Morning came quickly and with adrenaline flowing. So, it wasn’t hard to get out of bed. We tuned in to Al-Jazeera news to see what had happened over night and got ready to leave. I packed a store of rations to take to the airport: water, bread, hummus and apples.
The heavy rain that was falling was calming, and it gave me hope for the plants I was leaving on the balcony! However, it made getting to the school a little more difficult as we tried to dodge the flooding around the school gates. Perched on the gate frame, I passed the bags over to Jared and we jumped and mostly missed the water.
At the school we found a gathering of four other teachers waiting for the school bus - but the driver was absent. Jared, the only foreigner capable of communicating effectively in Arabic, went to the guards to inquire about the driver. Jared called the driver’s phone and awoke him; the driver thought the bus was to leave at 8am rather than 6am. As we waited for the driver to arrive, we were somewhat thankful that his delay would actually put us closer to dawn: driving on the roads during the night was dangerous. I phoned other friends who had stayed at the airport the previous night. They had not taken enough rations, so I used the extra time to return home and bring several more 7-liter bottles of water and bread.
The agitation among the waiting teachers was palpable as time passed. The driver arrived and we loaded up, putting the three children with us in a place where they could get down on the floor, if needed. It was a quiet ride, everyone watching and waiting. We only came to one government road block. The soldiers looked us over and questioned the driver, but we passed and continued on.
At the airport we disembarked and joined a line outside the front doors, waiting to get in. This airport requires you and your luggage to pass through metal detectors as you enter the building, for security reasons. For about two hours we inched forward in the line, and more vocal and adamant teachers yelled shame-filled phrases at men trying to cut into the front of the line, appealing to the soldiers to stop them. There were three young boys with our group, so in applying the culture’s deference to women and children, we pushed them forward, with women following, and bringing along the men with us. That eventually worked and we made it through the doors into the chaos of crowds.
As one of the first into the airport, I wasn’t sure where to go - there were only a few snake trails through the masses of people, most of whom appeared to have stayed the night and were sitting on piles of luggage, slowly waking up to the day. I expected to see many more like us trying to get out, but I realized that the oil companies and most of the Europeans and North Americans had already evacuated. The airport was now filled with immigrant laborers trying to escape. I noted with dismay the departures board: cancelled, cancelled, cancelled. It didn’t seem that any flights were leaving. We were also disappointed (and piqued) to find that none of the promised embassy staff were anywhere to be found.
As we wandered along some friends saw us and waved Jared and I over to an area they had claimed. We joined their camp of suitcases and were glad to share our rations with them. We sat and discussed the evacuation situation as we waited for the airline offices to open. Over the previous day they had noticed that while most of the European carriers were canceling their flights for security reasons, Air Malta and Air Tunis were two that seemed to still be in operation. My friend’s husband was, in fact, waiting in the Air Tunis line to try to secure a ticket. When he successfully returned with tickets, Jared and I and another foreign teaching couple decided this was our best bet as well.
Looking up at the balcony where the office was, we saw a tremendous line snaking out of the office. Once again appealing to cultural norms, another female and I took the passports and money and walked through the line up to the office door where it was a jostling sea of migrant working men all desperate to get inside. One young man spoke some English and was interested in talking. Men are always “interested” and this is a source of stress and frustration to me usually, but in this situation I was willing to take the help. I threw around some of the very Tunisian phrases I knew and they were suitably pleased. He made sure we knew the real price of the tickets so we didn’t get cheated and told others to make way for us. The others weren’t quite so chivalrous and it was all elbows up and nudging in. Our new friend did help, but he also made sure he got inside before us - chivalry only goes so far when your life hangs in the balance, I suppose.
Our turn at the desk was both relieving and concerning. The airline was in operation and giving out tickets with proper payment for the day’s flights. Relief! But then I was concerned to watch the agent not even glance at the passports as he gave out these “tickets.” He used a ruler to tear squares from a piece of printer paper, used his rubber stamp to make it official and scrawled something on it. He thrust these “tickets” at us in exchange for the money. He never checked our identity but most disconcerting, he never wrote down any details or had any kind of numbering system.
At this point I realized that it was a race with all the others to secure a seat on the plane. Clutching the pieces of paper like gold, we ran back to meet our husbands and tried to impress on them the immediacy of getting to check in. In the meantime, Jared had been on the upper level of the entrance area watching the flow of humanity and seeking the best way to get to check in. We gathered our things and followed Jared to the edge of a human whirlpool, which led to the check-in counters.
Hundreds of men were standing in this area with the police creating a barricade at the front, blocking travelers from overtaking the entrance to the check-in area. Unsure of the situation, we inched our way toward the barricade to see if they would let us through. Jared led and he could see at the front a fomenting of energy that was the beginnings of a stampede. Men started to turn and run toward us. He shouted at us to get back and we retreated hastily. As the police regained control for the crowd we discussed our plan of action. In our group of four, some wanted to move to the side out of the tussle where it would be obviously safer. However, I felt that if we were anywhere but right in front we would never get past the barricade and able to claim a seat. We decided on the later and I led us deeper inside the whirlpool, with the hopes that my feminine credentials would gain us access. The police would not let us through, but we stationed ourselves in the center of the mob and bobbed and twisted with the waves of energy racing throughout the crowd.
