Apartment Search in Tunisia: Mubawab or the Secret of Kantaoui

In this experience report, I describe my apartment search in Tunisia through the platform Mubawab – specifically using the example of Kantaoui. This text is not a guide, but a personal reality check between online listings, WhatsApp communication, powers of attorney, and cultural misunderstandings.

Chapter 1: The Fatal Click 🖱️

It started just like all great tragicomedies do: with a click. More precisely, with a click on the ‘Send Inquiry’ button on Mubawab, the Tunisian version of Immoscout – only with more sun, less German, and a magical filter for ‘Sea View + Mosaic Floor + Potential for Drama.’

At that moment, I was sitting in a rainy, partially gutted room in Switzerland, three blankets on my lap, trying to decide whether ‘Kantaoui’ was a place or a state of mind. What I didn’t know yet: That single click would change my life. Or at least my WhatsApp notifications.

Chapter 2: The Chat with the Phantom 🖱️‍♀️

No sooner had the inquiry been sent than a message appeared in the chat: Dahmen Immobilier. A name that sounded like a fairytale character. Mr. Dahmen? Mrs. Dahmen? Nobody knows. Neither do I. But now I know how to convert WhatsApp voice messages into MP3 files, create transcripts with free tools, run them through ChatGPT, and ultimately obtain a somewhat legal power of attorney.

But I am getting ahead of myself.

Chapter 3: A Deep Insight into the Work of Suspicion Professionals

I did what small, nerdy information junkies do when hundreds of Swiss francs are at stake abroad: I scoured the back alleys of the internet and became suspicious. “Who am I even chatting with?” I wrote.

The answer: a photo of the “la patente”. For non-Tunisians: A “patente” is like a business license – but with seals, Arabic calligraphy, and the charm of a secret document from an Asterix comic.

“That’s not enough for me,” I typed back. “I want a power of attorney. With a name. And a signature. And ideally a stamp with a golden border.” (The last part was ignored.)

Chapter 4: Enter Wajdi – the puppeteer ☎️

At that moment, Wajdi stepped onto the stage. Wajdi is my ex-husband, who was never really an ex, because in Tunisia no one is truly “ex”. People are “entwined”. Wajdi, stoic as ever, took on the mission and called a distant cousin in Tunisia. And from my experience, this is exactly the point where classic Tunisian theater begins.

Walid or Mohamed – or maybe Jemel (the Tunisian branch of my family tree is large and completely inscrutable) – called Dahmen. The conversation unfolded like a Tunisian family reunion: loud, chaotic, full of twists, and with a brand-new definition of “everything is settled”.

At least one fact was now clear: The real estate agency did indeed exist, and I had actually spoken with them – not with a Nigerian ex-love scammer who was tired of heart emojis and had now turned to real estate fraud.

Chapter 5: Negotiation Round Maghreb 3000

The relief didn’t last long. Negotiating is in the Tunisians’ blood! It’s not about money – it’s about honor, respect, and which side can claim to have persuaded the other into a better deal. (Spoiler: Usually both sides believe they have won, because only then does a deal actually happen.)

Back to yesterday: I was a nervous wreck. My head was buzzing from the constant ping sounds, my stomach revolted against every new “Wualla” and my phone battery drained every hour.

Wualla flew like confetti over every possible channel (possibly even carrier pigeons), sprinkled with “à la tête de ma mère” and a hint of diplomatic crisis. I felt like I wasn’t negotiating a vacation apartment, but a North African peace treaty. By Wualla number 24, I switched to autopilot.

Chapter 6: Capitulation with Style ✍️

This morning I signed a power of attorney. For whom? Unclear. For whoever eventually takes care of it. My only condition: No tea may be spilled dramatically.

Chapter 7: Waiting for the golden SMS

And now I wait. For the relieving message to find its way to me here in sunny Grenchen: The deal was sealed with a handshake. No losses, no injuries, no major collateral damage.

The keys are now in the hands of a branch of the Tunisian family tree, and on August 22 I can move into my apartment in the fairytale-like El Kantaoui (actually more like the un-fairytale Dubai of the Tunisian Gold Coast).