immune system so you can fight this virus.

This virus has the potential to cause wide spread sickness and many deaths according to some medical establishment.

We knew using antibiotics will not cure a viral infection and infections related to the respiratory system are viral, so we needed to attack with natural antiviral products

Knowing that raw garlic is antiviral we went on attack. Garlic has been used for 100's of years to treat many health disorders and has no side effects. Well, besides chasing away your mate or vampires.

What We Did

All we did was chop up 8 fresh garlic cloves a day and each of us ate four before retiring for the evening.

The garlic was cut up into tiny little pieces so you didn't have to chew it. Using a teaspoon we put a small amount of garlic pieces in our mouths and had a little water to wash the garlic down.

It proved quite easy to do, and almost eliminated the breath odor by doing it this way.

Three Days

Was all it took to completely destroy the virus and take our former good health back. All symptoms completely disappeared and have not returned.

We can not say enough about this natural way we used to destroy this viral infection by using raw garlic. It quite possibly saved our lives.
William Lagadyn is a medical researcher and was the first person to unravel the mysteries of heartburn and acid reflux problems. His natural healing methods were first discovered over 20 years ago, and since that time he has helped 1000's of people completely solve their digestive problems. For more information on how to solve your digestive problems such as heartburn, acid reflux or GERD without the use of potentially dangerous drugs forever, please visit his website at http://www.cureyourheartburn.com

Source: http://ezinearticles.com/?H1N1-Cure?&id=2947559

H1N1 among my students

2009-12-01T12:55:00.002+01:00

Two suspected cases of H1N1 among my students earlier this morning.

أنا من سنين أحب الجزائر - للشاعر فاروق جويدة

2009-11-22T10:52:00.000+01:00

شهيد على صدر سيناء يبكي
ويدعو شهيدا بقلب الجزائـــر
تعالّ إليّ ففي القلب شكـــوى
وبين الجــــوانح حزن يكــــابر
لماذا تهون دماء الرجــــــال
ويخبو مع القهر عزم الضمائر

دماء توارت كنبض القلوب
ليعلو عليها ضجيج الصغائــــر
إذا الفجر أصبح طيفـا بعيــدا

تـباع الدماء بسوق الحناجـــــــر
على أرض سيناء يعلو نــداء
يكبر للصبـــح فوق المنابـــــــر

وفي ظلمة الليل يغفو ضيـاء
يجيء ويغدو.. كألعـاب ساحــر
لماذا نسيتــم دماء الرجــــــــال
على وجه سينا.. وعين الجزائر؟!

على أرض سينــاء يبدو شهيـد
يطوف حزينـا.. مع الراحليـــن
ويصرخ في النــاس: هذا حرام
دمانا تضيــــــع مع العابثيــــــن
فهذي الملاعب عزف جميــــل
وليســــت حروبا على المعتدين

نحب من الخيل بعض الصهيل
ونعشـــــق فيها الجمال الضنين
ونطرب حين يغني الصغــــار
علي ضوء فجر شجي الحنيـــن
فبعض الملاعب عشق الكبــــار
وفيها نداعب حلــــم البنيــــــــن

لماذا نراها سيوفــــــا وحربـــــا
تعالــــوا نراها كنـاي حزيــــــن
فلا النصر يعني اقتتال الرفــــاق
ولا في الخســارة عار مشـــــين

على أرض سيناء دم ونـــــــــار
وفوق الجزائر تبكــي الهــــــمم
هنا كان بالأمس صوت الرجال
يهز الشـعــوب.. ويحيـي الأمم
شهيدان طافا بأرض العروبـة
غنى العـــراق بأغلى نغــــــــــم

شهيد يؤذن بيــــن الحجيـــــــج
وآخر يصرخ فوق الهــــــــرم
لقد جمعتنا دمـاء القـلــــــــــوب
فكيف افترقـــــنا بهزل القــــــدم؟!
وما زال يصرخ بين الجمــوع
قم اقــــرأ كتـابك وحـي القلــــــم

على صدر سيناء وجه عنيــد
شـــهيد يعانق طيـــــــف العلـــــــم
وفوق الجزائر نبض حزيـــن
يداري الدمــوع ويخفي الألـــــــم
تعالـوا لنجمع ما قد تبقــــــــى
فشــر الخطــايا سفيـــــــــه حكــــــم

ولم يبقَ غير عويل الذئـــاب
يطـــــارد في الليل ركـــب الغنــــــــم!
رضيتم مع الفقر بؤس الحياة
وذل الهــــــوان ويـــأس النـــــــدم
ففي كل وجه شظايا همــــــوم
وفي كل عيـــن يئن الســــــــــــــأم

إذا كان فيكم شموخ قديـــــــم
فكيف ارتــــــضيتم حــياة الـــــــــرمم؟!
تنامون حتى يموت الصبـــاح
وتبكون حتى يثور العــــــــــدم

شهيد على صدر سيناء يبكي
وفوق الجزائر يسري الغضـب
هنا جمعتنا دمـاء الرجـــــــال
فهل فرقتنا' غنــــــاوي' اللعـــب
وبئس الزمـان إذا ما استكـــان
تسـاوى الرخيص بحرّ الذهـــــب

هنا كان مجــد.. وأطلال ذكـــرى
وشـعب عـريق يسمـى العـــــرب
ويا ويلهــم.. بعــد ماضٍ عــريـق
يبيعون زيفـا بســــوق الكـــــــــــذب

ومنذ استكانوا لقهر الطغــــــاة
هنا من تـوارى.. هنا من هـرب
شعوب رأت في العويل انتصارا
فخاضت حروبا.. بسيف الخطب

على آخر الدرب يبدو شهيــــــد
يعانــق بالدمــــــع كل الرفــــــاق
أتـوا يحملون زمانــــــا قديمـــــا
لحلـــم غفا مرة.. واستفـــــــاق

فوحد أرضا.. وأغنى شعوبــــــا
وأخرجها من جحـور الشـقـــــــاق
فهذا أتي من عيون الخليـــــل
وهذا أتى من نخيل العـــــــراق

وهذا يعانق أطـــلال غــــــزة
يعلو نداء.. يطــول العنـــــــــاق
فكيف تشرد حلم بــــــــريء
لنحيـــا مـــرارة هذا السبـــــــاق؟
ويا ويل أرض أذلـت شموخـا
لترفـــع بالزيــف وجه النفــاق

شهيد مع الفجر صلى.. ونادى
وصاح: أفيقوا كفـــــاكم فســــادا
لقد شردتكم همــوم الحيـــــاة
وحين طغى القهر فيكم.. تمادى

وحين رضيتم سكـون القبــور
شبعتم ضياعا.. وزادوا عنادا
وكم فارق الناس صبح عنيـــد
وفي آخر الليل أغفى.. وعادا

وطال بنا النوم عمرا طويــــلا
وما زادنا النـوم.. إلا سهــــادا

على صدر سيناء يبكي شهيـــد
وآخر يصرخ فـــوق الجزائـــر
هنا كان بالأمس شعــب يثـــور
وأرض تضجّ.. ومجــــــد يفاخــــــر
هنا كان بالأمس صوت الشهيد
يزلزل أرضا.. ويحمي المصائر

ينام الصغير على نار حقــــــــد
فمن أرضع الطفل هذي الكبائر؟!
ومن علم الشعب أن الحــــروب
"كـرات" تطير.. وشعب يقـامر؟!
ومن علّم الأرض أن الدماء
تراب يجف.. وحــزن يسافـــــــر

ومن علم الناس أن البطولـــــــة
شعب يباع.. وحكم يتــــــاجر؟!
وأن العروش.. عروش الطغاة
بلاد تئن.. وقهر يجـــــــاهر
وكنا نـباهي بدم الشهيــــــــــــــد
فصرنا نباهي بقصف الحناجر!
إذا ما التقينــــــا على أي أرض
فليس لنا غير صدق المشاعر
سيبقى أخي رغم هذا الصـــراخ
يلملم في الليل وجهي المهاجر

عدوي عدوي.. فلا تخــدعوني
بوجه تخفـي بمليون ساتــــــر
فخلـــف الحـــــــدود عـــدو لئيــم
إذا ما غفونا تطل الخناجـــــر
فلا تتـــركوا فتنـة العابثيـــــــــن
تشـوه عمرا نقي الضمائــــــر
ولا تغرسوا في قلــوب الصغــار
خرابا وخوفا لتعمي البصــــائر

أنا من سنين أحـــب الجـــــزائـــر
ترابا وأرضا.. وشعبـــا يغامـــر
أحب الدمــاء التي حررتــــــــــه
أحب الشموخ.. ونبل السرائر
ومصر العريقة فوق العتـــــــاب
وأكبر من كل هذي الصغــــائر

أخي سوف تبقى ضميري وسيفي
فصبر جميل.. فللــيـــل آخــر
إذا كان في الكون شيء جميـــــل
فأجمل ما فيه.. نيل.. وشاعر

We lost the game, alhamdulillah!!!

2009-11-14T16:44:00.001+01:00

We lost the game! Alhamdulillah!!

I have always believed that the best should win. No need to spend millions on losers and boozers who pretend to be real footballers. Nigera has been the best and I do want the best to win, and this does not make me less pateriotic. I want to see real football, and when our losers and boozers start doing their job appropriately, then I will support them.