It was a difficult scene: men pushing, periodic fits of screaming hysteria by desperate women, and the cries of overwhelmed children and babies. We were very thankful that the soldiers and police were there. Despite the dangerous chaos, the only control that was holding people back was their presence, and they had to be forceful at times. With tensions so high, heated arguments often broke out and the police moved in quickly to break them up. Their technique for maintaining the barricade was to shove the crowd forcefully back, causing cascades of people falling over each other and suitcases. I was impressed to see that they actually had equipment for such techniques - a handheld two-bar drill that one soldier used to push back the crowds. Then I realized that it was actually a detached suitcase roller handle that he had picked up for such use.
I made conversation with a man next to me, hoping he would be of assistance when we tried to get through. I noticed that he was making a number list of names. I asked if this was for our flight, hoping to add our details. He just said it was men from his company. A bit later we learned that people were compiling lists of names and turning them in to airlines to take out a whole airplane, which was logistically easier for the airlines. My heart sunk when we heard this because of the very long list of names he carried; it would be hard to get a seat if the airline accepted such lists.
Every once in a while (I lost track of time, though it seemed endless) I would look pleadingly at a soldier and ask for passage to our flight. They kept repeating, “Not yet, not yet.” After two hours, an Arab man appeared in our midst beside us and took an interest in us. “You must push through to get in,” he kindly remarked. “Come on - I’ll help you!” And with a surge of determination, we pushed like it was our last chance to get out. Looking back, this man represented a turning point in our getting through the human whirlpool. As we neared the entrance to the check-in gates, literally having to pull ourselves over and around people and bags, Jared turned to thank him, but we never saw him again.
The police were guarding the entrance without deference to anyone. One rejected my request to enter and I responded with the most pathetic eyes of desperation and “puuuuhhhhllleeeasssee” I could muster. I tried to cry - I really did. It would have helped a great deal but I just couldn’t squeeze out tears through the adrenaline that was coursing through my body. He must have read my desperation and he allowed me through the interlocked arms of the soldiers. Once passed, I turned and began pleading, “My husband, my husband,” with outstretched arms.” Likewise, Jared on the other side began pleading, “My wife, my wife!” In a situation of such intensity, the police were largely unmoved by pleas. They wouldn’t let Jared through. Just as another scuffle broke out, Jared pushed back a policeman and forced his way through. Distracted by the oncoming threat of massive people movement, the policeman didn’t bother to recall him. This left our two traveling companions (one Malaysian and one American) on the other side. The small Malaysian lady could not get permission through, but a very large Saudi woman was allowed to pass with her abundance of suitcases. Our small friend got caught on the suitcases and was actually pulled along underneath the soldiers’ arms! It was funny - even then! - to watch. Then her husband was left to plead, “My children,” while we were crying, “My uncle!” We hadn’t quite got our stories worked out.
I’m not sure how he got through, but our party of four finally managed to clear the entrance. We smiled for the first time that day! There we met our other three friends who had told us about the Air Tunis flight. We were at the back of the check-in line, but it was fairly short and mainly composed of Tunisian and local families. This was manageable and though the counters were not yet open, we felt hope. We relaxed and waited for the check-in to begin.
When they did open the flight, that was the signal for the soldiers to let in those outside the barricade who were waiting for our flight. Suddenly, that mass of single young men swarmed around us and like sand around rocks. They mobbed the counters and we quickly found ourselves behind several hundred people - all competing for seats. I noted with dismay that the man with the very long list of names was at the front too.
We watched as the tension at the check-in desks rose. Soldiers came in to create a barrier between the people and the desk and no one was allowed through. There was shouting between the people and the soldiers and the airline staff. The government had blamed Tunisians for the uprising that morning. So, at one point there were volleys of nationalistic chanting between the Tunisians and the locals.
The police made everyone in line sit down on the floor, and this calmed the atmosphere. We didn’t know what was going on, but we waited with the others. When it seemed there was to be movement at the front desk, we waved our tickets and passports. The women in our group pushed to the front. The police broke their arm links to allow us to the counter. However, when the agent saw our non-Tunisian passports he said we were on a waiting list. Due to the lack of official clearance in bringing military evacuation planes, Air Tunis had decided to take Tunisians first, and then any others. There was no negotiating with him. We returned to the group dejected: from the throng of Tunisian men trying to get to the desk, to those still outside the first barrier, to the growing line outside the airline ticket office, to the endless line of those trying to even make it inside the airport - we could be waiting for days if Tunisians went first.
Despite our agreement with their policy, and realizing that European flights were being cancelled again due to the lack of clearance, we had no help. We stood there in shock, wondering what do to. Jared began to air the option of going back home to ride the conflict out. The school had planned to run three buses that day, and it was nearing 3pm, when the last bus would come. Jared had already mentioned to the driver that if we couldn’t get out on a flight, we’d come back with him. It was a risk though, to consider leaving the airport to find the bus, knowing we wouldn’t be able to get back in. It truly was the lowest moment for us.
