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[wildurbanism]

“progress”

[wildurbanism]

public transport #2

Sometimes Tunis can feel impossible to navigate without a car, a rich vocabulary of insults for other drivers, and a daily offering to the gods of road safety and public transportation. 

Here, lane markers, stoplights, and traffic signs exist as mere suggestion. Drivers stop where they like and go as they please, dodging people, cats, and other drivers. As a pedestrian, driving practices meet urban planning and infrastructure. A sidewalk might end abruptly, depositing one onto a 4-lane highway, before quietly re-appearing two hundred hundred meters later. More often, whatever sidewalk there is might end abruptly and never reappear. 

And public transportation, as I’ve mentioned before, is abundant -- even though I’ve never met someone, including ticket punchers, station managers, conductors, and daily commuters, who knows how to find a map or schedule of trains, buses, and collective taxis running on fixed routes. 

Bus stops don’t have schedules or maps posted, but the buses run, and somehow people know where to wait and what number bus to take. Many metro stations are unmarked, or old signage has faded or disappeared. Pathways – often well-paved roads or overpasses built specifically to direct pedestrians to metro stations – are also lacking signage and can be found by following people, asking around, or sometimes following a faint dotted line on Google Maps.

I ask at each new station I visit. A map? No. Just tell me where you want to go. 

That particular practice is a good illustration of something I love here. Human interaction trumps all other forms of gathering and sharing information – you can’t text the bus, but you can ask a person. 

On the other hand, a lack of signage, maps, and schedules does make the city difficult to navigate, and often totally inscrutable – particularly if you are a body that feels vulnerable and feels restricted from a certain level of exploring. 

People who are not in the know, or are not aware there’s a know to be in on, never find themselves on the metro. Many young Tunisians I’ve spoken to opt to avoid public transport at all costs, unless they are without other options. 

Physical safety, particularly for vulnerable bodies (for example, women, folks who are disabled, or are struggling with mental health, racial minorities, queer people) is a concern and, though I’ve never personally had problems on buses or metros here, plenty of people have warned me to be cautious of pickpocketing or harassment. 

 After weeks of uncomfortable public transport experiences and sometimes taking hours to get between two points (even with the ability to pay for cabs), I rented a car for a few weeks, and a sense of control over my time and ease in daily life prevailed until the day I turned the keys back in. Leaving my home became easy. I could travel to new neighborhoods and cities on my own more easily. I could spend less time out on the street and therefore less time subject to frequent harassment by men. I’m now back to the public transport life and it’s fine, but I miss the damn car. 

Opting out of a system that makes you feel uncomfortable or unsafe is one of those things that is only available to a privileged few, and disabled people and women and queer people and elderly people and folks struggling with mental health continue to be dependent on systems that don’t serve them well. Choice and the ability to have control over time are rights that are available only to those with some level of material privilege. So, generally speaking, if public transport is inefficient or unpleasant or otherwise inconvenient, only economically privileged people have the option to opt out of it by obtaining private transport. Safety, security, timeliness, and other conveniences that come with well-functioning public transport systems are accessible through privatized options and therefore excluded from working class people or bodies that are barred from private transport. 

Inequality in a city expands as more people opt for cars and private transport because of the inefficiencies of public transport, the city is developed to accommodate more cars and alleviate traffic. More autoroutes are built, more parking lots are built, more places are paved, more cement is scooped out of Jbel Ressas, and uneven development tumbles forward, diminishing quality of life and opportunities for marginalized folks while pushing forward environmental degradation and injustice. 

 And things like an expanding car culture in the capital city of Tunisia also serve to highlight aspects of the massive inequities between the capital and the South of the country, where petroleum is extracted and the local population experiences severe environmental degradation and money being channeled from the region to private European corporations. 

 So, a city administration that puts forth a high degree of energy and intention into its public transport systems has the opportunity to respond to a series of social, political, and environmental violences, at least in small ways. And for Tunis, the skeleton is there – there are options and infrastructure already existing. But a number of tiny changes could make the system more accessible to the public even before any large infrastructural changes or construction is necessary. Signage and maps at each bus and metro station would be an incredible start. And signs indicating directions to stations. Good lighting at stations and in trains. Indications about accessibility for wheelchair-bound users. Little modifications in the direction of a system that folks feel safe in and can rely on.  

