In Tunisia, Gen Z moves between Arabic, French, and English like second nature. It’s not confusion, it’s identity. This is the quiet intelligence of a generation fluent in context, rhythm, and belonging.

Sit at any terrace in Tunisia and you’ll notice it: just as your food arrives, so does a quiet guest. We call it the cat tax, an unspoken ritual that turns every meal into a small act of sharing.

Tunisia is known for olive oil, foutas, and harissa. But its greatest export is something less visible and more enduring: dignity. From the Jasmine Revolution to the crafts made by hand, Tunisia’s pattern has always been to export systems that protect worth. Every fouta, rug, or jar of harissa carries that same spirit of refusal and respect.

Tunisia is often compared to Morocco or Egypt. But Tunisia already gives the world fouta, harissa, carpets, couscous, and more. My Chakchouka shows it whole — sovereign in its own logic.

In Tunisia, tea isn’t an event. It’s a pause that holds everyone in place. Mint picked fresh. Nuts on the side. A glass passed without needing words.