Living in Tunisia – Tunisia: a country to die for (1)

In Switzerland, gas comes through the walls.
In Tunisia, it comes from people.

My gas pipe is currently held together by optimism and plastic tape.

Before I continue talking about near-death experiences, I should probably introduce myself first. I am Swiss. I grew up in a country where the infrastructure is invisible and quiet and where people take it personally when it doesn’t work. A place where pipes are hidden, regulations are sacred and „temporary“ usually means exactly seven working days.

I now live in Tunisia. In Chatt Meriem to be precise. On the second floor. Without an official gas connection. Not yet.

What I do have is a landlady named Fatma, an impressive rotation of plumbers, and an ever-deepening respect for human creativity under pressure.

Yesterday, plumber number one accomplished what I can only describe as applied performance art. He pulled a makeshift gas line from the first floor to my apartment using what looked suspiciously like drinking straws, duct tape and trust. I watched in awe. And to be fair, it worked.

For about five minutes.
Just as long as the plumber was standing next to the boiler.

This morning, shortly after sunrise, Fatma came again. This time with plumber number two. The aim was to fix the repair. Which is a perfectly reasonable concept in Tunisia. They worked for hours.

Leben in Tunesien – wenn Improvisation auf offizielle Regeln trifft

And then – miracle of Chatt Meriem – STEG appeared. Two real employees. In uniform. Real. Tangible. My long-held theory that STEG could be a collective hallucination immediately collapsed.

I didn’t understand most of what was said. Tunisian Arabic is fast, musical and merciless. But one word came through loud and clear and was repeated with increasing urgency:

„Lälä. Interdit. INTERDIT.“

It turned out that optimism, plastic tape and drinking straws are not approved gas infrastructure.

Poor Fatma. I could see it on her face. The temporary repair must now be replaced by an official installation. Tomorrow. From STEG. Expensive. When she turned to me and said „ils sont des voleurs“, I didn’t even need a translation.

Warum mich das Chaos in Tunesien nicht nur stresst

I, on the other hand, felt strangely relieved.

Because as much as I love Tunisia – and I really do, the chaos, the warmth and everything else – I would rather not die in a gas explosion. The country of my heart already offers many other, far more creative ways to die suddenly and unexpectedly, especially for a Swiss woman who still believes that walls should do most of the work.

This is not a complaint.
That is an observation.

Welcome to a country worth dying for.