#and girls make me feel less guilty than bous

[neapolitanadonna]

This might be wild to ask, but I'm gonna shoot for it. Imperialist era England fighting for Tunisian territory with France. When he's walking the town of Sidi Bou Said one night, he comes across a charming higher class Arabian girl. She speaks to him in Arabic, which he partially understands, then switches over to English Imperialist England looks down on her but she scolds the ever loving hell out of him then he starts to regret ever stepping foot in the nation. THANK YOU OMLL

This is really interesting. Really really interesting. My father actually comes from Tunisia, so I have some background on this. I can tell you though that the chances of there being educated women at the time were very, very slim, unless your father was very powerful int he government, or you had a rebellious streak. Even now, women in Tunisia are becoming more relaxed under their religion and blatant sexism from men, which I’m sure you’re aware of, since you mentioned Tunisia to begin with. None of my aunts wear hijabs, one of them is the manager of a major company and it took her years to get the men to listen to her since none of them believed a woman should be in the position of a man. So, to make it accurate I would probably calm your image down a little bit, but there’s really nothing wrong with a rebellious girl in history, is there! Also, I don’t know what your opinions on imperialism are, but these are mine. Rock on, unnamed Tunisian girl. You’re my hero.

England would be the last to admit that one of these savage nations was beautiful. Though, in his own head, safe from the public eye, he really had to give it to Tunisia. 

He had never met the man himself. He reckoned that he should soon, he had no intent of leaving this land without it becoming a part of his empire. Perhaps, he thought, he would stumble into him here. He couldn’t imagine how awkward that scenario would go though, the man whose land he wanted to take bumping into him admiring all of it. It was the land that he thought was beautiful, England assured himself, not the inhabitants. 

This whole situation was quite unnerving to him, if he had to admit. If it were up to him he’d take the whole continent and go, but the world sadly did not belong to him, even if he thought it did, sometimes. 

Darkness began to sweep over the dunes he walked upon. The stars in the sky out here were brilliant, the moons softness painting pictures against the blue and white architecture. He figured he’d head into town, just for a little while. Nobody was out on the streets at this hour, besides a rebellious teenage boy or two and a handful of stray cats. How marvelous, the thought, to grow up your whole life a joyful jog away from the beach. He met eyes with young man sitting on the cement steps in front of his house. His nose crinkled, and he turned away.

This didn’t stop England from continuing through the town, though. The sea breeze carried the smell of jasmine through the air, and though it was hot, England had never quite felt this content. No wonder France seemed so insistent of having the nation to himself. If he had been anyone else, England would have felt sympathetic towards Tunisia. Carthage’s son, a caravan, a traveler. Though England wasn’t anyone else. Anything that was beautiful belonged to him in this world. 

He passed by a group of stray cats feeding off of garbage on the side of the cobblestone street. This reminded him why he was here to begin with. The unpaved road, the stray cats, no lights on the side of the streets, no horses and buggies to be found. Even those who were beautiful could be uncivilized, he thought, almost kicking at a stray when it slowly stalked towards him. 

All his attention had been on the cat that he didn’t even notice a figure walking towards him. It was a tan skinned woman, the color of the warm brown sand on the beach. Though it was dark, bright green eyes pierced straight into his. She was dressed in all baby blue, from the headdress that hung loosely around her, to her ankle long dress covered in symbols he was unfamiliar with. Her arms, uncovered, were painted in wispy, black ink, her fingers encased with rings. Strands of her dark, curled back hair peeked out from underneath her headdress. England would be stupid to say he wasn’t taken aback. 

“Who the hell are you?” He spat, not letting a woman, let alone a Tunisian woman, get the best of him. She then muttered something in Arabic, to which he clicked his tongue, and continued his way through the streets of Sidi Bou Said. 

“I would think you would be intelligent enough to learn our language before you took us over, Mr. England.” 

This took England by utter surprise, turning around to see the girl looking down at him with a slight frown. 

“What do you know? Go home, woman!” 

“And what would that do for either of us?” 

“You have no business to be talking like that to me, young lady.” England then scolded, but the woman in blue refused to move. 

“Why? Because you’re immortal? Because you believe that we, as Africans, are less developed than you just because we stick with tradition?” Her voice was smooth and strong, something that could both calm him down and rile him up. “Mr. England, my family has been here in this city since the powerful Carthage ruled the area. She built these cities up for us and helped us thrive ever since. We have been living in peace for millennia, while you have lived most of your life blinded by a mask to keep the smell of your own waste away.” 

“Listen!” England was starting to get infuriated, but it wasn’t like he could hurt the girl. She wasn’t any older than twenty, but the audacity of this woman, especially in a nation like this, was unbelievable. She should’ve fell to her knees at the sight of him!

“Forgive me, but I will not listen. The only reason you are here is because you are afraid that culture can thrive without electricity. You are justifying your insecurity by making us seem like the savages, when you have been struggling to find food and bathing in your own waste for centuries.” 

With this, the young woman slightly nodded, and for the first time that night, flashed a small smile. 

“I do hope you enjoy the culture of my city. We have no power over what you Europeans are going to do to us, but we will become powerful if you try to take our culture away.” 

Before he could say anything else, the woman turned her back and ran, ran down to the coast of the beach and disappeared into the dunes. England couldn’t move, he was in complete and utter shock. The audacity of that woman! To stand there and make up lies to make him feel guilty for what he was doing! They were savages, the lot of them! All he could do was groan and walk back to the coast. He would think this all through back on his ship. 

When England ad France later met, England was fast to allow France to have Tunisia, as long as England could take Cyprus back. This deal confused France, England had seemed so set on Tunisia himself. England would say it was because he preferred the setting of Cyprus more, but in his utter conscious, he had been intimidated that night. Tunisia was not for him.