Thanks to my illness

2009-10-29T11:43:00.005+01:00

Thanks to my illness, I now can find some time to blog again . Yesterday, I could not finish my last two classes and went home earlier than usual and took to bed. I am supposed to teach another class today but could not go. I sent a sick note to the "head of department", asking him to ask the students not to come. No answer. Not even a "hope you get better" sms. Whatever!

2009-07-14T18:02:00.003+01:00

علاش التوانسة للي يعيشو في الخارج وقت يجيو لتونس ما يحكوش مع صغارهم بالعربي: منها تفرهيدة و منها صتاج لنقويستيك بلاش فلوس

ابتسم أنت في جربة

2009-07-11T13:20:00.003+01:00

اليوم مشيت نفركس على دار بحذا البحر لزملاء يحبو يعدو جمعة في جربة. مشيت لأجونس وسط ميدون ياخي المازمزال للي تخدم غادي طابت 1300 دينار, جمعة بركة مش شهر. زعمة شنوة تسموه هذا؟

2009-06-23T21:34:00.002+01:00

The great American poet, Sylvia Plath, once wrote the following: everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.

Love- children's style

2009-05-03T06:15:00.006+01:00

1. "When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint
her toenails anymore. So my grandfather does it for her all the time,
even when his hands got arthritis too. That's love." Rebecca - age 8

2. When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You
just know that your name is safe in their mouth." Billy - age 4

3. "Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne
and they go out and smell each other." Karl - age 5

4. "Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French
fries without making them give you any of theirs." Chrissy - age 6

5. "Love is what makes you smile when you're tired." Terri - age 4

6. "Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip
before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK." Danny - age 7

7. "Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of
kissing, you still want to be together and you talk more.
My Mommy and Daddy are like that. They look gross when they kiss" Emily - age 8

8. "Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening
presents and listen," Bobby - age 7

9. "If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend
who you hate," Nikka - age 6 (we need a few million more Nikka's on
this planet)

10. "Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears
it everyday." Noelle - age 7

11. "Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still
friends even after they know each other so well." Tommy - age 6

12. "During my piano recital, I was on a stage and I was scared.looked at
all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling. He was
the only one doing that. I wasn't scared anymore." Cindy - age 8

13. "My mommy loves me more than anybody. You don't see anyone else kissing
me to sleep at night." Clare - age 6

14. "Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken." Elaine - age 5

15. "Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is
handsomer than Robert Redford." Chris - age 7

16. "Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone
all day." Mary Ann - age 4

17. "I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old
clothes and has to go out and buy new ones." Lauren - age 4

18. "When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars
come out of you." (what an image) Karen - age 7

19. "You really shouldn't say 'I love you' unless you mean it. But if you
mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget." Jessica - age 8

20. Author and lecturer Leo Buscaglia once talked about a contest he was asked
to judge. The purpose of the contest was to find the most caring child. The
winner was a four year old child whose next door neighbor was an elderly
gentleman who had recently lost his wife. Upon seeing the man cry, the
little boy went into the old gentleman's yard, climbed onto his lap, and
just sat there. When his Mother asked him what he had said to the neighbor,
the little boy said, "Nothing, I just helped him cry."

From: http://www.jokes2go.com/lists/list167.html

Adam and Eve

2009-04-12T11:20:00.002+01:00

A very close friend of mine told me that Eve was the first to eat the forbidden apple but then she realized that she made a mistake and that her days in paradise would be over. She thought that she would be kicked out of heaven and that Adam would be there alone, to marry another woman. She, of course, became jealous and hated the idea that another woman might take her place. So, her decision was to trick Adam into making the same mistake and eat the forbiddem apple himself. Adam, out of love to her, was tempted and hence ate it.

The story can be read differently of course, but this is my dear friend's reading of it. This is not a female-hate reading. My friend who told me the story is a female, just in case you need to know.

You see? Love versus guile and wiles!!

Eve gaining her ends by guile and wiles, and Adam goes to his own fate out of love!!

Which is more powerful? Guile and wiles? Or love?

All is about expectations

2009-04-07T15:32:00.005+01:00

All is about expectations. I have to admit that one of my flaws is to place too high expectations on people. I tend to trust others, and some of those I trusted turned to be real asssholes!!!(excuse my language but I couldn' find a better word)

The problem is that I just don't want to do the opposite simply because, in my eyes, humans do count. The inner feelings that, by not trusting others, I might not do justice someone out there is something I simply cannot put up with. You may call this utter stupidity on my part but that's just the way it is, and I don't want to do otherwise.

I don't want to give examples because this relates to my life, to people who think themselves friends, people who roll up their eyes at your success, people who give you the measure-up test, people who think of you as stepping stones, people who find their own success in others' failure, people who take you for a fool simply because you are different, people who are unable to get things done without your help and then start finding faults with all you do so that they feel they are there alive and kicking!!!

I don't know if life is meant to be this way. All sucks!!! friendship sucks!!! The worth and value I have always put on people has been, much to my chagrin and disappointment, dwindling. Can anyone of you people out there explain to me why no one is really and truly happy about the success of friends and colleagues? Can anyone out there tell me why on earth a lousy 10 dollar note is more valued than frienship, is valued more than the smile you will never give to the person sitting next to you in the tube?? Can anyone out there give me a convincing answer as to why on earth are we afraid of, suspicious of others. Why on earth are some of the opinions we voice being taken personally??

I am bemoaning, I know!! I am not compalining!! I learnt not to, and I learnt it the hard way. I am not angry as some people may think. I AM PASSIONATE, and there is no wrong with being passionate.

All is about expectations!! May be because you might think I expect too much from people. Actually, I don't expect too much from people. I simply expect the BEST from people.

2009-04-06T08:16:00.002+01:00

It's been stolen from me, for three years!! And now it's back!!

النفس تبكي

2009-04-05T20:52:00.005+01:00

النفس تبكي على الدنيا وقد علمت * أن السعادة فيها ترك ما فيها
لا دار للمرء بعد الموت يسكنها * إلا التي كان قبل الموتِ بانيها
فإن بناها بالخير طاب مسكنه * وإن بناها بشر خاب بانيها

أموالنا لذوي الميراث نجمعها * ودورنا لخراب الدهر نبنيها
أين الملوك التي كانت مسلطنة * حتى سقاها بكأس الموت ساقيها
فكم مدائنِ في الافاق قد بنيت * أمست خراباً وأفنى الموت أهليها
لا تركنن الى الدنيا وما فيها * فالموت لا شك يُفنينا ويُفنيها

لكل نفس وان كان على وجل * من المنـِية امال تقويها
المرء يبسطها والدهر يقبضُها * والنفس تنشرها والموت يطويها

إنما المكارم أخلاق مطهرة * الدين أولها والعقل ثانيها
والعلم ثالثها والحلم رابعها * والجود خامسها والفضل سادسها
والبر سابعها والشكر ثامنها * والصبر تاسعها واللين باقيها

والنفس تعلم أني لا أصادقها * ولست أرشد إلا حين أعصيها

واعمل لدارٍ غداً رضوان خازنها * والجار أحمد والرحمن ناشيها
قصورها ذهب والمسك طينتها * والزعفران حشيش نابت فيها
أنهارها لبن محض ومن عسل * والخمر يجري رحيقاً في مجاريها
والطير تجري على الأغصان عاكفةً * تسبح الله جهراً في مغانيها
من يشتري الدار في الفردوس يعمرها * بركعة في ظلام الليل يحييها

شعر للإمام أمير المؤمنين علي بن أبي طالب عليه السلام

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

2009-03-19T12:53:00.004+01:00

I have just finished reading Harry Potter and the deathly hallows (Volume 7) and hated it. After all, it was not Harry Potter's story, but Dumbledores'.

Just like in a romance, the good ended happily and the bad unhappily. It was fiction, after all. But honestly, I think that the writer was too tired and just wanted to finish it.

Jerba Today

2009-03-15T20:10:00.001+01:00

Mr lovejoy

2009-03-10T22:07:00.007+01:00

When I was a secondary school student, I used to listen to the bbc Arabic service radio. At that time they had English lessons covering different topics. I remember the listening part where there were conversations between a funny old man named Mr Lovejoy and a young boy who works for him. It was all jokes, and that was one of the reasons why I liked it.

Years later, with this wonderful skype, I picked up that old man's name (Mr-lovejoy) as a nickname. I did not think about it. I simply picked up a name of a character I liked.

The thing is some of my friends, or at least some of those I skype with think of it as a "not serious" nickname. Put differently, they think the nickname is loaded with meanings. To me, it is not. It simply reminds of a character I liked, and of a radio program I cherished.

Tracy Chapman

2009-02-27T10:44:00.004+01:00

Tracy Chapman has always meant something to me. This is one of her best songs. I like the lyrics and all that sensation unleashed when she sings. I really feel that she has something to say, something to convey; and this makes all the difference.

Telling stories

There is fiction in the space between

The lines on your page of memories
Write it down but it doesn't mean
You're not just telling stories

There is fiction in the space between
You and reality
You will do and say anything
To make your everyday life
Seem less mundane
There is fiction in the space between
You and me

There's a science fiction in the space between
You and me
A fabrication of a grand scheme
Where I am the scary monster
I eat the city and as I leave the scene
In my spaceship I am laughing
In your remembrance of your bad dream
There's no one but you standing

Leave the pity and the blame
For the ones who do not speak
You write the words to get respect and compassion
And for posterity
You write the words and make believe
There is truth in the space between

There is fiction in the space between
You and everybody
Give us all what we need
Give us one more sad sordid story
But in the fiction of the space between
Sometimes a lie is the best thing
Sometimes a lie is the best thing

Free Hugs

2009-01-26T19:26:00.006+01:00

I was in the London Hyde Park when a man holding a banner with "FREE HUGS" written on it passed by. I made one step back for a second wondering what this guy wanted to say. At the time, I did not know about the Free Hugs Compaign, but then when I was back in Tunisia I read about it somewhere.

