Cemeteries - Tunisia

Some cribbing and commingling from a much earlier posts.

Tunisia is a secular country, estimated at 97% Muslim. In 2012 I noted it was the most liberal Arab country I had visited at the time. There I had opportunity to view a Muslim cemetery up close. Burials are generally made within a day of death, avoiding the embalming process that interferes with the body. While all mourners attend the funeral prayers led by an imam, only men accompany the body to actual burial in the cemetery. The deceased are buried on their right side facing Mecca. In general, elaborate grave markers and flowers are not encouraged; prayers are preferred as memorials.

The town of Hammamet is about 60km southeast of the capital, Tunis; a place of lovely beaches for holidayers. Apart from seaside attractions, it has a fascinating medina (old town) dating from the 15^th century. After climbing one of the protective walls to enter (on a ramp), one meets a maze of narrow streets zigzagging throughout, bursting into colourful small piazzas of shops and vendors. Photographers’ delight!

A cemetery is located outside the walls along the Mediterranean seafront. Many tombs have traditional mosaic decoration. Here, the customary marker is the representation of a book: the left hand page identifies the individual with name and dates; the right hand side has a quotation from the Koran. Grounds maintenance does not seem to be a priority. We saw litter dumped in one section. A small Christian cemetery is nearby with many Catholics of Italian origin.

Some years ago, preparation for new construction in Hammamet unearthed an extensive Roman necropolis among remnants of the ancient settlement known as Pupput. We did not see that particular area, but signs of the old Roman occupation are everywhere across the country. Many museums exhibit excavated burial markers – stelae – and funerary objects, some as old as the 1^st century AD. Most stelae commend the departed to the pagan household gods (dis manibus sacrum – DSM). They usually give the person's name, age, parents, status, and name of the person who erected the stone. Date of death does not seem to be the norm! That the inscriptions have survived so long is likely due to being covered by soil as new communities developed on top of them – inadvertent conservation.

Two photos above at Sousse Museum

Even older! Near the ruins of Carthage, that legendary city ultimately defeated and ruined by the Romans, parts of the excavated Tophet cemetery show stelae from the time of Carthage’s great power BCE. These were all child burials; the indicative geometric sign appears often. I diligently took many photographs, only to learn later my new SIM card was corrupted. The two photos below are thanks to Atlas Obscura and the individual photographers who shared.

by Patrick Giraud

by Dennis Jarvis

Tophet has long been a locus of serious controversy; scholarly and scientific researchers debate whether it was a place of infant sacrifice. My discovery of a blog called Bones Don’t Lie was serendipitous; here’s a great discussion:

https://bonesdontlie.wordpress.com/2014/01/23/cemetery-or-sacrifice-in-carthage-again/

The city of Kairouan ‒ inland but still considered coastal region – with its Great Mosque is Tunisia's spiritual centre. In fact, the Great Mosque there is the holiest Muslim site in Africa; the original portion is from the 9^th century. Overall it is the fourth holiest site for (Sunni) Islam after Mecca, Medina, and Jerusalem.

In the courtyard

Outside the walls of the medina can be seen (with the mosque's minaret in the background) the small old Ouled Farhane burial ground named for the tribe that had once requested this location close to the mosque. I can’t ascertain when the burials began or the age of the stones. All inscriptions have long vanished over time and whitewash is the only memorable feature.

And then to modern times. A visit to the small town of Monastir included the mausoleum of Habib Bourguiba (1903-2000), the enlightened and revered father of modern Tunisia. He became the first president at the time of independence in 1956. Among other reforms such as banning the burkha and niquab, Bourguiba instituted universal health care and compulsory education up to full high school level. A processional avenue leads up to his grandiose monument with its golden dome, within the town's extensive el-Mazeri cemetery.

The interior has private rooms for family visitors and a public room serving as a small museum of Bourguiba’s life. Separate rooms have comparatively plain burial slabs for members of his and his second wife's extended families.

Thus, the deceased provide quite the contrast in time periods, cultures, even empires, in one rather small country.

© 2020 Brenda Dougall Merriman

Sousse, Tunisia 2012 (1)

A small city whose claim to fame has been its UNESCO World Heritage Site ‒ the centuries-old, walled medina ‒ became notorious for the recent (26 June 2015) abhorrent slaughter of tourists in its resort area of Port el-Kantaoui. It's incomprehensible and infuriating that terrorists will target unsuspecting innocents anywhere. The same horror intruded a few months earlier this year in the city of Tunis. Three years ago I spent four days in Sousse, and prefer to remember its MAGIC.

