La Goulette

La  Goulette 

Port, located in a bay, connected by an artificial channel with the capital Tunis.

I even learned from the mouth of the new mayor of Paris, Mr. Delanoë his father was captain of the port. Then subsequently transferred to Tabarka. That's the story.

What memories, this small seaside town of 5000 souls in winter and 15,000 in summer. Vacationers, mostly, they transhumance their tunisois district to settle a few months all along the beaches that stretched about a kilometer.

La Goulette, beach haven, sea and peace, warm, friendly and where human reasoning oriental music within its walls and in the disparate cafes. The scent of jasmine mixed with the smell of fish and fragrant delighted our goulettoises nights.

I was born in 1931 in the old Goulette (the city is divided into three districts, the old Goulette, the new and the Goulette Casino). From the maternal side of a grandmother and paternal side Livorno Tunisian grandparents.

My maternal grandmother, dressed in European, dialogued in three languages: Arabic, French and Italian. Being young, I used to visit him quite often. In the dining room sat a piano. From time to time, I prayed to play me some old tunes, mèlopés in the Arab style folklor / or Andalusian old French music she interpreted perfectly.

 By cons, my paternal grandmother, was rather modest situation. She lived it 'Hara', poor Jewish neighborhood of Tunis with her husband and daughter in a tiny room of 8 m2, without comfort (or health and water) only electricity. His language was spoken Judeo-Arabic. She did not speak French. Dressed in Arabic, loose clothing, scarf tied around the head, white blouse with long sleeves and wide enough, sarrouwèl (jester pants) that went down to the ankles made it look like the women of old postcards.

She had a pretty face. His physique was corpulent and the handicap hardly moved. Her husband was against a svelte, slim and strong mostly dressed in Arab: he wore a fez red, close serwel in a plain shirt. It shod slippers (belkhè).

He often spoke of his youth and his time. Life was not easy. His trade, traveling salesman of vibrant fabrics suited especially Arab women. Early to rise, it was already on the roads cracked, accompanied by his donkey loaded units and others, rolls of printed fabrics or not, to djebels. His clients were Bedouin obedience. In a time long before the French protectorate in Tunisia, it was risky to venture in people douars. Known and appreciated, he was received as notable as it spoke perfect Arabic, and, knowing very well their ancestral customs and traditions, he was also loved and respected by these indigenous