[wildurbanism]

public transport in tunis, part 1

I’ve used Tunis public transport most days I’ve been in the city. There are buses, a metro system, light rail going from Centreville to the banlieue nord (TGM), and collective taxis and louages, so options for transport that don’t require owning your own vehicle are actually very abundant and often very nice. 

Comfort levels vary between methods of transport. Here’s a quick run-down for anyone trying to figure out how to get around:

Louages, or mini-buses, between cities are very very fast and may at one point or another involve sitting next to a small old woman vomiting into a bag. They can be intense when traveling for several hours, and after a few attempts to like them, not my favorite long distance travel method. However, they’re often the quickest and most reliable way to get between cities that aren’t served on train lines or with frequent buses. The two main louage stations for travel outside of Tunis are in Moncef Bey and Bab Alioua.

 Cultural note: Louage is a Tunisian word that I love because it’s an invented French word that might roughly translate to “rentation.” 

Here are a couple videos from my first louage trip:

(driver bumping mezwed, 106 year old man sleeping)

louage turn up with tisem: 

Taxi jam3y, or collective taxis within the city, are similarly speedy, but comfortable and usually only for short distances on relatively fixed routes, so I enjoy taking them. They are yellow mini-buses, and if you keep your eyes peeled it’s not hard to spot where they are waiting. You can find many of them waiting near the TGM station in Centreville on fixed loops to La Marsa, El Kram, etc. While in the cab, people typically pass money from the back to driver at some point during the ride, and people will often hand you money to give to the driver. You will get back correct change and fellow passengers will most likely be incredibly kind and helpful if you’re confused.

The metro is comfortable but not the speediest option and typically packed during rush hour. A map is available online (pictured below), and can also be found on the walls of some major connecting stations like Republique. The map definitely needs some visual edits, and the lack of signage and posted maps to access the metro outside of Centreville is a post for another day. 

(http://www.urbanrail.net/af/tunis/tunis.htm)

TGM is a metro going from Centreville to La Goulette, Le Kram, Carthage, Sidi Bou Said, and La Marsa. It has a regular schedule posted and has always been comfortable, though I recently rode it around 9PM and realized I was the only woman in the car. Here’s a TGM map:

The bus is still a mystery to me -- Tunis has a mix of public and private bus companies with varying levels of comfort. There is no signage or maps in stations to indicate where buses go. Waiting can take an incredibly long time (I’ve given up after 30-40 minutes and hailed cabs more than once). On two occasions, while waiting alone for a bus, strange men pulled up cars next to me and attempted to solicit me (you are scum!). On one occasion, as I walked towards a bus, the bus driver looked at me and closed the doors because I wasn’t approaching with enough urgency. Womp. That being said, I do know women who take the bus daily without issue. There should be a schedule online but the link has never worked for me. Here it is in case it is someday functioning.

Taxis are safe and cheap, but occasionally require some stern bullshit detection -- make sure the meter is on. Expect hailing one to take forever in some areas or during rush hour.

Biking around Tunis, which is something I dream about daily, is not a common activity and I’m yet to muster up the courage to get around on two wheels here.

More on public transport coming soon...

[wildurbanism]

plant notes #1: khobiza

Khobiza, or Malva sylvestris , known as common mallow in English, is one of the more ubiquitous wild plants I’ve come across in Tunisia. Common mallow is known to accompany human settlement, and lives well in cities.

In the early spring, broad leaves of khobiza abound underfoot, and by early April its mauve flowers are everywhere. The word khobiza is the plural of “bread” in Arabic, and the nutrient-rich green has been a staple of lean times throughout the Middle East and North Africa. Most Tunisians I’ve spoken to are familiar with khobiza as an edible green typically served with couscous. 

In addition to being a highly nutritious edible green, khobiza is also excellent medicine and has historically been known as a cure-all. Mallow is highly mucilaginous and therefore an excellent remedy for respiratory troubles including coughs and asthma. Wounds or inflammation of the mucous membrane in the mouth, throat, stomach, and intestines are soothed by the mucilaginous coating the plant creates. Externally, the plant is astringent, anti-bacterial, and anti-inflammatory, so it’s a good treatment for cuts, boils, skin rashes, insect bites, and other skin inflammations or irritations. 

To treat a cough or respiratory trouble, soak fresh or dried leaves in warm – not boiling – water for a few hours before drinking the infusion. 

