The dusty roads of Ben Arous were filled with young boys and girls playing ball. Humidity diffused the air as sweat trickled down their olive skinned foreheads.
"Sofien come inside the cous cous is getting cold, you can play football later”, beckoned his mother.
Sofien cantered as fast as he could, envisioning the melting morsels of semolina in his mouth. Alas, he arrived removing his shoes by the door and sitting crossed legged aside his younger siblings eating supper.
Sofien and his friend Muneer were in the university café drinking mint tea as they saw an ad posted on the front wall. Une fois de temps en temps la vie voyage, gagner deux billets pour l’Amerique…
“We have to find a way to raise money for that trip”, said Sofien.
Muneer lightheartedly laughed at Sofien and said, “Ya sadiqi Sofien you are majnoun! Yalla lets go to class.”
After class Sofien sauntered home slowly and contemplated the ad, determinedly he walked to the city to look for a job. Throughout the two months Sofien worked as a delivery boy in the afternoon and studied at night. With a week left until the trip Sofien and Muneer still didn’t have enough money. Sofien called his uncle in France to send him 500 francs, begged his brother for 800 dinars, and then received 1,600 Deutsche Marks from a friend in Germany.
Counting the money on the cold damp kitchen floor they were short of exactly one dinar, Sofien and Muneer began too look ubiquitously. The house muddled and cluttered, Sofien inexplicably found a dinar in his back pocket.
The week until December 23 was ceaseless perpetuity that felt to have no end. With Sufien’s bags packed, shirt neatly ironed and tucked in; his mother kissed him on his forehead as a tear seeped through her ebony colored eyes on to her cheek.
"May God be with you my dearest son”, cried Sofien’s mother: as she waved goodbye.
Rushing to find a taxi on time to get to the airport, they haggled with the taxi driver and were on their way to Tunis-Carthage International Airport. Sofien and Muneer were the last two people to board on flight 747. There weren’t any seats left in the economy class section, so they were given first class seats. The plane ride to New York was an envisagement of euphoric rapture. The first thing their eyes caught sight of was Times Square; the hotel was only about 6 or 7 blocks away.
As they arrived to the hotel, they set their luggage down in the far corner of the room and spotted 2 bottles of champagne on the bed. Sofien and Muneer both gave each other witty looks; they had an idea. They had heard partying a few doors down as they were on their way up to their hotel. So Sofien and Muneer knocked, and a man with a tie around his head and vomit on his shirt opened the door.
"Hello Mr. would you like to buy these bottles of champagne from us” cachinnated, Sofien.
"Ya… Ya … wait one minute… pal… let me get my uh… cash”, slurred the intoxicated man.
The amount of money that the man handed Sofien and Muneer was rather hefty. They both divided the money equally. Sofien bought a ticket to San Francisco while Muneer moved to the South End of Boston.
As Sufien began walking between the intersection of Haight and Ashbury, he came across a petite sized restaurant called Le Kerkennah. Sufien ordered a plate of cous cous and merguez, the food tasted distinctively familiar. As he closed his eyes, he remembered playing football outside with his friends on the dusty road of Ben Arous while his mother was calling him inside to eat lunch.
Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave, and grow old wanting to get back to ~ John Ed Pearce