The idea that someone you do not know may be offering you a hug regardless of your gender, age, skin colour, looks, etc. may seem a bit awkward if taken at face value, especially in a muslim country if the two huggers are of different genders (amazingly the opposite may be considered weired in the west. Can a male hug a male? I know this is commonplace now in the West, but is everybody positive on it?)

The thing is that, today, in this ugly, shallow, and materialistic world no body feels safe. The rat race imposed on us by us, by our conditioning is turning us into very ugly monsters. We no longer trust our neighbours. How many of us salute neighbours in the morning? How many of us are ready to give a day's work for somebody who is in despearate need of something? How many of us are happy for others' success?

This monster haunting us. Our fear of others's success. Our envy of others' success. Who said: man is merely and exclusively a wolf to his brother man? HE IS.

This is why hugs (and may be love) are sought after in the most unlikely places. We are ready to hug a starnger simply because he / she is not a an immediate threat to us being the best of all!!!! I know for sure that the person passing by is despearte for a hug. May be the spouse or the partner or the friend or whomsoever was not much of a hugger, and the hug is by now a kind of ritual we all must share simply and only because we have done so for years.

This campaign for free hugs best illustrates our collective need for a look within and our collective failure as human beings.

"Million consider Christmas shoplifting" in the UK

2008-12-11T11:53:00.002+01:00

I came across this article on the co.uk yahoo site this morning, and it made me stop and think.

Almost a million Britons admit they would consider shoplifting presents this Christmas.

Figures also show there has been a 30 per cent surge in the number of thefts from shops over the last year.

Cambridgeshire police chief Julie Spence has warned that the financial strain of Christmas could tempt families to steal gifts for their children.

In a podcast on her force website, she said: "The pressures of buying presents are greater than ever. Trying to explain to children at Christmas that the present they most wanted won't be arriving is difficult.

"Some are also tempted to try to get for nothing what would otherwise cost them a lot of money. They try shoplifting. You may have seen the headlines saying it's on the increase.

"The other name for it is stealing. No matter how sympathetic some shop owners may be - or even police officers called to make an arrest - the fact is that a crime has been committed."

She added: "The penalty, quite rightly, is an appearance before the courts and often a heavy fine. Whatever happens, it will cost you far more than you stole."

Police in Cambridgeshire said they had noted an increase in first-time offenders in cases of shoplifting this year as the financial gloom grows.

A funny article on the English language

2008-12-09T14:41:00.000+01:00

English is a Crazy Language
by Richard Lederer

English is the most widely spoken language in the history of our planet, used in some way by at least one out of every seven human beings around the globe. Half of the world's books are written in English, and the majority of international telephone calls are made in English. Sixty percent of the world's radio programs are beamed in English, and more than seventy percent of international mail is written and addressed in English. Eighty percent of all computer texts, including all web sites, are stored in English.

English has acquired the largest vocabulary of all the world's languages, perhaps as many as two million words, and has generated one of the noblest bodies of literature in the annals of the human race. Nonetheless, it is now time to face the fact that English is a crazy language -- the most loopy and wiggy of all tongues.

In what other language do people drive in a parkway and park in a driveway?
In what other language do people play at a recital and recite at a play?
Why does night fall but never break and day break but never fall?
Why is it that when we transport something by car, it's called a shipment, but when we transport something by ship, it's called cargo?
Why does a man get a hernia and a woman a hysterectomy?
Why do we pack suits in a garment bag and garments in a suitcase?
Why do privates eat in the general mess and generals eat in the private mess?
Why do we call it newsprint when it contains no printing but when we put print on it, we call it a newspaper?
Why are people who ride motorcycles called bikers and people who ride bikes called cyclists?
Why -- in our crazy language -- can your nose run and your feet smell?

Language is like the air we breathe. It's invisible, inescapable, indispensable, and we take it for granted. But, when we take the time to step back and listen to the sounds that escape from the holes in people's faces and to explore the paradoxes and vagaries of English, we find that hot dogs can be cold, darkrooms can be lit, homework can be done in school, nightmares can take place in broad daylight while morning sickness and daydreaming can take place at night, tomboys are girls and midwives can be men, hours -- especially happy hours and rush hours -- often last longer than sixty minutes, quicksand works very slowly, boxing rings are square, silverware and glasses can be made of plastic and tablecloths of paper, most telephones are dialed by being punched (or pushed?), and most bathrooms don't have any baths in them. In fact, a dog can go to the bathroom under a tree -- no bath, no room; it's still going to the bathroom. And doesn't it seem a little bizarre that we go to the bathroom in order to go to the bathroom?

Why is it that a woman can man a station but a man can't woman one, that a man can father a movement but a woman can't mother one, and that a king rules a kingdom but a queen doesn't rule a queendom? How did all those Renaissance men reproduce when there don't seem to have been any Renaissance women?

Sometimes you have to believe that all English speakers should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane:

In what other language do they call the third hand on the clock the second hand?
Why do they call them apartments when they're all together?
Why do we call them buildings, when they're already built?
Why it is called a TV set when you get only one?
Why is phonetic not spelled phonetically?
Why is it so hard to remember how to spell mnemonic?
Why doesn't onomatopoeia sound like what it is?
Why is the word abbreviation so long?
Why is diminutive so undiminutive?
Why does the word monosyllabic consist of five syllables?
Why is there no synonym for synonym or thesaurus?
And why, pray tell, does lisp have an s in it?

English is crazy.

If adults commit adultery, do infants commit infantry? If olive oil is made from olives, what do they make baby oil from? If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian consume? If pro and con are opposites, is congress the opposite of progress?

Why can you call a woman a mouse but not a rat -- a kitten but not a cat? Why is it that a woman can be a vision, but not a sight -- unless your eyes hurt? Then she can be "a sight for sore eyes."

A writer is someone who writes, and a stinger is something that stings. But fingers don't fing, grocers don't groce, hammers don't ham, humdingers don't humding, ushers don't ush, and haberdashers do not haberdash.

If the plural of tooth is teeth, shouldn't the plural of booth be beeth? One goose, two geese -- so one moose, two meese? One index, two indices -- one Kleenex, two Kleenices? If people ring a bell today and rang a bell yesterday, why don't we say that they flang a ball? If they wrote a letter, perhaps they also bote their tongue. If the teacher taught, why isn't it also true that the preacher praught? Why is it that the sun shone yesterday while I shined my shoes, that I treaded water and then trod on the beach, and that I flew out to see a World Series game in which my favorite player flied out?

If we conceive a conception and receive at a reception, why don't we grieve a greption and believe a beleption? If a firefighter fights fire, what does a freedom fighter fight? If a horsehair mat is made from the hair of horses, from what is a mohair coat made?

A slim chance and a fat chance are the same, as are a caregiver and a caretaker, a bad licking and a good licking, and "What's going on?" and "What's coming off?" But a wise man and a wise guy are opposites. How can sharp speech and blunt speech be the same and quite a lot and quite a few the same, while overlook and oversee are opposites? How can the weather be hot as hell one day and cold as hell the next?

If button and unbutton and tie and untie are opposites, why are loosen and unloosen and ravel and unravel the same? If bad is the opposite of good, hard the opposite of soft, and up the opposite of down, why are badly and goodly, hardly and softly, and upright and downright not opposing pairs? If harmless actions are the opposite of harmful actions, why are shameful and shameless behavior the same and pricey objects less expensive than priceless ones? If appropriate and inappropriate remarks and passable and impassable mountain trails are opposites, why are flammable and inflammable materials, heritable and inheritable property, and passive and impassive people the same? How can valuable objects be less valuable than invaluable ones? If uplift is the same as lift up, why are upset and set up opposite in meaning? Why are pertinent and impertinent, canny and uncanny, and famous and infamous neither opposites nor the same? How can raise and raze and reckless and wreckless be opposites when each pair contains the same sound?

Why is it that when the sun or the moon or the stars are out, they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are invisible; that when I clip a coupon from a newspaper I separate it, but when I clip a coupon to a newspaper, I fasten it; and that when I wind up my watch, I start it, but when I wind up this essay, I shall end it?

English is a crazy language.

How can expressions like "I'm mad about my flat," "No football coaches allowed," "I'll come by in the morning and knock you up," and "Keep your pecker up" convey such different messages in two countries that purport to speak the same English?

How can it be easier to assent than to dissent but harder to ascend than to descend? Why is it that a man with hair on his head has more hair than a man with hairs on his head; that if you decide to be bad forever, you choose to be bad for good; and that if you choose to wear only your left shoe, then your left one is right and your right one is left? Right?

Small wonder that we English users are constantly standing meaning on its head. Let's look at a number of familiar English words and phrases that turn out to mean the opposite or something very different from what we think they mean:

A waiter. Why do they call those food servers waiters, when it's the customers who do the waiting?

I could care less. I couldn't care less is the clearer, more accurate version. Why do so many people delete the negative from this statement? Because they are afraid that the n't...less combination will make a double negative, which is a no-no.

I really miss not seeing you. Whenever people say this to me, I feel like responding, "All right, I'll leave!" Here speakers throw in a gratuitous negative, not, even though I really miss seeing you is what they want to say.