To make a fresh and delicious meal from khobiza, one can make a salad with the fresh young leaves or sautee the leaves with olive oil, garlic, and lemon juice for a delicious side dish. In Turkish cooking, fresh or cooked spinach or purslane are often served cool and mixed into yogurt, which is one of my favorite ways to prepare greens.

Khobiza is not toxic and has no known contraindications or side effects from ingestion of leaves or flowers. Large doses apparently have laxative effects and can cause diarrhea. When grown in soil that is very high in nitrogen, the plant has a tendency to accumulate nitrates in its leaves, so one should be cautious about where they are harvesting the plant.

Here is an excellent link describing uses of a common North American variety of mallow.

Here is a link describing a common Tunisian preparation of khobiza (in French).

References: 

https://www.herbal-supplement-resource.com/common-mallow.html

Skidmore-Roth, Linda: Mosby’s Handbook of Herbs & Natural Supplements. St. Louis, Mosby 2001.

Blumenthal, Mark: The Complete German Commission E Monographs. Austin, Texas, American Botanical Council 1998. 

[wildurbanism]

the deer path and the road

A friend of mine once described an organizational project that was “building the road while ignoring the deer path.” She was describing a colleague's attempt to share a set of resources by creating a complex, systematized model, after many similar organizational models had been unsuccessful. Time after time, the small group of people sharing the resources took what they needed when they needed it. Sometimes it worked fine, sometimes it was a mess. Despite hours of labor dedicated to a series of streamlined systems, the formalized option never took hold. 

Sharing a set of resources is more or less what human settlement amounts to. There are endless theories, solutions, and failures in the art of figuring out how many people use what they need while respecting the needs of other lives around them (human and otherwise) -- or don’t. 

In Tunis, one of the most common laments of city dwellers is that rules are not obeyed here, and thus city life is stressful and exhausting. Something about the framework of how the public should share resources is unsuccessful, and word of mouth and the number of times “cars” come up in the conversation suggest that it’s a contemporary malady. 

You know, life just isn’t sweet anymore, someone told me in a suburb of Tunis. 

And yes, many rules are a murky concept here, at least to my outside eyes. Traffic lanes are mere suggestions, as are stop lights and signage, for example. But I propose that the issue isn’t that people can’t follow rules (mmmm perhaps because this idea is rooted in a history of racism and colonialism) -- it’s more like the rules don’t follow the people, the context, the practices, history, habits, desires, whatever, shaped by life on this little patch of land. Tunis, like many cities, often seems designed by imagining the road before looking for the deer path. 

First, let me expand on the road/deer path thing:

The road is the most structured, labor intensive, formal approach to problem-solving. It is thorough. It is paved. It is efficient. Often it is replicated in different contexts, whether or not it is the approach that serves the community or context.

The imposition of structure, order, and timeliness are central to the capitalist and colonial city. Troubling models for ‘revitalization’ or ‘growth’ often suggest that adding some kind of structure, literal or otherwise, is an answer. Add a bike lane. Build a café. Plant a tree on top of it. Paint it green.  

While I can be disturbed by this approach, particularly as someone invested in living in an ecologically sound way that respects our 4 billion year old mother, I also have always lived in places with roads, easily accessible food and water, electricity, etc. I might be disturbed by the ecological impact of resource extraction for infrastructure, or the social impact of infrastructure that disrupts communities or ecosystems (environmental injustice and racism), BUT development also creates security and health for many bodies. For example, a wheelchair can easily traverse a paved road, and this is important. 

And then there’s the deer path. The instinctive approach, the way through the woods that everyone uses, regardless of whether it is paved or not. It is the shortest distance between two points, trading with your neighbor, parking on the sidewalk, making do with what’s available. 

(There are well trafficked, unmarked walking paths all around Tunis, often edging along or across highways and autoroutes, around fences, or near paved paths that are either incomplete or ignored by pedestrians.)

The deer path is often a little sideways of rules and regulations. Or there’s an internal logic and set of rules, but it’s inscrutable to those outside of it. In many ways, it’s the ethic that rules in Tunis, and I can’t deny that I’m proud of it.

While I have a soft spot for informality and improvisation in the daily life of a city, it’s dangerous to valorize it. This is particularly true from the position of a designer raised and educated in a western context, commenting on an eastern one. 

A city dominated by deer paths might be anti-capitalist, systems-oriented, ecologically sound, human-centric utopia, but more often than not it means an absence of security, adequate infrastructure, or standards for health and safety.

