Je suis mariée, je suis désolée.

Let me paint you a picture.

At around 8:30, I leave my house and take the long way around the block to the main street, so I can avoid walking the gauntlet of men waiting for visas outside the Italian Embassy. Depending on the time and how much change I have, I usually decide whether to take the buck-fifty cab ride to Amideast or the 40 cent tram. This time, I'm with one of my roommates and we decide on the tram- it's cheaper and we're in no rush.

While waiting to cross the street, a man walks past us, stares, and turns his head as he walks past, still staring. A couple cars honk, maybe at us, maybe because Tunisians use their horns more than their turn signals.

"Deux, Palestine, minfudlek." We buy two tickets for the tram and wait on the platform. The same old guy comes around selling lighters and kleenex, and the tram comes. We have to push our way on- waiting for people to get off first is a good way to get left behind.

In the tram, most pairs of eyes shift from whatever they were looking at to us. We talk a little bit about school and what’s happening in our classes. A group of high school boys giggles and they dare each other to say “I am very nice” and “The weather today is raining." Most people get over us and go back to what they were doing, but the one guy at the other end cranes his neck, making sure we’re still there.

We get off and start walking to Amideast. A car drives past and the man honks, points at both of us, and gives us a thumbs-up. The construction workers down the block say “Sabah al-khair!" "Bonjour mademoiselles!" "Buongiorno ma bella!"

In class, the students have just learned a new grammar point and are working in pairs on an exercise. I walk around, answering questions. The grammar point is “places you have been,” using the present perfect. I go over to two younger guys who are goofing off, and one says to me: “Please, Sarah. I want to know- do you have a mate?" I play dumb and move to a different group.

We decide to walk home because the exercise is good and the weather has cooled off a bit. We get a few honks and a few more stares, but it’s close to dinner time and the streets are pretty empty.

At home, the landlady comes upstairs and does her usual fussing over us and gives us some brik (Tunisian eggrolls). Then she says: “Et mon fils, il est beau, non?” She’s made it clear she won’t miss the opportunity of three American women living in her house- she has a single, 30-year-old son.

Not all of these things happened in one day, but they’ve all happened, and these kinds of things happen every day. Images of women, especially Western women, are not the greatest, and interactions break a lot of the social rules I’m used to. Tunisia is a beautiful place with incredibly hospitable people, but I knew before coming that some parts of the culture were going to push my comfort levels. Learning the language is my way of understanding the mentality, and it’s helping a lot, but I know for a fact there are things said about me that I don’t ever want to understand.

So, bishwaya bishwaya (step by step). I'll keep you posted.