The movie kept me literally glued to my seat. The chances of our buttocks being literally epoxied to a seat are about as small as the chances of our literally rolling in the aisles while watching a funny movie or literally drowning in tears while watching a sad one. We actually mean The movie kept me figuratively glued to my seat -- but who needs figuratively, anyway?

A non-stop flight. Never get on one of these. You'll never get down.

A near miss. A near miss is, in reality, a collision. A close call is actually a near hit.

My idea fell between the cracks. If something fell between the cracks, didn't it land smack on the planks or the concrete? Shouldn't that be my idea fell into the cracks (or between the boards)?

A hot water heater. Who heats hot water? This is similar to garbage disposal. Actually, the stuff isn't garbage until after you dispose of it.

A hot cup of coffee. Here again the English language gets us in hot water. Who cares if the cup is hot? Surely we mean a cup of hot coffee.

Doughnut holes. Aren't those little treats really doughnut balls? The holes are what's left in the original doughnut. (And if a candy cane is shaped like a cane, why isn't a doughnut shaped like a nut?)

I want to have my cake and eat it too. Shouldn't this timeworn cliché be I want to eat my cake and have it too? Isn't the logical sequence that one hopes to eat the cake and then still possess it?

A one-night stand. So who's standing? Similarly, to sleep with someone. Who's sleeping?

I'll follow you to the ends of the earth. Let the word go out to the four corners of the earth that ever since Columbus we have known that the earth doesn't have any ends.

It's neither here nor there. Then where is it?

Extraordinary. If extra-fine means "even finer than fine" and extra-large "even larger than large," why doesn't extraordinary mean "even more ordinary than ordinary"?

The first century B.C. These hundred years occurred much longer ago than people imagined. What we call the first century B.C. was, in fact the last century B.C.

Daylight saving time. Not a single second of daylight is saved by this ploy.

The announcement was made by a nameless official. Just about everyone has a name, even officials. Surely what is meant is "The announcement was made by an unnamed official."

Preplan, preboard, preheat, and prerecord. Aren't people who do this simply planning, boarding, heating, and recording? Who needs the pretentious prefix? I have even seen shows "prerecorded before a live audience," certainly preferable to prerecording before a dead audience.

Pull up a chair. We don't really pull a chair up; we pull it along the ground. We don't pick up the phone; we pick up the receiver. And we don't really throw up; we throw out.

Put on your shoes and socks. This is an exceedingly difficult maneuver. Most of us put on our socks first, then our shoes.

A hit-and-run play. If you know your baseball, you know that the sequence constitutes "a run-and-hit play."

The bus goes back and forth between the terminal and the airport. Again we find mass confusion about the order of events. You have to go forth before you can go back.

I got caught in one of the biggest traffic bottlenecks of the year. The bigger the bottleneck, the more freely the contents of the bottle flow through it. To be true to the metaphor, we should say, I got caught in one of the smallest traffic bottlenecks of the year.

Underwater and underground. Things that we claim are underwater and underground are obviously surrounded by, not under the water and ground.

I lucked out. To luck out sounds as if you're out of luck. Don't you mean I lucked in?

Because we speakers and writers of English seem to have our heads screwed on backwards, we constantly misperceive our bodies, often saying just the opposite of what we mean:

Watch your head. I keep seeing this sign on low doorways, but I haven't figured out how to follow the instructions. Trying to watch your head is like trying to bite your teeth.

They're head over heels in love. That's nice, but all of us do almost everything head over heels. If we are trying to create an image of people doing cartwheels and somersaults, why don't we say, They're heels over head in love?

Put your best foot forward. Now let's see.... We have a good foot and a better foot -- but we don't have a third -- and best -- foot. It's our better foot we want to put forward. This grammar atrocity is akin to May the best team win. Usually there are only two teams in the contest. Similarly, in any list of bestsellers, only the most popular book is genuinely a bestseller. All the rest are bettersellers.

Keep a stiff upper lip. When we are disappointed or afraid, which lip do we try to control? The lower lip, of course, is the one we are trying to keep from quivering.
I'm speaking tongue in cheek. So how can anyone understand you?

Skinny. If fatty means "full of fat," shouldn't skinny mean "full of skin"?

They do things behind my back. You want they should do things in front of your back?

They did it ass backwards. What's wrong with that? We do everything ass backwards.

English is weird.

In the rigid expressions that wear tonal grooves in the record of our language, beck can appear only with call, cranny with nook, hue with cry, main with might, fettle only with fine, aback with taken, caboodle with kit, and spick and span only with each other. Why must all shrifts be short, all lucre filthy, all bystanders innocent, and all bedfellows strange? I'm convinced that some shrifts are lengthy and that some lucre is squeaky clean, and I've certainly met guilty bystanders and perfectly normal bedfellows.

Why is it that only swoops are fell? Sure, the verbivorous William Shakespeare invented the expression "one fell swoop," but why can't strokes, swings, acts, and the like also be fell? Why are we allowed to vent our spleens but never our kidneys or livers? Why must it be only our minds that are boggled and never our eyes or our hearts? Why can't eyes and jars be ajar, as well as doors? Why must aspersions always be cast and never hurled or lobbed?

Doesn't it seem just a little wifty that we can make amends but never just one amend; that no matter how carefully we comb through the annals of history, we can never discover just one annal; that we can never pull a shenanigan, be in a doldrum, eat an egg Benedict, or get just one jitter, a willy, a delirium tremen, or a heebie-jeebie. Why, sifting through the wreckage of a disaster, can we never find just one smithereen?

Indeed, this whole business of plurals that don't have matching singulars reminds me to ask this burning question, one that has puzzled scholars for decades: If you have a bunch of odds and ends and you get rid of or sell off all but one of them, what do you call that doohickey with which you're left?

What do you make of the fact that we can talk about certain things and ideas only when they are absent? Once they appear, our blessed English doesn't allow us to describe them. Have you ever seen a horseful carriage or a strapful gown? Have you ever run into someone who was combobulated, sheveled, gruntled, chalant, plussed, ruly, gainly, maculate, pecunious, or peccable? Have you ever met a sung hero or experienced requited love? I know people who are no spring chickens, but where, pray tell, are the people who are spring chickens? Where are the people who actually would hurt a fly? All the time I meet people who are great shakes, who can cut the mustard, who can fight City Hall, who are my cup of tea, who would lift a finger to help, who would give you the time of day, and whom I would touch with a ten-foot pole, but I can't talk about them in English -- and that is a laughing matter.

If the truth be told, all languages are a little crazy. As Walt Whitman might proclaim, they contradict themselves. That's because language is invented, not discovered, by boys and girls and men and women, not computers. As such, language reflects the creative and fearful asymmetry of the human race, which, of course, isn't really a race at all.

That's why we wear a pair of pants but, except on very cold days, not a pair of shirts. That's why men wear a bathing suit and bathing trunks at the same time. That's why brassiere is singular but panties is plural. That's why there's a team in Toronto called the Maple Leafs and another in Minnesota called the Timberwolves.

That's why six, seven, eight, and nine change to sixty, seventy, eighty, and ninety, but two, three, four, and five do not become twoty, threety, fourty, and fivety. That's why first-degree murder is more serious than third-degree murder but a third-degree burn is more serious than a first-degree burn. That's why we can open up the floor, climb the walls, raise the roof, pick up the house, and bring down the house.

In his essay "The Awful German Language," Mark Twain spoofs the confusion engendered by German gender by translating literally from a conversation in a German Sunday school book: "Gretchen. Wilhelm, where is the turnip? Wilhelm. She has gone to the kitchen. Gretchen. Where is the accomplished and beautiful English maiden? Wilhelm. It has gone to the opera." Twain continues: "A tree is male, its buds are female, its leaves are neuter; horses are sexless, dogs are male, cats are female -- tomcats included."

Still, you have to marvel at the unique lunacy of the English language, in which you can turn a light on and you can turn a light off and you can turn a light out, but you can't turn a light in; in which the sun comes up and goes down, but prices go up and come down -- a gloriously wiggy tongue in which your house can simultaneously burn up and burn down and your car can slow up and slow down, in which you fill in a form by filling out a form, in which your alarm clock goes off by going on, in which you are inoculated for measles by being inoculated against measles, in which you add up a column of figures by adding them down, and in which you first chop a tree down -- and then you chop it up.

2008-11-18T07:34:00.002+01:00

After years of frustration, I am finally allowed in; and now we are talking.

2008-11-16T22:18:00.002+01:00

"Because something is happening here. But you don't know what it is. Do you, Mister Jones?"
(Bob Dylan, 1965. The Ballad of the Thin Man)

2008-10-21T15:06:00.001+02:00

Giving credit where credit is due, what does this sound like?

جانب من الأثار المصرية القديمة بمتحف اللوفر

2008-09-08T17:35:00.003+02:00

شي يوجع القلب

A voice for beauty: Arènes de Lutège, Paris

2008-09-08T12:51:00.002+02:00

Varieties of roses at the Arènes de lutège, Paris

2008-09-08T12:26:00.004+02:00

TIME AND PLACE FOR BEAUTY

In response to an anonymous who left a comment in my blog at 3 AM this morning (on the story of Besma)

2008-09-08T12:08:00.001+02:00

Dear anonymous,

First of all, thank you for visiting my blog and for the comment.

