LIFE AFTER THE NFB
A meeting with Colette Gendron
Expatriate, Student, Painter,
Archivist and Publisher

by Marie-Pierre Tremblay
March 2004


Colette pretending to be brave with a sparrowhawk on her head, at Sidi Bou Sa�d.

I met Colette Gendron(*) in August 2003. She had just completed the first of a four-year sojourn in Tunisia where her partner, Pierre, sent by CIDA, is working as an advisor to the Tunisian Department of Education and Training which is in the process of overhauling and re-organizing their professional training programmes. Colette was unable to obtain a work permit because unemployment is very high there, even among educated Tunisians. She and Pierre live in Carthage, some fifteen kilometers north of Tunis.

"One day Pierre and I were in an oasis. We were admiring the beautiful scenery when we saw a shepherd in the distance coming down a mountain with his flock of goats and sheep. The mountain was so arid it was hard to imagine how the animals found anything to nibble on. Gradually, as the shepherd came closer, we felt ourselves transported a thousand years back in time. We were enthralled. Suddenly, the shepherd, who was wearing the traditional costume, plucked a cell phone out of nowhere. The spell was broken. And that is Tunisia today.

"We find it surprising but for Tunisians it is quite normal. They are a very resourceful people, very ingenious and inventive. For example, people with parabolic antennas, (and there are many), pay nothing to the European networks: installing a chip is child's play for any self-respecting Tunisian.

And you should see the small car-repair workshops set up in the middle of the sidewalks in downtown Tunis, or the rigging devised by gardeners to prop up the bougainvillea (that can grow up to three meters high...)"

Being an Expatriate is a Harsh Reality
"We're at a stone's throw from Italy and France. But Pierre works six days a week. He's off Friday afternoon, which is given over to prayers, but ho has to work Saturdays. So we can't really travel. That's when you start to realize your special status.

"It's not as if you're on a trip. And yet you're not at home, and you're not an immigrant. You can't say: 'I'll put down roots here and form an attachment to this country' while feeling completely detached from your country of origin. You have no anchor. You have no work that puts you into contact with people. Volunteer work is respected in Tunisia but not valued as highly as real work. At first, I had the impression I was there merely as an observer, that I had nothing to build on. It's not a good feeling, and it's hard to live like that. So, one day, I said to myself: 'Well, old girl, you'd better plan your day so you can feel good about yourself and get to know people.' It wasn't easy. For six months, I did everything I could to build up a network of people, and I tried to understand what the country was about. If you don't work at it, you'll end up feeling as if you're looking at a lovely post card. Without ever going inside it."

Language and Family: Two Major Obstacles
The two main obstacles I encountered were language and, to my surprise, the Tunisians' strong family ties. As for language, everyone speaks French to some degree. But the language spoken in the street is Arabic. And when you walk around for days without understanding a word, it's like being inside a bubble. So I decided to register at the university for intensive Arabic courses which ran four hours a day four days a week. I wanted to be active intellectually. I got more than I bargained for. My tongue was literally hanging out the first week. You learn everything at once: to speak, to read, to write. The second day, they gave us a paper with the Arabic alphabet (29 letters and the letter varies according to its place in the word; four variations per letter). The third day, the professer read us a text several times, and then each of us in turn had to repeat it back to him. So you see how it works. I didn't think I'd get out alive but I have to admit that this draconien approach produced results because I can now read short pieces, I manage to say a few sentences and I listen to AI Jazeera - and even if I don't understand everything, the images help, and I do alright.

Other than being very attached to their language, the Tunisians have strong family ties that make it difficult for foreigners to integrate. The family network is very very important. Young people between the ages of 18 and 20 don't take apartments. Not even a well-paid secretary rents an apartment furnished IKEA style. They live with their parents or, if they come from the country, they stay with an uncle, a cousin or some friend of the family. There are financial reasons: housing is expansive and salaries relatively low. And religions reasons: Moslem feast days are celebrated within the family. And there are other reasons: no social-security net, no unemployment insurance, no health insurance. The family takes care of the members who have no work, who are sick, and they also care for their aging parents. It is unheard of to place old parents. That explains the presence of small apartments (room and kitchen) attached to most houses.

So you see, Tunisians have their hands full with their families, and they're not inclined to open their homes to foreigners. Some do, but they are few. And when you say you're Canadian, this is not very exotic in their eyes. They dream of lndia, Australia. They think of Canada as a modern country where their children go to study, to find good jobs and where they can lead comfortable lives. So this obstacle seems insurmountable... but I didn't give up."


Jour d'�t� � Val-des-Lacs

"(...) Her tender, sensitive paintings, with their lovely rhythms, touch the heart." Ronz Nedim, La Presse Tunis.
"After sewing miles of curtains and outfitting the whole house with cushions, I finally set up my studio. My last exhibition in Montr�al - at Gal�rie Niko - was a success and so I spread the word around that I would like to show my paintings in Tunisia. I took steps to find out how the gallery system worked, and I tried to meet artists with similar affinities for eventually sharing expenses. I went back to painting and I turned out a lot of work. One day, a Canadian friend who has lived in Tunis for years came to the house and saw my work. A few weeks later, she phoned me to say that the Canadian Embassy was organizing a Canada Week featuring musiciens, writers, painters, and asked me if I would "accept" (imagine!) taking part in it.


