Salt Journals: Unveiling the untold stories of political imprisonment in Tunisia through the eyes of the women who lived it

Salt Journals: Tunisian Women on Political Imprisonment is a book born from a project with the purpose of healing and sharing the truth of being a political prisoner in 1980s and 1990s Tunisia.

Yet, it achieves much more than that.

Launched in early 2018 through a series of workshops held in various locations across Tunisia, Salt Journals gathers the voices of women from different ages and occupations. While not all were experts in writing or passionate about the written word, these women shared a common experience, having been either relatives of political prisoners, political prisoners themselves, or both.

The book begins with stories of women whose family members were imprisoned for their political beliefs, often without evidence of wrongdoing, and in the first section, titled Here I See, they share their experiences of visiting their relatives in prison and delivering a 'Quffa' — a basket of food, clothes, and other permitted necessities.

These experiences are filled with both mental and physical pain, and for some, like Nouha Dimassi, the pain has transformed into lasting trauma. In her story, The Girl Who Won’t Grow Up, Nouha describes how the forced absence of her mother caused a rift between them, leaving her and her siblings detached from their mother for years. They were only able to reconnect and heal much later.

The physical pain of delivering the 'Quffa' added another layer to these women's struggles. Not only were they restricted in what they could bring, but they also had to navigate complicated bureaucratic processes to deliver the few items they were allowed. For example, Hasna Ben Abid shares her experience of repeatedly undertaking exhausting journeys to visit her husband and deliver his 'Quffa' in her account, Hasna’s Quffa.

Similarly, Malika Missaoui writes about traveling long hours to reach the prison in On the Slopes and recounts one occasion when she had to build a makeshift tent between trees with a burnous to keep her baby warm while waiting to be allowed into the prison on a bitterly cold day.

Lives became a living hell 

Beyond writing about the burdens of delivering the basket, the women also highlight its significance. As they explain, the 'Quffa' was what kept the bond between them and their family members alive.

For these women, this traditional basket, made from palm fronds or plastic, became the only way they could send their love to their loved ones, who were enduring humiliation and torture in dark, damp cells.

That said, the women also make it clear that the agony and pain they endured did not end at the prison gates.

For many of the writers, their lives became a living hell due to constant surveillance by both civil services and informers, many of whom were their own neighbours.

In some stories, the haunting effects of this state-sponsored spying continue to affect them to this day. Myléne Hammi, for instance, writes in Grandfather about how the surveillance she experienced as a child still lingers with her in adulthood.

Similarly, Jomaa Ben Ali expresses the burden of living under the state's constant scrutiny for any deviation from its authoritative orders and commands. In her story, she condemns the surveillance and restrictions that persisted even after the Arab Spring, which began in Tunisia in 2011.

She writes, “But how will the homeland ever accommodate our dreams instead of trampling them underfoot, when things have been worsening since the start of the Arab Spring, whose blossoms are yet to be seen?”

Incurable scars and inescapable memories 

In the second section of Salt Journals, I Still Look for Daylight, the women reveal the horrors they endured in prison — horrors that left them with incurable scars and inescapable memories long after their release.

In The Happiness They Stole, Hamida Ahmed Ajengui writes about how her imprisonment ruined her wedding day, as the presence of surveillance agents turned what should have been a joyous occasion into a nightmare.

She chillingly recalls, “There was a violent throbbing inside my head. I was hanging from the ceiling, naked, my body stung by their whips. God, why now? Why tonight of all nights? Must the oppressors crush everything, even the night of my dreams?”

Najet Gabsi, too, recounts how her Eid, a day of celebration for others, became one of trial and unjust detention for her, her friends, and her family, as she writes in Let Us Celebrate.

As these stories, along with many others, reveal, Tunisians were imprisoned for any political opinion or stance that opposed the state, including women who wore the hijab.

That said, even before the hijab ban was officially implemented in 1981, many women in Tunisia suffered under its restrictions, enduring threats, surveillance, and imprisonment, as Khadija Salah describes the pain of opposing the state during this time.

To this day, the fear instilled by the ban still lingers even after the Arab Spring, as Sawsen Mgdla reflects in her account, Fair Winds. In her story, she reclaims her freedom and reminds both her family and readers that the essence of the protests was, at its core, to reclaim freedom. 

Voices of the marginalised

Reaching its conclusion, Salt Journals ends powerfully, just as it began, with a third section titled Testimony: Tunisia in Color.

In this section, Mounira Ben Kaddour Toumi traces her life as a Tunisian woman through the changing political landscape — from the hijab ban to the 2011 revolution.

Her testimony, On the Margins of the Path, sheds light on why many prisoners' stories went unheard, often due to propaganda, surveillance, and personal issues, and emphasises the importance of not repeating such mistakes.

Ultimately, her testimony serves as a call to keep the focus on today’s political prisoners, not only in Tunisia but across North Africa.

Messages of hope and courage 

Upon reflection, although the stories in Salt Journals are filled with pain, they also carry messages of hope and courage.

Readers are encouraged to view the book not only as a record of memories but also as a call to focus on present-day struggles, such as the continued ban on the hijab in many urban areas of Tunisia and the rising imprisonment of political opponents under President Kais Saied. 

Finally, thanks to the essential translation work by Katharine Halls and Nariman Yousef, the authentic voices of these courageous Tunisian women will reach a broader audience, ensuring their urgent message is heard.

Saliha Haddad is an Algerian journalist, writer, teacher, and literary agent. 

Follow her on Twitter: @sallyhad3