Our hotel was located in the same resort area, set back a street or so from the beach itself. But we were not there for sunbathing. The wonderful medina was our destination, more than enough to fill days of exploration. It's a renowned example of a medieval Arab sea fort with well-preserved walls facing the Mediterranean, including the ribat fortress and watch tower, the Great Mosque, and kasbah, most of them built in the ninth and tenth centuries A.D.

We set out early each morning before it was too crowded. The only camel I encountered at Sousse was this marble creature resting by the main medina gate. We could peek into the women's entrance of the mosque, but non-Muslims are not allowed beyond the courtyard. The medina is a community unto itself: shops, crafts, food markets, bakeries, cafes, restaurants, and homes, all set into a confusion of narrow, twisting streets.

No map available, we simply joined one stream of shoppers into the open-air food market area, seeking a way to reach the top of the wall for a view. Photography is my travel buddy's speciality. We were obvious tourists, packing cameras and water bottles.

With the help of an enthusiastic volunteer guide we climbed a torturous series of stairways into, around, and through what appeared to be someone's house, though no-one paid us any mind. We emerged by a small tower on the top of the wall. Volunteer guide then, as expected, requested a large tip for his service but grinned cheerfully when we forked over ten percent of what he suggested.

Our agenda included seeing the archaeological museum and a home museum called a dar ― they are family enterprises here and there to draw a few tourist dollars, and why not, because all the homes are centuries old, filled with history. Receiving a number of potentially helpful directions (French is known much more than English but the prevalent Arabic reduces us to wild sign language) took us by sacks of spices, fragrant bakeries, butchers, jewellery stalls, leather products, ceramics and pottery factories, carpets, even modern clothing shops, until it occurred we were passing the same places twice.

Striking off into the covered byways, we were waylaid in protracted negotiations for Tuareg-design earrings. Then we lucked into a MUSÉE sign for Dar Baba, not the house we sought but a small-ish, seemingly middle-class home, not in any guidebooks. But we could smell coffee in the lovely courtyard.

The caretaker showed us the interesting bedrooms (ornate bed clothing) colour and patterns galore, everything nicely exhibited but looking a bit dusty. A small kitchen was on this level. He made a point of showing us the tap for well water, "potable" he said.

Then down we went into what he called the catacombs, very old underground rooms where the family barricaded in times of invasion or war. The equivalent of a bomb shelter. Such low ceilings, but everything necessary for survival!

Coffee and orange slices were brought to us in the lovely courtyard. The coffee was unexpectedly Turkish, not to everyone's taste, so I bravely consumed part of my friend's too, not wanting to offend our kindly host.

 Our next plan was to follow the wall because logically it would sooner or later take us to the archaeological museum in the kasbah section of the wall. Alas, the interior side of the medina wall does not know logic. Inadvertently passing the same ceramics souk several times destined us to buy some from the bemused vendor. Finally, more directions and steadily uphill to the highest point of the medina, we located the kasbah, an imposing residence built originally for the local administrator / military commander.

Housed there now is the Sousse Archaeological Museum, at the furthest corner of the medina from where we entered. Oh boy, was that museum worth it! To say we were mesmerized is a huge understatement. I described it in an earlier post.

Knowing more or less where we were within the medina, heading back was not a problem. Friendly locals showed us the top of the main street – when I say street, you understand narrow. Luckily for our weary bones it was all downhill. A long way downhill. Parts of the street were quite dark although it was still afternoon; other parts were covered. Some shopkeepers were beginning to close up. At one shop a young woman, Layla, indicated the cameras, eager to pose for several shots. It was surprising to me how many residents asked to be photographed even though they only ever see the picture momentarily on the camera screen. Traditionally dressed women, though, are off limits.

When we neared the Great Mosque and recognized some landmarks, aaaahh, a cafe across from the mosque entrance for our favourite café au lait. We speculate why a rack of robes stands outside the mosque, monitored by a large burly man. Probably for men to don for prayers if their street clothing is inappropriate. It's dark by the time we reach our hotel. Did we remember to eat that day?

Well, that was only the first day.

The full stay in Sousse would be far too long for a blog post (and so many photos!).

Part Two to follow, compressing the rest.

© 2015 Brenda Dougall Merriman