To Palestine| How can we recover from loving Tunisia?

I spent 24 hours scanning the horizon for Tunisia. It was Sunday, Sep. 7. We knew we’d arrive before noon. I got only two hours of sleep and woke at seven so I could take an early glimpse of the shores.

I already had in my head what I’d post on Facebook when we entered the port of Sidi Bou Said to chants and Palestinian flags; Mahmoud Darwish’s immortal line: “How can we recover from loving Tunisia?”

I’ll never forget Darwish's recital of that poem and his voice cracking with grief. He was remembering all the martyrs of Palestine’s revolution who were killed in Israel’s attacks on Tunisia after it welcomed the fighters who had left Beirut in 1982. From the Hammam Al-Shat massacre to the assassinations of Palestinian leaders, Tunisia paid a price.

Every place has its scent and flavor. Since Tunisia’s 2010 revolution, I’ve returned many times for work. To me, Tunisia smells of calm, pleasure, and sweetness. It means wonderful people and steady work done warmly, without pressure. Tunisians give me laughter, kindness, and their enduring love for Sheikh Imam.

But this time Tunisia carries a different taste, a different smell. The scent of blood. The reality of hunger and genocide. Today we don’t want comfort or sweetness. We want a stopover. We want more Tunisians, Moroccans, Algerians to join us in our journey to Palestine.

That’s why Darwish was with us.

We were late. For more than eight grueling hours, those of us aboard the small boats stood still, waiting at sea for delayed or damaged vessels. We didn’t arrive at noon. We didn’t arrive by 4 pm, as promised. Our Tunisian friends left the beach by midnight, and we entered Sidi Bou Said port at dawn. So I never posted Darwish’s line.

We grow tired in moments of pause. The waiting is what drains us—in Barcelona, in Mallorca, and now in Tunisia. All of us crave the danger, the possibility of reaching Gaza, of getting close.

We grew restless after a whole day wandering in Tunisia, greeted by women and men of all stripes, youth and elders, who welcomed us, stopped by our hotel, waved to us outside the headquarters of the General Union of Tunisian Workers, and clapped for Francesca Albanese, who was with us with her mischievous smile.

They chanted for her. For Palestine.

Later that night, when we heard of the attack on the boat named Family, one of the mother boats of our fleet, emotions surged again. No one slept. Some went back to the port to chant into the night. And the next morning, the same faces who had greeted us stood before the municipal theater.

A press conference. Chants: “Free, free Palestine. The enemy out, out.”

Most of them were leftists and democrats who took part in the 2010 revolution. But in truth, they came from every background. No party flags. No ideological slogans. Only Palestine, present. They weren’t just veteran activists, but the Tunisians we mistakenly call “ordinary people.” Their presence warmed us because they knew we weren’t here for tourism or work. We came for Gaza.

I went to collect an envelope from the lobby of a hotel. A friend had sent me some money so I could get by, after we all left our money and bank cards behind in Spain as instructed by the organizers. The hotel staff stood up and hugged me. They knew I was from the flotilla. They wouldn’t let me leave until they had invited me to morning coffee.

Hours later, a young woman at the laundromat said I would receive my laundry in two days. I said I might not have the time since I was with the flotilla. She gave up her serious tone at once and smiled, “Okay, Egyptian, you’ll get them today. For Palestine.”

Then paused, and added, “And for Egypt, too. So you don’t get upset.”

On the morning of Sep. 9, the delegates from 44 countries aboard the flotilla learned names they hadn’t known before—thanks to that drone strike on the boat Family. Hammam Al-Shat. Abu Jihad, Abu Iyad, and other leaders of the Palestinian revolution.

They also discovered Mahmoud Darwish. Some had known his name, but didn’t know his words: How can we recover from loving Tunisia?

We began the final preparations to move again. Repairing the damage from the drone strike on the boat Family in Sidi Bou Said, and returning to the challenge. We know we love Tunisia, and we say farewell before we leave.

Good morning, Tunisia. Good morning, Palestine.