The title of my blogspot is: From Jerba: meditations, ramble talk, and otherwise. The "dross" I write could be considered part of this "ramble talk, and otherwise". My objective is not to preach on people simply because I am a teacher; I simply talk to them, interact with them, care and share with them what life offers, drinking from every cup of the set.

You said I presented myself as a linguist. I DID NOT!! I presented myself as "interested in Linguistics" and I have never once considered myself a linguist. I am still a student of linguistics and the road to learning is never finished, at least in my eyes !!

The English language you wrote in was once a dialect, and the story of standard Arabic was not very much different. If you look down on it (the Tunisian dialect), then why do you speak it? In addition, the story of Besma seemed (again, at least to me) best told in the dialect.

You don't find the story funny? oK ! that's very normal !! What Tom takes for funny may be taken for silly by Dick. See?? it's a matter of opinion !! Put simply, opinions vary; and I do respect yours.

Final point: I am a teacher. A teacher is a human being, s/he sleeps, snores, has 2 eyes, goes to the loo, chats, gossips, and the list is still long. I am not an angel. I am simply trying to be what and who I am, living my life, being one in the crowd, and at times standing out of the crowd, may be for a better look at life and life' choices.

Again, thank you for visiting and for commenting.

A piece of my mind

2008-09-05T22:27:00.004+02:00

ان القارىء لما يكتبه البعض في مدونته و ينشر تباعا في مجمع المدونات التونسية ليلاحظ تباينا في الأراء قد يصل أحيانا الى صراع و تهجم لا يبرره العقل و المنطق. ان هذه التصرفات الصادرة ربما في أغلبها عن اناس أو مدونين لهم من الزاد المعرفي ما لا يستهان به لا يمكن بأي حال من الأحوال تفهمها و السكوت عنها

لا أريد أن ألعب دور الواعظ أو المرشد الديني أو الأخلاقي، فتلك مهمة أصعب من أن يقوم بهاشخص قليل الحيلة مثلي و لكن يؤلمني جدا و تؤرق مضجعي الإستهانة بعقل الأنسان. نحن الأن في زمن عنوانه التسامح و تقبل الأخر مهما كانت درجة اختلافه و التعامل معه كأنسان جدير بالأحترام ما لم يمثل خطرا على وجودنا و ما دام متقبلا لوجودنا محترما كينونتنا باعتبارها جزءا غير قابل للألغاء و مكونا من مكونات وجودنا كبشر يتميز عن غيره بملكة العقل التي كان من المفترض ان تساهم في الأرتقاء بالأنسانية

المؤسف في الأمر أن البعض يرى وجوده في غياب الأخر، في تحقير الأخر، في نفيه و محاولة التهجم على معتقداته. المضحك في الأمر أن هناك من يختفي وراء أسماء وهمية يخفي بها شخصيته الحقيقية فهو لا يملك شجاعة يواجه بها من اختلف في الأمر معه، و لا حججا عقلية يبرهن بها عن أرائه. أما المبكي في الأمر فهو أنه لا يدرك أن نفيه و تهجمه على الأخر هو في حد ذاته تعبيرعن ضيق افق و عماء بصيرة و انحطاط أخلاقي

Ramadhan Karim - Ramadhan Mubarak

2008-08-31T21:21:00.004+02:00

Inchallah Ramadhan Mubarak to all of you!!!

Samhouni ma3endich clavier yesme7li nekteb bel 3arbi.

Inchallah Ya Rab ykoun mabrouk 3lina W 3likoum el kol.

Pictures from Paris

2008-08-31T11:52:00.001+02:00

I did not know Paris was this beautiful.

To Paris

2008-08-21T00:39:00.003+02:00

Tomorrow I hit the road!! To Paris!! This will be the first Ramadhan abroad, not so easy but certainly something that I will never forget. I will try to enjoy it.

I will see my brother, some friends, and quite a few other things.

تاكسيات مطار تونس قرطاج

2008-08-20T12:47:00.006+02:00

عالسلامة!! شنوة احوالكم؟ سافا؟ أنا الحمدواللة سافا!! اما راني فاد شويّة من العجب العجاب للي قاعد نشوف فيه. في العادة راني نسكت و ما نتكلّمش اما كي يكثر عليّ الشي نطّربق مرّة وحدة، دونك بالله اصبرو علي شويّا. يا جماعا جيت باش ناخذ تاكسي من مطار تونس قارطاج الدولي لوسط تونس. الوقت 10 متع الليل و انا مروّح من لندرة، ياخي استقبلوني جماعة التاكسيّات بالأحضان. جاني واحد يجري و هزّ الفليجة متاعي من غير ما يشاور للتاكسي متاعو بكل جبورية و قلّة حيا و طلب 20 دينار باش يوصّلني في الوقت اللي التعريفة في الكنتار ما توصلش 5 دينارات. و لات عركة بيناتنا و انا خوكم ما رديتهاش لتالي

أيّا جا زميل ليهم باش يحلّ المشكل و وافق باش يهزّني بالكنتار, مشيناش 100 ميترو بالتاكسي و بدا الراجل يتشكى و يتبكّى: ملاّ دنيا!! ملاّ غلا!! ملاّ بلاد الواحد يخدم طول الليل و موش لاحق على شي!! يا اسيادي بدا الراجل يقنع فيّا باش نعطيه 10 الاف على خاطر احنا لكل شباب و نخدمو على ارواحنا و نفهمو بعضنا

الحكاية هاذي يا جماعة قاعدة تصير مع كل سايح يجي لبلادنا و مش معايا انا بركة!! بالله كان ثمّة مسوؤل يهمّو مستقبل البلاد هذيّة صدفة يقرا البوسط هذا و ينجّم يعمل حاجا ضدّ السرقة و الجبوريّة متاع التاكسيستية متاع مطار تونس قارطاج، ما ضبيّا يعمل حاجة

انا عندي اقتراح: باش وجه البلاد يبقى ديما نضيف، وقت السايح يجي باش يهبط من الطيارة اعطوه ورقة متاع ركلاماسيون فيها عنوان تتبعث ليه بدون ما يخلّص تنبري و فيها ينجّم يركلامي بأي حاجة و يكون ثم نومرو تاليفون ينجّمو يكلّموه في كلّ وقت و هكّة يكونو محميّين باش زادة يتشجّعو و يرجعو لبلادنا

حشّمتونا

2008-08-19T11:46:00.006+02:00

يا جماعة أنا بصراحة فديت من برشة حوايج. توّا جمعة لتالي مشيت لسفارة فرانسا باش نفيّز و ياريتني ما مشيت: الفضايح الفضايح الفضايح!! يا جماعة أش باش نحكيلكم: نسا تتعارك و تعيّط على بعضها!! قالّك يا سيدي أنا قبلها و هي بعدي
!!

شيابن أكبر من بويا تفكّ في التيكات متاع لمبلاسمون!!
واحد شبوّب شاد الشباك و يتفرّج في السفارة و كيف قالولو راهو ممنوع عمل فيها متنرفز.
ناس تتكلم في التاليفون ما على بالهاش بالوضع. هذايا لكل في السفارة لداخل و مش في الصّف لبرّة

أنا و الله حشمت و شديت بلاصتي و ما لقيت ما نقول و بصراحة عندهم ألف حق جماعة جون ماري لو بان و كل واحد يكره التوانسة و أمثالهم؛ مع الاعتذار للقلّة الي منوّرتلنا وجوهنا في فرانسا و في غيرها من بلدان العالم. أنا تمنيت لو كان يخليني ندخّل كاميرا معايا باش تشوفو بعيونكم و تعرفو علاش سمعتنا مايش باهية برشة في الخارج

On September 11th

2008-07-27T20:53:00.004+02:00

On page 18, Rageh Omar mentioned that Jason Bruke, in the introduction of his work Al Qaeda: Casting a Shadow of Terror, wrote the following:

"In the weeks immediately following the tragedy of September 11th there was a genuine interest in understanding 'why'. Why 'they' hate us, why were 'they' prepared to kill themselves, why such a thing could happen. That curiosity has dwindled and is being replaced by other questions: how did it happen, how many of 'them' are there, how many are there left to capture and kill?"

We want to promote a culture of openness and understanding, one in which otherness is not disciplined or annihilated unless it presents a real threat to life. Even in such a case, an attempt to contain its destructive force seems worth being made.

The way I see it, the shift from the "why" questions to the "how" questions is some sort of a misculculation in that for a problem to be solved we first of all need to understand the reasons behind it. When we, for the sake of vengeance, forget to deal with the real reasons and seek an inner satisfaction in the destruction of the other, then we are simply adding fuel to a culture of hate. We all know that violence breeds violence.

A person may ask the "how questions" (how many are there left to capture and kill) but a wise person would take the trouble to dwell on the first part of the questions (the why questions).

Understanding the actual reasons behing those deadly acts is the first step in the long path of peace, mutual understanding, and even an appreciation of difference.

Those who committed those deadly acts are certainly to be brought to justice but in taking revenge from so many people, thousands of souls were lost- most of them innocent; and the world is not safer than before September 11 2001.

The curiosity that dwindled, as Rageh Omar put it, should have been nurtured and the reasons why such a terrible thing happened should be considered objectively.

Leaving

2008-07-26T20:26:00.005+02:00

On page 4, Rageh Omar wrote the following:

"Until the early 1990s I had not thought of a life in London. My parents had never believed we would stay. They had left Somalia before the catastropes of war and fanine had descended on our country and so had not come to Britain as exiles but to send us to the English private schools to be educated in the skills that would help to build and renew post-colonial Somalia. It was temporary for them; it felt even more temporay for those who were forced to flee. I was at the tail end of the generation whose parents were convinced that their children would become part of a generation that would help lead Somalia towards the developed world. The civil war changed that."

