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Summer in the Homeland: 1982
I have just completed reading the 300 translated pages of my book in French, “Tunisia… A Journey of a Nation… and a Life.” The depth and accuracy of the translation go beyond mere words—it captures the very essence of my experiences, as if reliving them firsthand.
Here, I share a short excerpt from the translation, featuring a conversation between Saleh Karkar and my sister Samira during my visit to Nadhour Prison in Bizerte in 1982.
Returning to Tunisia
My brothers were preparing to travel to Paris. They, too, wanted to discover life in the West and embark on this unique adventure, which would broaden their horizons and expose them to new and different perspectives.
My father, however, found himself alone, having lost almost all his children. Only my younger brother and Samira, my sister, remained with him. She continued to surround him with her religious fanaticism, which only worsened his rigid, dogmatic mindset.
To avoid further complications, I kept my views on the West and Westerners to myself and did not share them with Samira. If I had, she would have once again branded me naïve, accused me of weakness and submission to the enemy, and repeated the same nonsense that had led us all to ruin.
But she was no longer the woman I once knew, and her words no longer intimidated me—or anyone else in the family. Even my father no longer heeded her opinions as he once did.
At times, he treated her as if she were a mere servant, and she could do nothing to oppose him. She now simply lived under his roof, dependent on his food, convincing herself with religious justifications:
“A woman must obey a man, whether he is her husband or her father…”
Visiting Nadhour Prison
A few days later, Samira took me to Bizerte, where Nadhour Prison was located. There, her husband was incarcerated along with other Islamists. The place was heavily guarded, with armed officers everywhere.
Above the prison entrance, a massive machine gun stood poised, ready to unleash fire at the slightest suspicious movement. These extreme security measures made it clear how seriously the authorities regarded the threat posed by Islamist extremists.
We passed through multiple security gates and checkpoints before reaching the visitation area. Samira and her husband exchanged a cold greeting—there was no place for love or affection in the life of a committed revolutionary.
When he saw me, he exclaimed:
“Ah… Karim… Finally!”
He did not seem to have suffered harsh treatment in prison, though his features bore some signs of fatigue. His unwavering faith in the Islamic revolution appeared to have preserved both his mental strength and physical composure. His gaze reflected determination and conviction in the inevitability of their victory.
Then, he asked me:
“Have you resisted the devils of Europe?”
By now, I had mastered the art of evading direct confrontations, so I told him what he wanted to hear:
“I let them approach me, observed them closely, but they never realized that I understood their ridiculous act.”
Relieved, he responded:
“Good… I am very pleased. Listen carefully… The Tunisian government has turned into a monstrous dictatorship. They imprisoned me even though I am a pure and honest man. They threw me in jail like a stray dog for one simple and legitimate reason.”
“They imprisoned me because I defend the freedom of believers… Is it a crime to choose to live in obedience to God? I am a victim of the greatest injustice in the absence of true justice. But my imprisonment will serve the Islamic cause.”
“Know that other believers have taken up the torch, and soon, the Islamic state will triumph. God’s will shall prevail. In the meantime, continue your studies so that you can participate in the revolution when the time comes…”
A Growing Divide Among Islamists
After our conversation, my brother-in-law pulled Samira aside, and they began whispering. Though they tried to speak discreetly, I caught snippets of their exchange.
He was giving her instructions and orders, along with a list of names she was to contact.
Saleh Karkar remained in direct contact with the Islamist movement, using my sister Samira as his personal messenger. These visits allowed him to continue steering the movement from within his prison cell.
From what I understood, he was in serious conflict with Rached Ghannouchi, whom he accused of treason at the highest level. In his view, Ghannouchi had compromised the principles of the movement and hindered the realization of the Islamic state.
Saleh warned Samira that Ghannouchi might be a spy for the Tunisian government and that she needed to alert the group to this possibility.
Ghannouchi, it seemed, was negotiating with the state to secure the release of some Islamist prisoners—a move that enraged Karkar, who refused to compromise, even at the cost of his own life.
Within the prison, the Islamists were divided:
- Some supported Ghannouchi, advocating for negotiations with the state.
- Others sided with Karkar, refusing any form of discussion or concession.
This division eventually led to a deep schism within the movement, significantly affecting its strategies, policies, and future actions.
Samira: A Sheep Without Will
We returned home, but it was clear that Samira remained blindly loyal to Karkar, following his instructions like a sheep with no will of her own.
Her daily life revolved around serving his needs. A few days before our visit to Nadhour, I had seen her preparing an elaborate feast for him: roasted chicken, lamb, and an assortment of fruits. It was a royal meal.
Meanwhile, Samira and her two young children barely had enough to eat. They survived on a thin, watery soup, unable to afford the luxurious meals she sent to her husband in prison.
Political prisoners were allowed weekly visits, and the families of seven prisoners took turns covering the cost of their meals, ensuring that these men lived comfortably inside prison—better fed than many ordinary Tunisians outside.
These men did nothing but eat, sleep, debate, and pray, while women like Samira lived in poverty and sacrifice to support them.
A Return to My Roots—But Who Am I?
Despite the short duration of my visit, Tunisia reminded me that I am Tunisian to my core. No matter how much I tried to integrate into French society, I remained deeply tied to my homeland.
But at the same time, this visit rekindled the eternal question that haunted me:
“Who am I? And what do I truly belong to?”