In cities shaped by capitalism -- or a globalized world shaped by the destructive effects of capitalism -- the rift between the formal and informal sector grows ever wider as wealth or mobility or resources become restricted to formal networks. For example, transport restricted to cars and autoroutes, or information accessible to people with internet access and computer and language literacy. 

The informal is often valorized in incredibly dangerous ways by designers, who confuse some notion of cultural appreciation with an inability to see non-white or working-class bodies as vulnerable.

A “they can do that over here” or “they’re so resourceful” kind of attitude.

One of many examples of flawed valorization of the informal I’ve observed outside of the US: A white American architecture student visiting Istanbul spoke glowingly of how much she loved the ad hoc building process in which workers often didn’t use protection when they worked with dangerous tools or in precarious positions. Clearly, as a Turkish designer sharply pointed out to her, she did not understand that a lack of structure and standards in building practices also threatened the health and well-being of Turkish workers.

But operating in an informal context, learning to make do, repair, reconfigure, or accomplish tasks with the support of community and human connections rather than depending on knowledge and power being accessible on an individual level -- these are pretty powerful benefits of being in a place ruled by the deer path. And there are so many more. 

My ideal city contains elements of both the deer path and the road – design that closely observes human patterns and instincts, with enough structure to maintain safety and convenience, particularly for the most vulnerable bodies in an urban setting. 

Tunis has a lot of formal infrastructure – large autoroutes, metro and tram systems, building codes and authorization through municipalities. But there are a lot of missing links, and strong indicators that there’s a lack of collaboration between communities, urban planners, architects, engineers, and all the other folks who are stakeholders in the city’s daily workings.

An example of the formal model gone awry in Tunis are billboards around the city that show plan renderings of new highways:

These images are confusing (and infuriating) to me for a few reasons. There are a thousand little cars in these images, but not a single person. A large public park takes up a large swath of the drawing, but no indication of how it is accessible by foot or its utility as a public good beyond a box checked on what a city imagined through dated urban planning practices should look like. Images like this have power, and the violent exclusion of life on the street and pedestrians shows development that is oriented to the car rather than the human scale. Parks exist as a formal element but have little relationship to public life if they are not accessible on foot, and surrounded by highways. The elements of a developed city are visible, and the existence of some slick renderings from a planning or civil engineering office suggest an expert hand involved in the creation of the city. But these drawings are maps for sprawl disguised as traffic alleviation.

On the informal end, there’s a lot of making do with the absence or incomplete presence of formal infrastructure. And sometimes we (I include myself in this one) have minimal concern for rules and sometimes that’s just fine. Just means they’re not the right ones. 

I’m currently on the hunt for many missing links to understand what might make infrastructure convenient and desirable for a large number of city-dwellers. A lot of the conversation, I suspect, requires a deeper interrogation into who the most vulnerable bodies here are, and what they are lacking. I can write from the experience of a young female-identified woman moving around the city and occasionally getting solicited by dirty old men at the bus stop (I hate you!), but there’s a lot more to be uncovered about class, race, sexual identity and presentation, immigration status. I’m in no place to comment or recommend yet, so this is an incomplete beginning...

[wildurbanism]

aslama/salut/hi

I’ve been in Tunisia for two months, and have spent a little more than a month of that time in the capitol city of Tunis. My mother is Tunisian, and her whole family lives here, but I grew up in the US and never learned Tunisian dialect (a mix of Arabic, Tamazight, French, Italian, surely some other languages). I feel the loss of cultural knowledge very acutely -- my inability to speak in my mother’s native language feels like a lifetime of missing a key to another home. 

Spending time in Tunisia and learning the language and history is my response to the ways that cultural transmission are erased in the process of immigration, my feeling of responsibility to my own history. 

But, I’m also here because I love it here. I feel very blessed to trace my roots to this place and this culture, so full of richness, beauty, and contradiction. 

I’ll be keeping track of some thoughts and observations and plant knowledge in this space. The things I write about follow my eye and my passions. I studied architecture at Barnard College, work as a designer and design educator, and consider much of my work in the context of the city. I am also a plant fiend and avid student of ecology and horticulture, and the ways that human life is entangled with plant life. I am always trying to balance my love for social ecology and the messiness of humans in close proximity with my need to be in wild space and in solitude. Sometimes my greatest joy is the hybridized nature of patches of overgrown city, the ways that plants and non-human animals adapt and overwhelm human modifications of landscape. The negotiation between settlement and wildness is the idea behind wild urbanism.