In Tunis, artisans and residents rally to rescue treasured old city

It takes one glance to tell all is not well in the Medina.

The walled, historic old city of the Tunisian capital – once marked by bustling markets and streams of people hustling between the shops, homes, and government offices along its narrow streets and hidden passageways – is nearly empty.

You would be forgiven for mistaking noon on a Monday for 6 a.m. on a Sunday.

“We are waiting for nothing,” a chachiya hatmaker says as he shuffles boxed hats from one wall of his shop to the other. “We just show up for a few hours out of habit. No one is coming.”

The Medina’s shuttered shops serve as a stern warning that the pandemic and a recession are threatening to undo the old city’s rich tapestry of families and artisans who have made it their home for centuries.

But not, it appears, without a fight.

Banding together for the first time, Medina business owners and families are trying to reintroduce the UNESCO World Heritage Site to Tunisians and the world, sharing its secrets and inviting people to take part in its history – and save its identity in the process.

M’dinti, or “My Medina,” the brainchild of Leila Ben Gacem, a social entrepreneur and advocate for Tunisia’s artisans, is an initiative that has united two dozen boutique hoteliers, artisans, and restaurant owners into an economic lobby to advocate for the old city and search for new ways of resilience.

“By ourselves, we cannot survive the pandemic’s effects,” says Ms. Ben Gacem, who is also a Medina hotelier. “But together we can make changes to improve the Medina.”

Artisans take stock

In normal times, the Medina makes its first impression with its artisans.

For seven centuries, hatmakers, cobblers, silver and goldsmiths, and tailors have occupied craft-specific streets – separate ecosystems within the maze-like Medina.

But with no business, unable to afford monthly rent of 600-1,200 dinars ($210-$420), many of these artisans are now packing it up for good, ending several generations of craftsmanship and abandoning shops their great-grandfathers started.

In their place are popping up cafes, cigarette stands, betting outlets, and fast-food joints – their chrome and blue plastic storefronts incongruous with the World Heritage Site’s cobblestone streets and wrought-iron windows.

“Coronavirus is causing urban degradation of the Medina. So many artisans have had to leave and generations of knowledge are being lost,” says Ms. Ben Gacem.

One artisan facing pressure is perfumer Zouhaier Ghorghar, whose Zitouna Perfumery is around the corner from the historic Al-Zaytuna Mosque. Already behind on his rent, if he cannot make a $200 payment soon, he faces eviction.

“My profession and the Medina are part of me. Leaving it would be slow suicide,” Mr. Ghorghar says. 

Silversmith Mohammed Sidomou, whose family’s shop has stood on the narrow street of the birket al-fidhah (pool of silver) market for a century, is one of the fortunate few to have survived. The family owns the shop.

He describes the pandemic as the “greatest challenge” the Medina has seen in his four decades in business.

“We have been hit by a revolution, terrorism, instability, but there was always some economic activity to keep us going. With the pandemic, everyone is affected, no one can buy,” he says, polishing a silver bracelet. 

He motions to the shuttered silver-shops across the way.

“It breaks my heart to see the Medina turned into shuttered storefronts. It’s as if the Medina is losing its soul.”

Deepening impact

Compounding troubles are the pandemic-induced jump in international shipping costs, inflation, and the devaluation of the Tunisian dinar, making it logistically difficult or financially prohibitive for artisans to get the raw materials they crafted, pounded, and molded into Tunisian heritage crafts for centuries.

In 2014, the last comprehensive survey of Medina artisans, there were 500 artisan workshops including 100 cobblers, 85 ironsmiths, 61 goldsmiths, 54 silversmiths, 42 carpenters, 11 chachiya hatmakers, among others. It is estimated that 25% to 30% have left.

The economic downturn is also fraying a unique community of 20,000 people who live in the Medina, including working- and middle-class families and transplants from rural villages.

Before, residents say, families, shop owners, and artisans supported one another during lean months and years, such as the 2010 revolution or 2015 ISIS attacks, knowing full well that when their own fortunes changed, they could rely on an informal safety net to cushion their fall.

Neighbors would loan a few dinars, share groceries, and cook for each other’s weddings. Shop owners and artisans whose businesses were flush would divert customers to other craftsmen they knew were facing a rough patch.

It was a centuries-old wisdom that together, the Medina could ride out any storm.

“With the pandemic, everyone is suffering; there is no business or family that is doing well and can share their good fortune,” says Mohamed Ali Dweiri, a 26-year-old Medina resident and hotel worker.

“People have become more selfish; no one is helping each other. This is the biggest change to the Medina I have seen in my lifetime, and it’s sad.”

My Medina

Enter M’dinti.

With no foreign tourism, the joint initiative’s first priority was finding ways to attract Tunisians to the Medina.

M’dinti developed the first interactive map of the Medina – its sites, sights, and businesses – and an online portal offering a guide for visitors on where to stay, eat, and shop.

And since October 2021, M’dinti has hosted weekend activities for families, inviting Tunisians into the district’s historic homes and businesses for culinary classes and workshops with artisans – such as carpenters or cobblers – offering a glimpse into the centuries of knowledge of the maalam, or craft master.

Hundreds of Tunisians have attended activities on culinary history, family histories of the historic dars, centuries-old grand villas, and the ordinary people who made up the Medina.

“Each activity is bringing 100 guests to the Medina. They are learning there are days’ worth of sights to see, they are appreciating the traditional crafts we fight to keep alive,” says Mr. Ghorghor, the perfumer. “Word-of-mouth is our best hope.”

Historic homes

This solidarity is giving hope to those who are sacrificing everything to keep the Medina alive, like Hedi Belhouane.

Last year the 40-year-old stepped in to save Dar El Medina, his ancestral home-turned-boutique hotel behind the Medina’s Kasbah, after his uncle abruptly shuttered the hotel at the beginning of the pandemic in 2020.

Amid lockdowns, he poured his money and 16-hour days into reviving the dar where he was born and raised.

“I knew if we didn’t revive this guesthouse, it will run into disuse, bank mortgage payments would become too difficult to keep up with, and there would be pressure to sell,” he says from Dar El Medina’s reception room. The room, featuring hand-painted tiles, was once his grandparent’s apartment, where the family gathered for Friday lunches.

“The Medina is my history, my family’s history. We would lose not only a house, but lose who we are.”

After reopening last September, bookings finally picked up in December when it seemed that the pandemic was lifting, and Dar El Medina’s fortunes were reversing. Then the omicron variant hit.

But Medina residents vow to fight on.

“Despite the challenges, we must keep the Medina open to Tunisians and guests,” says Ms. Ben Gacem, whose Dar Ben Gacem hotels, in historic dars, have evolved into cultural and meeting spaces as well as lodging, maintaining jobs for 13 Medina residents.

“People change, come, go, and die, but stones remain,” Mr. Belhouane says as he pats the wall of his dar’s courtyard. “These walls will tell our stories long after we are gone. That is why we must preserve these stones at any cost.”