This, I think, is neither the story of Rageh Omar alone nor that of the great number of Somalis leaving their country to whatever place or country on earth. This is the story of people from far and wide, especially in the third world or may be in what, out of compassion may be, is called developing world. Personally, I don't tink this is a developing world. The direction is, to some extent, to the other way.

Many of those who studied in the West and then came back to help develop their coutries simply, and put bluntly, regertted it. They find that no body is willing to listen to them and no body is open towards change. When I was at secondary school we had a teacher who spoke 8 languages. He was 45 years old. He had very smart kids and a nice family but still he regretted the day he decided to come beck from America.

Later on, and as I was starting the C.A.P.E.S training program and wanted to move from one governarate to the other in order to be able to pursue an MA degree, I was made to know by an official who had to sign a paper that I was not supposed to finish my MA- he himself tried 18 years ago but did not make it.

Some 3 months later, and as I was half-way through with my C.A.P.E.S training, the teacher trainer asked me, in very clear terms, to abandon my MA studies because it did not make sense to her to teach for some time at secondary schools and then to get a promotion and move on to work at the tertiary level.

The story does not stop there. I know a researcher who had to wait a whole year to get what he needed in the lab, and guess what he needed??!!! MICE!!!

Hard-working people like these, when they get the opportunity to study abroad, and work in an environment where the only criterion whereby a person is judged is his or her perseverance should no longer be looked at with mistrust or contempt when they do not come back.

A book I liked / a book I read

2008-07-25T21:31:00.002+02:00

Only half of me is a book I liked, a book which I found very inspiring and very telling in many ways. It tells the story of Rageh Omar who works for Ajazeera International. The copy I have has the picture of a young black boy wearing 2 things: a T-shirt for the English football team and a muslim prayer cap.

Now, in the few coming weeks, I intend to re-read the book and comment on the passages that seem, to me, most interesting and probably most intriguing.

The book is compelling for many reasons. It comes from someone who worked for the bbc and then moved to Aljazeera, someone very much revered by a large section of the British society, however different he is from them.

It also brings to the surface underlying feelings, emotions, attitudes, viewpoints regarding many issues that touch deep in the mind and soul of people belonging to different cultures, and tries at the same time to play down the rift that might annihilate us all.

The book is an attempt to understand oneself and a call for a better understanding of the other.

Tunisian Food

2008-07-20T21:02:00.005+02:00

My room was number 9, which was in the second floor. The place was nice, to say the least. You only need to walk for something like two minutes to find yourself in Pembroke College. There was a group of Japanese students with whom I had a very good relationship. We had Tunisian food one day, and of course I was the cook. We ate the Tunisian way.

Trumpington Street

2008-07-12T22:55:00.000+02:00

Trumpington Street was a different story, a much more beautiful one. Imogen was the first person I met. Imogen was doing a PhD on religion and she said that she intended to spend 6 months in the college for the write-up of her thesis and her husband would visit her every weekend. She was a great help to me and in spite of her work load, she was always there to answer any of my questions. She would admire my dishes every time we met in the kitchen.

Leaving Grange Road Number 6

2008-06-20T10:42:00.002+02:00

The next day Ms Jones introduced me to Susan. We had a very nice talk and Susan tried to make me feel at home. Her unfailing smile and her sing-song voice was a blessing as she moved around the place. Unfortunately for me it was summer time, and as Susan said, most researchers at the RCEAL were either on holiday or on seminars in America. So I did not discuss my topic with researchers from the center but finding myself all alone made me work harder on my thesis.

By the late afternoon, I heard loud voices in the kitchen, and I thought for a while that there might be some people with whom someone can talk. I made my way to the kitchen saluting them but they simply made me have a second thought. I could not stand it any more and after a few days I went to the porter’s lodge at Pembroke College and asked if it would be possible to have a switch to another place. The very polite man asked me to talk to Ms Adams, so I made my way to her office. I told her about my situation but I could see she was not very keen to help. I tried to explain my purpose behind spending all that money on a study trip to Cambridge but again she did not seem to get my point. I told her that I am Tunisian, and that we Tunisians are talkative and that finding myself in a place where you cannot talk to anyone would simply mean me being dead; a strategy which come to fruition.

In the first view, Grange Road Number 6 seemed perfect. It was calm and beautiful. It had a character of its own. For a hard-working person, that would be the right place, and may be that’s why all residents there were PhD students. I remember my first night there. I could not sleep well, and it was so cold even though it was the second of August. The cold was more of an internal feeling than of weather itself. It might be the feeling that I did not belong there, that I was the odd man out, the wrong one in the wrong place. An outcast, as it were.

Next morning (2)

2008-06-11T09:17:00.001+02:00

The RCEAL was very quiet that day, and Ms Jones made sure that everything I needed was at my fingertip. I have to say that the support that I had there was unparalleled. I remember one librarian who worked at the Tunis university library and who, unlike the rest of his colleagues, insisted on him being treated to a cup of coffee in exchange for books students ask for, and because of the fear factor no one dared to report him.
By 3 P.M, I left the library to Grange Road number 6 and then back to the city center to do some shopping.
Shamma sent me a message. She tried to call but could not join me. I gave her a call at 10 PM and we talked about this and that before she wished me good night (she said: Layla Sa3iida which she learnt in Morocco). She spoke about the fudge store opposite to King’s College and recommended it.
The day before I e-mailed her: “I am in Cambridge, safe and sound. I have not yet been given access to the Internet at the college, may be this afternoon. I have not heard from you. I hope you are fine.”

Next morning

2008-06-07T22:52:00.002+02:00

I woke up very early the next morning. That was a habit I always try to keep to. I remembered my grandfather who always insisted on the benefits of waking up very early: you never feel that you have done something worthwhile if you sleep in, my son!! Sleep early!! As early as chickens do if need be, but when you listen to the muezzin call for early Morning Prayer, then you have to get up!! That would make you healthy in mind and body, and that is one of those things that make a man worth his name!! May be that was one of the reasons why he kept a strong body all his life long. I could remember him climbing the big almond tree in his eighties!! That was one of those habits he tried to instill in us.

I had my shower and my breakfast, trying to envisage my coming encounter with the RCEAL staff. It was a walkable distance which I made in less than ten minutes. Ms Jones was the first person I met. She welcomed me with a big smile and helped me find my way around the place. “Susan was expecting you yesterday. Today is her day off”, she said. I apologized saying that it took me until three PM to find my hostel, and it did not seem to me appropriate to drop in that late.

Grange Road Number 6 - Part 2

2008-06-01T19:04:00.001+02:00

By that time, I was very hungry, so I cobbled something together, and then I set out discovering the place. I made my way to West Road where I was supposed to spend the following twenty days reading for my thesis at the Research Center for English and Applied Linguistics. I could not find it easily but someone who happened to be walking the same way knew I was lost and helped me find my destination. Exhausted, I returned to Grange Road number six and slept. Though it was summer, my room which happened to be number one was very cold. The room was obviously very clean and everything was okay but I soon found out that the blanket I was given had a very large dirty yellow spot on one side, and because I could not find someone whom I could ask for a replacement, I just turned it up and pretended the spot did not exist. My solace was having a warm bath in the next morning. After one day, I came across my second neighbour, a Chinese with long hair and who tacitly made it clear that he wanted to be left alone.

At around 10 PM, I tried to give Shamma a call but I could not listen to it ringing on the other side.

Grange Road Number 6: the first encounter

2008-05-26T13:40:00.002+02:00

When I opened the front hostel door, a tall guy came into view. I said hello, smiling, but nothing was said in response!!! That was the first slap in the face, something the likeness of which never happened to me in my first visit. That was very unexpected and humiliating as I was told weeks before my departure that the students residing at Grange Road number 6 were told about my arrival. I did not expect people there to be waiting for me but the thing was that that was some sort of you being rejected when you knew that they had an idea about your coming.

To Cambridge

2008-05-25T18:50:00.001+02:00

It took me 10 minutes to get to Balham Station, and another 12 minutes to reach Victoria Station by the overhead train. I had to walk for a while to find the coach station where I booked a 10 pound ticket to Cambridge. I waited in number 10 for half an hour until the driver ushered us to the coach, which then serpented its way through the clean London streets.

All the way to Cambridge, the flash of memories went back. I wanted to visit Britain for the second time to improve my English, to talk to people, to get to know and cherish the culture and the language I teach in Tunisia and to work on my PhD in some of the best libraries in the world. This country has meant a lot to me, and memories from my first visit in 2001 were still vivid in my mind.

It took us one hour to leave London and vast sceneries started to show up. The green lash countryside, as described by Shamma, was coming into view and clean fast cars of all makes were hitting the road in the opposite direction. We arrived at Cambridge at half past twelve. Because I did not have a map, I asked the driver if he knew where Pembroke College was, but he said that he never heard of such a place. I walked for about half an hour until I found my destination. The first person I met was a professor who showed me the way to the porter’s lodge. I was given some keys and told that my room was in a postgraduate kind of hostel at some distance from Pembroke. So, again, dragging my heavy suitcase I made my way to my new place. The porter was kind enough to walk outside the college and show me which way I should take. Finally, I arrived at Grange Road number 6.