In the midst of all this I went to call a personal friend at the embassy. I heard that even the US embassy was unable to evacuate their staff, and they were holed up at the embassy for safety. My friend advised us to get out any way we could. Meanwhile, Jared made conversation with a Tunisian man near him. When the man heard we had paid tickets he told Jared to check in. While we were consoling each other, in the briefest of moments, the agents had decided to first accept paid tickets, and then fill the rest of the seats with Tunisians.
This was too good to be true. We had missed all the arguing and rioting! We realized that most of the masses were ticketless and wanting to be evacuated for free. The free flights were to take place later in the day. Since we had paid for tickets, Jared ran around the crowd to another agent who immediately took the “tickets” and produced real boarding passes. It was shocking to actually hold boarding passes. Our group scrambled to get checked in.
The change in direction was astonishing! To go from giving up and deciding to leave to holding boarding passes within a matter of ten minutes was hard to process.
We got in line and made it through to the customs area...which was also swamped with travelers. The non-Arab line was long, with a group of Italians who were being expedited through the airport with a company logistician. With only one customs official for our line, it took quite a while to get to the front. We did have to maintain vigilance in not being edged out of line, but it was calm compared to the other areas. We began to get nervous that in this delay we would miss our nearing flight.
When it was our turn, we were a little nervous about the credibility of the visa stamp we had obtained on Monday. The stamp was correct, but every other time we had also received a tourist police stamp on the visa. We didn’t have this stamp this time. The worn customs man didn’t seem to notice or care and waved us through. This was a major turning point. We sent our carry-ons through another x-ray and went up to the departure lounge. Rushing to the board, we found that the previous Air Tunis flight hadn’t even departed yet and we were certainly delayed.
We did find seats and for the first time that day we were ready to eat something. I had left most of the rations with a group still waiting for later departures, but I had maintained a bottle of water and some bread and hummus. Now we were glad because the cafe had no food and little water available. We began to eat when one of our companion’s had a friend approach. She had taught a student, who’s father worked at the airport. This man was the one who approached us. He invited our whole group of seven into the executive business lounge area. What a gift! Inside they had hot food and cold drinks. He gave us a private room with comfy chairs and best of all, a TV where we could watch Al-Jazeera news. We also checked email and sent out a last notification to family and friends. It was here that we heard the latest news and found out that the leader was going to be making a speech to the nation in minutes. We prayed our flight would depart before the speech, fearing that he might announce a closure of the airport, or call for more attacks on foreigners. We just wanted to get out as soon as possible!
We began to contact other friends who had not departed to tell them about the situation at the airport and share advice. We found that the UK embassy had been telling people not to attempt the airport because of the situation. Our embassy friend told us about the plan for an American ferry the following day. The American teachers were staying at the school that night for safety. We also talked to our local friends and said many sad goodbyes.
We watched the news and the departure board and paced in tension. Then, the leader made his speech. It was a speech we didn’t want to hear, with blame for our nationality among other concerns. I was so very thankful that Jared had at least cleared customs before that point. Our sense that it was immanently time to leave was growing.
We were still nervous that the airline may have oversold seats on the flight and we were anxious to be first in line at the gate; but personnel wouldn’t allow us to line up yet. They assured us they would let us know when it was time inside the business lounge. When the man finally called us, we were dismayed to find that we were last at the gate. We went through another x-ray and finally got to the ramp - THE ramp leading to the airplane. When we entered the aircraft we were surprised to find it not full. It was open seating and we claimed seats together. Everyone sat in silent tension. After maybe an hour as the sun was setting, they closed the door. But still, we sat. I think they closed the door because it was getting cold, and they opened it a few times to allow more passengers to board.
We waited for what seemed an eternity. Everyone just sat. Eventually, they closed the door, fired up the engines, reversed quickly made a too-fast swing around the curve to the runaway and took off faster than I have ever taken off before. I’m not sure what happened, but when the pilot saw it was time to go, we WENT.
I was relived when we made it into the air. But we were still quietly tense. We watched the lights of the city swing by. Jared saw helicopter search lights, scanning streets for rioters. I wished there were a video screen that showed the map with our airplane on it. I was waiting for the moment our plane passed an imaginary line that took us into neighboring airspace. But there was no map and I didn’t know where that line was.
In reality it was a short flight: forty-five minutes. The closer we got to Tunis the more relieved I felt. Our travel-mates were obviously feeling similarly because it wasn’t until we finally touched down on Tunisian soil that a full-bodied cheer arose from the cabin.
And then everything was different. We did what we normally do - clearing customs, waiting for baggage (which we amazingly got), and meeting a friend at the arrivals gate. We took a taxi to our friends’ home and it was all over - we were out and safe.
In other ways, another season was just beginning - the adjustment phase of trying to deal with the trauma of what had happened. But this is another story...for another day.
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