‘I decided to move to Tunisia alone, fresh out of university, with no connections and no plan’

People always ask me why, as a 22-year-old from Wexford, I decided to move to Tunisia alone, fresh out of university, with no connections and no plan?
One answer is that I studied Arabic as part of Middle Eastern studies at Trinity College Dublin, and wanted to learn from native speakers. Another is that I spent my Erasmus year in Morocco, and I wanted to explore more of the region.
But the truth is, the spring of 2022 was the first time that a new academic year did not wait for me at the end of the summer. My whole life stretched before me in a dizzying blur. I had no idea who I was or what I wanted, so when I saw a cheap flight to Tunisia, on a whim, I booked it and hoped the decision would make sense of itself down the line.
I’ve been living in the capital, Tunis, for two years now, juggling life as a musician and a career in international development and, somehow, am closer to my Irishness than ever.
After a year of studying Arabic, and working as an assistant in a creche, I got a remote-working position with a research and evaluation consultancy that works closely with humanitarian actors in conflict-affected regions.
I work mainly with NGO projects in Syria, and over the past year developed a keen insight into the complex realities of the international aid system. I see its transformative potential, and I’m learning how funding from the global community can equip people with the tools and resources they need to secure peace and prosperity in their own communities.
But I was only witnessing the benign side of international intervention. The reverse came sharply into focus when Israel launched its assault on the Gaza Strip nearly a year ago. As billions upon billions of US and EU money poured into arms sales to Israel, a humanitarian crisis unfolded on our screens.
The atmosphere in Tunis was heavy and tense.
For a while, anger was directed at me on the streets. For some, my white skin meant that I was complicit in this – the assumption being I was American, British or, worse, French (Tunisia gained independence from France in 1956). Yet, those who knew my nationality, commended me for being Irish and applauded my country for being on the right side of history.
But as the months dragged on and the war continued, speeches from home about shared struggle with Palestine seemed empty, as if solidarity was just a means to distract from our inability to enact any real change.
As a young Irish woman in Tunis, I felt so accepted. With my halting Arabic and somewhat better French, I made many friends and felt at home. But, in light of the war in Gaza, and as the divide between the West and the Arab world became wider and wider, I wasn’t so sure of my place any more. Was I using my Irishness as a mask to hide my white privilege and everything that I gain from being a part of the Global North?
I searched for connection beyond language and shared history.
Piano was always just a hobby for me. It had been an unscrutinised passion since I was a child – secret compositions, low-stake Feis competitions and the grade-eight slog. It had no place in the life that I was constructing for myself – a life for a serious person, with serious purpose.
In the midst of all the horror and confusion, I needed to play.
It was then that I met my neighbour, Emad Lulu, an oud player and producer from Gaza. We organised jam sessions for a bit of fun. We did not expect that soon we would be launching our show, a fusion of Arab and Irish music, in different contemporary arts venues across the city.
While our compositions were full of harmony, they also expressed the dissonance that existed between us in our similar, yet conflicting, experiences as Irish and Palestinian today.
I was at home in Wexford for the summer. My dad urged me to come down off my high horse to watch Mona McSharry compete in the 100m breaststroke. I decided not to watch the Olympics this year due to the fact that Russia is banned from participation for its aggression in Ukraine, while Israel is not. I caved and I found myself glued to the screen as Mona stormed through the pool and instinctively, I cry out: “Gwan Mona!”
I find it an odd feeling, after years of living abroad, to glow with pride for my country as we watch McSharry accept her bronze medal. It is then that, behind the celebrating athletes, I see a spectator in the lower stands waving the Israeli flag, and suddenly, it’s Day 297 of Israel’s assault on the Gaza Strip again.
It feels impossible to be connected to these two worlds at once, but here I am, right at home.