The following day was uneventful. I had several remote interviews during the morning. I had gone to the same convenience store/stall for water enough times that the guy recognized me and had a water jug ready for me with a smile. Though he spoke no English and I spoke no Arabic. That evening I went to the metal detector restaurant once again as it was the only thing I could find. A man played beautiful guitar while I ate my lamb (50% bones).

Thursday I went to the Bardo museum. I quite enjoyed it. What I enjoyed the most was I could spend all day in there if I wanted and no one could tell me otherwise. But I left around lunchtime and found a place that served a burger (no bones) and perhaps the worst mojito I’ve ever had. It was barely noon and the restaurant was filled with the smoke of cigarettes, cigars, and hookahs.

Later I went to the markets to find my friend Kenny a birthday present. I would be seeing him in Latvia tomorrow and didn’t want to arrive empty handed. Within one minute of arriving to the markets, a guy approaches me asking if he can help me find something. I had walked down that street a dozen times, but for the first time, yes, I am looking to buy something. Not sure what.

First he leads me into a well lit and spacious (relative to the six foot wide stores everywhere else) souvenir store. I thought it was perfect. Might even tip the guy for leading me here. Here he passed me off to another English speaker, who began to give the full, unsolicited history of the building to me. I couldn’t really follow it, but it may have been an embassy of some kind. He began to show me photographs on the wall of important people who had been there. I nodded politely and intentionally asked no follow up questions.

The guy figured while he had me, he would show me upstairs. Walked me to an extravagant bedroom with lots of red and gold decor and fine furniture and one of those royal beds with the bed posts that go to the ceiling and form a canopy with a sheet. I’m sure there’s a name for that. Then he took me up more stairs that led to the roof. He kept encouraging me to take pictures. It actually was a cool view of old town Tunis. Now that the rigamarole was over, I could finally buy something.

How naive of me to think it could be so simple. From there he led me to a back room on the same level as the bedroom. The room was covered every inch with decorative rugs. Many more were stacked in roles. He sat me down while he and a kid started rolling out rugs in front of me. Others may have recognized what this was and walked away much sooner. But it was just one of those days where you’re so tired you say, “This might as well happen.” Also social pressure is always stronger than you think it will be.

At this point I had to explain that I had no job and could not afford a rug. Probably wouldn’t buy one even if I could. They were very nice rugs, however.

So we all went back downstairs disappointed. I was just ready to leave. Waiting for me, was the original guy who flagged me down. He approached me and said, “You come to my store now?”

Oh great, this isn’t even his store. So I said, “Fuck it, sure.”

Don’t really know why I said I would. If I could ‘Ghost of Christmas Past’ myself I would yell at me and say “go home you idiot”. It’s not the first time I’ve been hustled or the target of a hard sell. So I don’t know why that day I just let everyone walk all over me like one of those beautiful rugs. But I still didn’t have a present for Kenny.

The guy was nice enough and he led me through the busy market to his small incense store. Pretty harmless. At this point following him all this way I had to buy something. So that’s how I decided Kenny’s birthday present would be incense.

The next morning I was packed and ready to go to the airport, praying my travels would go smoother than last time. The hotel called me a car and I was on my way. The guy spoke some English, but we didn’t talk too much. I stared out the window at the tan buildings and nothing looked familiar. It was too soon to really reflect on my time there but my mind wandered. I thought of the historical significance of this place. I thought about what it was like to live here now. I thought about how I couldn’t wait for fast food.

Before I knew it we arrived at the airport. I paid the driver with most the cash I had left and stepped onto the curb with my bag and backpack. I did my usual pocket pat down. Then I froze – no phone.

Adrenaline hit me like a bolt of lighting. For a split second I thought maybe I put it in my bag or backpack. But I just knew. It’s always in my left pocket. Reacting as instantly as I could, I dropped my bag and took off after the car. He had dropped me off at the very front of the drop-off zone, and he hadn’t made it far. But he was picking up speed. Sprinting like a lunatic waving my arms I chased him. I’m not very fast so there was no way I would catch him, but I kept pace enough so that he could see me. A six foot three guy running and waving his arms in the middle of the road is surely worth a periphery glance in the rearview mirror. But he never slowed down.

He reached the end of the zone and began down the ramp away from the airport. How could he not see me? My sprint slowed to a jog and I now could hear the horns behind me. I was running in the middle of the road after all. I jog to the side to make space and in that moment a taxi pulls up to me and the driver rolls his window down.

“Taxi?” he asks.

“Yes!”

So I jump into the front seat and frantically starting pointing at the car that is getting farther away.

“Follow that car!”

Realizing that’s not very specific, “Follow that white car!”

Seeing in his face he doesn’t speak English, I just point with such urgency he recognizes I’m in a bit of a pickle. As the white car makes each turn I point and gesture that my phone is in there. I point at his phone and then point at the car. Through my panic-charades he’s starting to understand. Then the white car turns onto the highway. We’re losing him.

I won’t even accept a reality where I’m trapped in Tunisia without a phone so I don’t let it enter my mind. I would sooner lose my wallet and my backpack and my bag. Thankfully 90% of communication is nonverbal, so I didn’t have to Google translate that we needed to get on the highway two minutes ago. The white guy having a manic breakdown in his front seat painted enough of a picture, so he punched it.

We turn onto the highway and got up to speed. I spot the white car up ahead and keep my index finger trained on it. My taxi kicks it into gear and within a minute or so pulls into the left lane alongside the white car. I roll down my window and wave my arms like an inflatable tube man at a car dealership.

The driver of the white car does the funniest double take I’ve ever seen in my life. On the second glance, he recognizes me and is flabbergasted in the same expression. I swoop my arm telling him to pull over. He does, and we park behind him on the shoulder. I run out and fling open the back door to the white car and see my phone peacefully resting on the back seat.

After a sigh of relief that also served as catching my breath from sprinting, I explain to the first driver the situation, then ask him to explain to the second driver. I give the rest of my cash to the second driver and thank him, then sheepishly ask the first driver if he will take me back to the airport. He agrees, and I settle into the backseat of his car for the second time that morning.

Then it struck me that I left my bag. I had ran with my backpack on, but left my other bag just sitting in front of the airport. In the moment I assumed I would catch the driver’s attention within 30 seconds. Now I was worried this could be a security incident. Then I began to wonder what Tunisian prison was like.

With a heavy dose of Deja Vu, we pulled into the drop off area. I held my breath as we went around the corner. Mercifully, my bag was sitting exactly where I dropped it. I thanked God, and for good measure I thanked Allah, because I was uncertain if God passes off oversight in Muslim jurisdictions. As I grabbed my bag, I noticed a security guard not 30 feet away. When I saw him, I realized he had been standing there the whole time, since I first arrived.

So from his perspective, I got out of a car, dropped a bag, then sprinted away shouting and waiving my arms, not to return for another fifteen minutes or more. In the US they would have sent me to Guantanamo for pulling some shit like that. This guard could not be more unbothered by it. I was bewildered and thankful by his borderline negligent work ethic.

Then I just grabbed my things and got in line for security.