Gros grain, chagrin

"The opening took place at the Espace Caliga on November 5, 2003 (it was quite a success, it warmed my heart) and the exhibition continued until November 27. Because my birthday is in November, Pierre offered me a trip to Paris for three weeks. I know that sounds like bragging to someone living in Montreal - going to Paris for a week to shake off the doldrums - but winter in Tunisia is not tropical, it is Mediterranean and that is very very different... So when I got back, I was surprised to find out that I had sold enough paintings to cover my expenses. And I had had a rather flattering write-up in the press. That encouraged me to continue. Right now, I'm doing figurative drawings. I'm anxious to know where it will all lead."

The Secret Chambers of the Museum of Carthage
"After finishing my course in Arabic, I met with the director of the archaeological museum of Carthage and offered my services as a volunteer. My timing was right. His assistant does many things, including working on a publication (in French) that reports on archaeological digs carried out during the year. So I inherited part of the publication. Which led to meetings with archaeologists. And that is totally fascinating. They do presentations, discuss among themselves, give advice on how to identify and date pieces. It's a bit like a police investigation. As for the pottery, they are guided by form, color, the handle. But there are still a lot of problems that remain to be solved. Everybody at one time passed through Carthage: the Phoenicians, the Romans, the Vandals... There are many superimposed cities lying buried under the modern city, the living city. And the power shovels work faster than the archaeologists with their little spoons. So conflicts often break out between the needs of the city for expansion and the desire to preserve the treasures of the past.


Colette and Pierre at the Museum of Carthage.

"I also do other things at the museum. For instance, there are two huge rooms - not little cupboards, but great big rooms - filled from top to bottom with documents dating back to 1880. At that time, Tunisia was a French protectorats and the White Fathers had settled there. They were the first to launch the big archaeological digs - even though earlier ones had been carried out by small isolated teams. As a result, there are inventories to be drawn up and archives to be filed away of their work, including the work of French, English, German, Canadian and other teams who came to Carthage at a later date. There are drawings, reports, photos, plans... Pierre had a good laugh: 'For someone who loves to organize, and tidy, and file as much as you do, you've got yourself the challenge of a lifetime!' They gave me carte blanche, and l'm trying to figure out how to tackle the job. Ideally, a data bank should be created, but the museum is severely lacking in qualified personnel and material resources. So I'm scratching my head to find out how to go about the task, and I suggest different approaches. It's a very exciting challenge."

"But that's not what I think about every morning on my way to the museum along the sea road. I allow myself to be overwhelmed by the magic of the place because history is everywhere in Carthage."

A Tunisian Welcome
This spring, I chanced to fall in with a "bunch" of French women who were part of a group called Tunis Accueil (Welcome to Tunis), an association offering different services to expatriates. It's also a place where people help one another. If you're lonely, if you need a doctor or a good school for your children, Tunis Accueil tries to help.

Because I needed to "activate" myself a bit, I told them I wanted to be useful, and they appointed me secretary general on the spot. The title means nothing, nobody wanted to do the job! Basically, I attend meetings to organize activities (visits, conferences, parties, rallies, etc.) but mostly I'm responsable for the newsletter which comes out on a quarterly basis. It's great, it keeps me in good practice. The first issue came out in September, the second in January. But I had to fine-tune the layout and run after people to get their texts. A familiar tune!"

And so on and so forth
Our conversation went on for a long time. Colette talked about the smell of the jasmine and the lemon trees in her garden, the beauty of the orange groves, the rotation of seasonal vegetables, the price of bread, the color of the light, her weekends in the south, romantic suppers at La Goulette, the taste of fresh fish from the Mediterranean, tajines and white peaches, 50 degrees C in summer (it's like opening an oven door when you leave the air conditioning!!!) and the humid 5 degrees C in winter, the work day that finishes at one o'clock during Ramadan, the slow pace of life, the dress code, the government, censorship, the big hotels, the situation of women, her growing expertise at bargaining with merchants, her marble counter tops, her admiration for Bourguiba, the great reformer, in short, a conversation that waxed strong between two friends happy to see each other after a whole year.

On December 7, I received the following lines: "One of my Tunisian friends invited me with a group of women who work in the museum to her beautiful home in Sidi Bou Sa�d (on a hill overlooking the sea) where we gossiped the afternoon away until we almost ran out of breath." And on January 28: "The gardener has gone to buy seedlings. I have to hurry up and plant them if we want flowers this spring. All this makes me want to stay here. And that is the expatriates' big dilemma: when you start feeling at home, you feel a twinge knowing that one day you'll have to leave.'


Colette in the cacti. A far cry from apartment cacti !

So Colette has finally succeeded in going inside her beautiful postcard.

________________________

* Colette Gendron joined the NFB in 1988 and worked as superviser of Graphic Services. She went on to become head of the Information and Promotion department of the French Program. She left the NFB in 1996.


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