Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Their second morning in Tunis began earlier than the last—though only by a little. Adelaide had awoken first, barefoot on the balcony of their suite, her silk robe slipping off one shoulder as she watched the city wake. The call to prayer echoed from a nearby minaret, reverent and grounding, a hum in the belly of the city that seemed to tug at something deep in her.
By the time Monet emerged, still tousled and sun-warmed from their poolside evening, Adelaide had already arranged their day with their private tour guide. Today wasn't about decadence or dramatics—it was about immersion. And Adelaide had plans.
Their first stop was the Dar Ben Abdallah, an 18th-century palace turned museum nestled in the heart of the Medina. Its carved cedar ceilings and faded tiles told stories of aristocracy, colonialism, and power—timelines Adelaide traced with reverent fingers.
"These palaces became shadows once the French arrived," Adelaide said, lingering by a glass case of Ottoman-era garments. "They hollowed the wealth and replaced it with control."
Monet leaned against a pillar, watching her. "You should do this professionally, you know."
"What—ramble about stolen history in foreign cities?"
"Yes," Monet replied easily. "And win awards for it."
Adelaide flushed but didn't look away. "It's hard not to think of Sudan while I'm here. So much of our past is buried in the stories others told for us."
Monet nodded, sobered. "You're going to change that."
Their guide took them through the private quarters next, stopping to explain the significance of the mashrabiya windows—latticework screens that allowed women to see the street without being seen.
"Power in privacy," Adelaide mused. "It makes you think."
They lunched in a traditional dars, seated on plush cushions and surrounded by dishes of brik, harissa, and couscous so fragrant it made Monet close her eyes. Adelaide spent much of the meal in discussion with their guide about the 2011 revolution, jotting notes in her leather journal. She asked about youth movements, about the rise and fall of civil society organizations, about the price of being outspoken in a place caught between reform and tradition.
At some point, Monet reached over and gently placed a fig between her lips to shut her up. "Enough homework," she murmured. "Live the moment."
But Adelaide only smiled around the sweetness. "The moment is political too."
Later, they wound through the Souq el-Berka, once the slave market of Tunis, now transformed into a maze of jewelers and textile vendors. Adelaide paused before a carved archway, her fingertips grazing the stone.
"This was once where people were bought," she whispered, pain clouding her voice.
Monet stepped beside her. "And now we're here—free, loud, loved."
