Contact with Western civilisation is loosening the hold of their religion upon the people of Tunisia, and the change is probably not for the better. A devout follower of the law of the Prophet is an upright man, but in the slackening of his faith he is apt to acquire only the vices of the European and is in danger of losing his own religion and being left with nothing to take its place.
There are religious schools as well as the Government ones where French is taught, and many boys attend both. In walking through the narrow streets one often hears the drone of small voices, and sees a neat row of little slippers outside a doorway. On going inside, one finds a master intoning the Koran, each phrase of it being repeated interminably by the scholars sitting cross-legged on the matting and rocking themselves backwards and forwards. Each pupil is provided with a board painted white on which the text is written, and when at last all the scholars know it by heart it is washed out, and a fresh one inscribed and taught.
In one tiny village on the edge of the Sahara the school was being held in the courtyard of the minaret, up which I had gone to see the view. The master was intoning the Koran in an inner room, whilst the class of small boys followed it with the correct prostrations outside, facing a sort of recess in the wall which indicated the direction of Mecca. They withstood the intense temptation to stare at a stranger, and went on solemnly with their devotions, whilst I took a snapshot from behind them, quite unperceived.
Service is held in the mosques on Fridays, the prayers being led by a kind of priest called the ‘iman.’ Women are not allowed to take part in public worship. Friday is always a busy and crowded day in the Souks, as it is then that the countrymen come in from the outlying districts to attend service.
Charity is strictly enjoined on the faithful, and apparently no one need ever starve in Tunis. He has but to sit in the gutter and call for alms in the name of Allah, and he will be supported, even if meagrely, for life. Every mosque possesses its clientèle of beggars who reap a livelihood from the worshippers. Fasts are also observed, and the big fast of the year is that of Ramadan, which lasts for a month, during which time not a morsel of food nor a drop of liquid may be taken between sunrise and sunset. When Ramadan falls in the hot weather, the pious undergo real sufferings from thirst.
Wine is forbidden to a Moslem, but this prohibition is now often set aside, especially amongst the younger generation. Probably the drinking of coffee took its place, for the Arab swallows innumerable tiny cups of it during the day.
The Tunisian café in a small town or village is a pleasant place. The customers sip their coffee in a leisurely way, sitting in the sunshine, and discussing the news of the day. Many play dominoes or chess, and sometimes strolling musicians, snake-charmers or professional story tellers collect a group round them. The teller of tales is a very popular personage, and is always sure of a large audience, and now and again one comes across the impromptu bard who weaves his chant as he goes along, introducing apt stanzas about each giver of a coin, to the delight of the crowd.
Life is leisurely. No one is in a hurry, the day is long. Why trouble to do to-day what may as well be left till to-morrow? There is none of the feverish activity and restlessness of modern civilisation. “About each man’s neck hath Allah hung his fate,” and therefore it is useless to try to avert it. Interminable discussions are carried on over the coffee cups, and as in village-life all the world over, a neighbour’s affairs are of only secondary importance to one’s own. The fierce light that beats upon a throne is but a taper to the penetrating beam focussed upon every household in a small community.