A night in London

2008-05-24T10:23:00.001+02:00

It took me some time to find the underground station where I booked a four pound ticket to Balham, south London. The guy at the station said I had to change the tube at Leicester Square, the thing which I did. Yet, I took the wrong alley and the wrong tube finding myself heading to north London. Finally, after some frustration, I found the right tube but then I had to take a cab to my final destination.

Sophie welcomed me warmly, with a big smile and a kind heart. The pasta she cooked me was very delicious, and the cup of Lipton tea was exactly what I needed after a very long and hectic day.

That was something like a blessing, a smile when all other smiles were contorted. A push-up, a sort of you being given the thumb-up, when all other thumbs were going down, questioning what you do, discrediting your intentions, trying to fit you in a strait-jacket, pigeon-holing you, with all the injustices categorization might incur. For some of them the world is a puzzle of their own making, and it is up to them to put the pieces together. You role is just to stand aside and watch them play the big game, do the right thing, and keep the good work; and woe to him he who dares to cross the red line.

I did not sleep immediately. Sophie said that the fickle weather could not be trusted and that I had better shut the windows before I sleep. Nice room, the one she gave me: very well lit and marvelously decorated. A hotchpotch of conflicting images soon overcame me. I woke up a bit early and I could see that some shy light was struggling to find its way through the windows. I tried to do something. The piles of books in the room were very tempting but whether or not it was all right to have a look at them left me undecided. Reading a book that early would require switching on the light, the thing which might disturb Sophie, or Ann, the German student. So, I simply kept to my warm couch; then I started to stretch my legs in the small, yet beautiful room. For a while I was mulling it over but the I could resist no more. I grabbed the nearest book. At around eight A.M, I heard the footsteps of Sophie and Ann. I waited for another half an hour, the time I thought would be enough for them to use the bathroom without being disturbed. When I made my way down the staircase, Sophie was already in the kitchen smiling from ear to ear and offering breakfast. We all had it together, talking about this and that.

A summer in the UK - part 1: the flight

2008-05-22T09:50:00.002+02:00

This is a long and tiring day. The longest part of it was when we were flying over the Mediterranean. At first, when Sardinia Island came into view, I heaved a sigh of relief, thinking that we finally crossed all the Mediterranean but when the biggest chunk of the big deep blue sea made its presence felt my heart started to thump and I felt like I was submerging into nowhere, afraid for a moment of the unknown lurking somewhere at the ready to give me a lengthy list of reasons as to why, a poor soul like mine, should be kept to its place. When we left what the British call Europe, the lady next to me started to cherish the lovely sunny weather that day. She asked me if I liked the flight and I said it was too long. She smiled and introduced me to her husband who was sitting next to her and then she spoke about her daughter who was some two or three seats behind us. She wanted to know if that was my first visit to the United Kingdom. I said that I visited this lovely country six years ago, when I was in my second year at university. She was a very nice lady, and that was clear to me right from the first minute I sat next to her before the plane left Tunis-Carthage airport. She was immersed in a book, the title of which I found very funny, especially with the little bear sitting by the right side of it. Later on, and as she showed me the book, it turned out that it tackles some language teaching issues. Yet, the one thing the answer of which I did not come by, was why she spoke a different dialect than her husband. Their being together for years and years, justified by the fact that they had a daughter who was doing a degree at the University of Cardiff, meant for me, a person very much interested in dialects, that living together with people who speak different dialects for lengthy periods would ultimately bring about some sort of convergence or approximation, unless we purposively and deliberately not only want to but also struggle to keep to our original dialects or accents. I did not dare ask her the question, out of politeness.

I remember quite well my living in Tunis for very long periods of time as a student, with all the changes affecting me. I could listen to and speak to the great number of fellow students who spoke different dialects. The point is that there were times when I unconsciously accommodated to the kind of accent or dialect of those people I conversed with. The kind of positive attitude towards a person is, at the end of the day, one way of making a human being come closer to the world of the other; and otherness is no longer seen as a threat but just another manifestation of something that exists alongside us, a complementary component, the other side of the coin, as it were.

By the time we got to Heathrow Terminal Two, she wished me good luck and took her leave.

Art and Craft

2008-05-21T12:20:00.002+02:00

The students of the Higher institute of Arts and Crafts, Tataouine, Tunisia: They keep the good job.

Congratulations Si Mohamed

2008-05-18T16:36:00.002+02:00

Mohamed Tarhouni, our friend and colleague successfully defended his PhD thesis. Mabrouk / Congratulations!!!

محمد الطرهوني، صديقنا بدرجة أولى و زميلنا في العمل تحصل على درجة الدكتوراه في علوم الحياة. ان شاء الله بالتوفيق سي محمد!!

Ramble talk

2008-05-14T09:55:00.004+02:00

I have changed it from "meditations from Jerba" to "from Jerba: meditations, ramble talk and otherwise" for many reasons. First, mediation alone is too heavy a word for what I sometimes want to say. There are times when I start talking about anything and about nothing, just for the sake of talking, especially when I have a cup of coffee with colleagues in my work place. Actually, I hate to call them colleagues and I prefer the term "friends" as the kind of relationships we have transcend those between people working together. So, what happens is that when I have my cup of coffee I get excited and I start picking on them and and talking endlessly about trivialities, just for the sake of it. And so happened that those trivial things we talk about lead us to other subjects which might be interesting to put on my blog.

So, meditation itself, or weighing ones words before committing them to this online parchment is not really the thing and a change seemed most appropriate.

Second, there are things in life that I want to share with others, and they are so simple and may be stupid and hence they are a far cry from what we can call meditations.

Third, and just like anyone else in this world, there are times when I feel like crying, if you see what I mean, and that completely different from meditating.

submission

2008-05-11T19:18:00.003+02:00

I am not versed in Literature and I am not saying that I know enough about it. Literature is just something I like, something I enjoy, something that somehow brightens my world.

I have been reading Women in Love, a novel written by D H Lawrence, and on page 336 (Penguin Books) I came across a dialogue between Ursula and Hermione. Their discussion was on marriage and below are some of what they say:

I don't want to give the sort of submission he insists on. He wants me to give myself up.
He says he wants me to accept him non-emotionally, and finally--I really don't know what he means. He says he wants the demon part of himself to be mated--physically--not the human being.

This reminds me of something that happened long ago in a wedding ceremony in some Tunisian village. The bride was being taken to the groom's house. Her mum put among her belongings 2 things: a horse hoe and a dog bowl. They wanted to submit the groom to their will, and both tools symbolize their wishful thinking. STUPID BUT TRUE!

I do not know why submitting the other is on the hidden agenda of some people who want to get married. What is it that makes a partner in life a slave? Why is marriage taken as only a way to get the demon part (I am using the characters' words) in us mated? Why is getting married a sort of submission to one partner? Is it not a life and we lead it together?

Success

2008-05-07T10:58:00.001+02:00

For lots of people here in Tunisia, as elsewhere, success is measured by the work you have, the house you build, and the car make you have. Once you have those three things you start “enjoying” life, showing off, making your presence felt wherever you go, looking down at others who were not lucky enough and did not have what you yourself had.

I remember a friend of mine who passed the CAPES in 2003 and was supposed to start a teaching career in the following year. He was a heavy smoker and he spoke of the attitudes of his town folk towards him when they know there was a job in store for him. Now, they acknowledged him with a smile and even offered him a cigarette and treated him to a cup of coffee in the local café.

This reminds me of a passage I read a few years ago. In A Pair of Blue Eyes, Thomas Hardy, a great novelist wrote about the change in attitude toward a young man who comes from a poor family but managed to become the architect of the neighborhood church. Now the young guy is looked at with reverence and he is treated to a cup of coffee with a saucer.

It is strange how people perceive others. We always introduce ourselves to others saying we have this job and that car. We want to show others how important we are, may be without any thoughtful sympathetic regard for their feelings. We sometimes enjoy humiliating others and reducing them to nothingness as if our existence depended on others being mere nonentities. This, I think, harbors the kind of self-doubt feelings bogging us down so much so that we seek self-satisfaction in the annihilation of the other. We give others the measure-up test and we roll our eyes at their success.

Back on track

2008-04-24T15:34:00.002+02:00

After a long absence, I am back on track. I could not write a word in the last three months for reasons beyond my control. I have been very busy and I could not even find time even to do the simple things in life. Now I am back on track.

Being a teacher: the dilemma

2008-02-08T13:33:00.000+01:00

I am a teacher, and this job, as some people know, is very hard and demanding. Some others tend to think quite the opposite. My father, for example, keeps saying the effort he makes in one day equals mine for the whole week. The thing is that they forget that a teacher’s job does not finish the minute s/he steps out of college. Part of our job is done at home; indeed, the biggest part of it.

Something else: we seem to disagree on what makes a teacher a teacher. What is a teacher supposed to do? What is s/he allowed or not allowed to do?

Is a teacher supposed to come to class, teach, and then go home? Or is there a beyond? What difference is there between a teacher who restricts him/herself to the content of the lessons and another who sees that there is a beyond that cannot be ignored?
I have been working with both sorts of teachers, and I can see the merits and demerits of both viewpoints. Learners may find a teacher who keeps to lessons boring, detached, inconsiderate, and they may hate him / her for this. They may think that they simply do not exist and that the teacher does not take heed of their interests, worries, needs, ambitions, etc. Yet, a teacher who tries to go beyond this teaching-only thing may find him/herself involved in a way that s/he may regret later. When I was an MA student at the Tunis High Institute of Languages, we had this most wonderful teacher who shared and cared, who listened to us, and who always gave us the thumb-up. His encouragement and consideration were just what we needed and we were all thankful, for a while. What happened was that some students did not pass the test, and in retaliation, they started blaming that teacher. They hated him because they failed, because he made them believe that they could pass the test; and when they did not, they put the blame on his back.

So, where are the limits? Where should a teacher venture, and what pitfalls should they avoid?
The way I see it, a teacher has a mission: to teach a lesson, and also to help their learners find a path for themselves. I teach first and second year students at university, and I can see that the future is very much blurred for them. The other day, I was discussing something with them and some said that they come to class because everybody else does the same, that they study because they have nothing else to do, that learning is not what really matters for them, and that they are not decided as to what career they want to have.

In a case like this, what is a teacher supposed to do? If this is a writing topic and if you want them to do the job properly, then you have to allow them to speak their mind. But what can you do when you have a situation like this? Do you mark their papers and then you move to the next task? Or do you take it upon yourself to help them see light at the end of the tunnel? It all depends on the personality of the teacher, but the question is: if you were in my shoes, what would you do? How would you react? Does the future of those kids matter for you, or do you come to class and teach your lessons, and then by the end of the month get your salary and that’s it- the job is done?

Book-worm

2008-01-30T12:55:00.000+01:00

I am a book-worm, and I do enjoy the company of a good book. Nowadays, with modern technology and all the online books available, access to information has become easier than ever before.

Yet, and however useful and hands-on having all these books at our fingertip may be, nothing equals the joy of the physical contact with a book, having a book in one's lap, especially in a place under the sun or by the beach in just out of this world.

Today, in modern day Tunisia, the picture is slightly different, in that one can hardly spot a peson holding or reading a book for purposes other that taking a test. Newspapers, however, seem to have the lion's share.

The thing is that those daring to take a book and read it out there are in most cases looked at with disgust by others. I remember when I was teaching at secondary school and when I happened to be in the staff room having a go at some novel; and most of my colleagues, derisively asking me why on earth did I still read. You have a job now!! So what is the point???!!!

What makes me sad is that books no longer have their reveered place in the minds and hearts of the vast majority of people. We always come by newspaper articles speaking about how cultured the Tunisian citizen is, but the thing some of us tend to forget is that Tunisians read a lot, yes, but they read newspapers in the first place, especially the footbal sections. No grudge against sports!!!

Proposed translation

2008-01-30T12:51:00.000+01:00

With the hectic life I lead it took me some time to translate the text into Arabi. This is my own trnaslation, which is, of course, not the best possible.

و اكتشفت بعد فترة وجيزة أنّ صفة "ضخم" لم تكن لتفيه حقّه، فجسد ابن آفين، الذي هو عبارة عن فوضى من كتل اللحم المتراكم فوق بعض، كان أشبه بنصب تذكاري. تردّدت في الاقتراب منه حينما قابلته عينيا لأوّل وهلة و هو جالس على أريكة في بهو الفندق فلم أكن قد قابلت في حياتي شخصا في مثل ضخامته.

كان واحدا من ذوي الأجساد البدينة الذين قد تصادفهم أحيانا في الزحام، و الذين لا يمكنك، مهما حاولت، أن تمنع عيناك من النظر إليهم حيث كان جباّرا في بدانته، فالاضمحلال هو الشعور الطاغي عليك حين ترى انتفاخ و استدارة جسده.

A text to translate

2008-01-14T16:22:00.000+01:00

This is a passage I like. Please feel free to contribute with anything
you like. I will provide my own translation in the few coming days
but please feel free to contribute with anything you see fit, even
unfinished senteneces.

As I soon discovered, the word “big” hardly did justice to him. Effing’s son was immense, monumental in his bulk, a pandemonium of flesh heaped upon flesh. I had never met anyone of his dimensions before, and when I first spotted him sitting on a couch in the hotel lobby, I hesitated to approach him. He was one of those monstrous fat men you sometimes pass in a crowd: no matter how hard you struggle to avert your eyes, you can’t help gawking at him. He was titanic in his obesity, a person of such bulging, protrusive roundness that you could not look at him without feeling yourself shrink.

Paul Auster, Moon Palace, p. 235. 1989 edition printed by Clays Ltd

Translation

2008-01-04T11:47:00.000+01:00

I have have been cherishing, for some time now, the idea of translating some literary texts into Arabic and putting them on this blog, and then inviting others to contribute to my work with their suggestions. My aim is to bring people together and to do something for the betterment of all of us.

I think novels would be a good start and I have been juggling several titles, butI have to admit that a decision on which novel to start with is not easy to make. I believe I have to start with something I like, something I go on doing even when I am not in the mood. I read Moon Palace two years ago and I may start with an extract from it.

2007-12-17T17:59:00.000+01:00

Aid Mubarak to all Muslims around the world. May this be the occasion for all people, regardless of their religions, to share and care about each other.

Merry Christmas

2007-12-04T17:49:00.000+01:00

Merry Christmas to all Christians!!

I hope this is an opportunity for people coming from different religions to celibrate the values cheriched and preached by Jesus Christ.

As a muslim I must believe in Jesus as a messenger sent by God for the best of All humanity.

With due respect to him, and to all other messengers; and with due respect to all religions and to all people all over the world. MERRY CHRISTMAS.

Personal experience in the London underground

2007-11-29T17:54:00.000+01:00

A few months ago, I was boarding the London tube from Brixton to my daily destination: the British Library which is at a walkable distance from King's Cross. Everything was OK untill we got at Green Park station. What happened was that when the tube stopped, everybody around me started to run away. It took me a few seconds to understand what was going on because I was fully immersed in a book. The tube carriage was all smoke. We all thought that it was an attack, similar to that of July the 7th. I was not sure if any explanations were given on the causes of what happened but the thing I was sure of was that nothing was said on any of the TV channels I watched that night.

Immediately after that and for my whole stay in London, I could easily notice the tense faces at all the tube carriages I happened to get on board. The fear that something was about to happen, that a bomb would explode any second; and you start thinking about whether or not you are going to listen to the expolsion before you die. I was wondering what would happen in that fraction of a second between the bomb blowing and me being killed.

That horrendous experience was enough to fully understand the feelings of the British people in the aftermath of July the 7th. Now, it was not something I watched on TV or read in the papers; now it was me facing death. Now, It was me grabbing hold of my heavy bag and running away from the tube wagon which could blow up any second. Now, It was me being dogged by death and trying to jump the station rolling stairs in one step without being certain that all would be well there where I was going. Now, It was me, a muslim trying not to get killed in the London underground. Time to understand that, regardless of our differences, we all have to live together- in peace. Please enough with pointing fingers. One cannot blame relgions for what some might have done. Islam never preached violence but there are black sheep everywhere, in every religion. I hope those black sheep cease to exist, not with the gun and the bomb, but with the word. You cannot fight violence with more violence; we all know that violence begets violence. But with the word, understanding, tolerance, respect, and also with the ability and courage to see and acknowledge one's failings, for the best of all of us.

Questions for our beloved Arab and muslim immigrants and tourists

2007-11-28T08:17:00.000+01:00

I have been to the UK and it has been a very rewarding experience in many ways. It was an opportunity for me the breathe some fresh air, speak the language, and do some research in some of the very reputed libraries and universities.

However, I have some questions for our Arab and muslim immigrants in the UK. When in London, I visited some museums and the thing which I could not understand was that I did not see, among the visitors to those museums, any person who looks like an Arab or a muslim. All those I could see there were either British or tourists coming from Europoe and North America.

Our dear Arab and muslim immigrants or tourists, however, can be seen in great number, in places like Regent Street and Oxford Street doing what seemed to be two important things: shopping and eating.

Another point: you walk down the street and you happen to see a group of our beloved Arabs and muslims. You feel like saying hello (Assalamu Alaykum) to those with them you share the language, the religion, etc. but they just ignore you. Some of them are old men, with beards, and they are good muslims. I hope you don't get me wrong on this point.

I am afraid I do not have statistics regarding the number of, say, Egyptians in London but the one thing I am sure of is part of their heritage is there. Do they know? The picture is not very much different than the one in Paris as my friend Walid said.

Is it fear that you may go on for more than this hello thing? Is it lack of confidence? Or is it the career rat race in their new-found world? Or is it one of those preventive measures and if you allow the term "pre-emptive strikes" in their war against the likelihood of you being a terrorist? Or is it a bit of all these?

Foreign teacher in Sudan

2007-11-27T14:59:00.000+01:00

The BBC Radio was on when I heard the following: A British teacher in Sudan was jailed for "letting her pupils name a teddy bear Mohammed".

The inference I can make out of this is that the pupils did the naming, not her. So, how on earth could she be held responsible for this? Better blame the parents who seemed to fail to teach their kids choose appropriate names for anything that needs a name. Why respect and sensitiveness is not instilled in those kids so as to avoid being caught up in such misunderstandings.

The BBC Radio airing the news did not say, when I was listening, whether those kids where muslims or christians, whether the school is in a muslim or a christian neighborhood. I hope we are not in the middle of a new religious conflict. Please let us just bury the hatchet. There may be no ill-will behing the naming, may be just ignorance.

In the beginning was the word

2007-11-27T10:58:00.000+01:00

This is the first post I put online, so I chose this title. I hope no one is offended. I also chose such a title given the importance of the word. My hope is that we all see and enjoy its constructive role for the benefit and the best of us all.