Weed Was Nice. Sometimes.
Today I smoked my last joint. And yes, I’ll miss it. And at the same time – not really.
Weed was nice as long as it stayed occasional. But once it turned into a daily routine, it became nothing more than a mental pajama: comfy, sure, but not exactly suitable for the outside world.
I have no doubt I’ll manage perfectly fine without THC. And if what I’ve read about Tunisia is true, I’d rather not risk prison for a joint.
I’m now so intimidated by the local drug laws that I’m seriously considering checking my luggage for microscopic traces. And that farewell joint at Geneva Airport? Definitely off the wish list. Message received: in my new home country, drugs are no joke.
Out of curiosity (and lingering panic), I asked AI what else is forbidden in Tunisia. Let’s just say the answers came with plenty of surprise potential.
Alien in My Own Desire
Homosexuality, for example. A bitter reality check for a country that otherwise presents itself as relatively modern. When it comes to sexual autonomy, Tunisia is still stuck in the analog age.
Personally irrelevant, unfortunately. I admire women, but I’m too straight to actually fall in love with one. So my desire remains legal. For now.
Still, desire is complicated in Tunisia. Unmarried couples aren’t officially allowed to share a hotel room. Whether that’s actually enforced? Who knows. I just hope the police don’t do midnight raids in private homes to check who’s sleeping where. Honestly – you never know. This country is another world in so many ways. Only one strategy works: expect anything.
Which makes it awkward that on my very first night there, a man will be sleeping in my apartment. My Tunisian ex-family decided to assign me Raouf – something like a personal house helper, at least for a while. Good intentions, I know. But I didn’t ask for anyone. And certainly not a minder.
I liked Raouf twenty years ago. Let’s see if I still like him when he’s watching me unpack.
Between Paranoia and Planning
Nine days left. Nine days in which I’d really like to finally get that new benefits decision from Switzerland. Just so I know how much money I’m allowed to take with me before some bureaucrat digs up a clause to sabotage my restart.
Right now, I’m doing nothing illegal. Not yet. The gray zone starts when I overstay the three-month limit – toward the end of the year. And even then, the worst-case scenario would be a cut in benefits. But I want to avoid that at all costs. I need the money. For life. For a new beginning.
Honestly, I think Switzerland should pay me a bonus for leaving the system. I’m not only removing myself from benefits but also saving the canton those humiliating IFEG subsidies – the ones meant to keep me folding cardboard boxes in a sheltered workshop. Thanks, but no thanks.
Instead, I want out. With a little dignity. And yes – with a small financial cushion. But Swiss bureaucracy has no empathy, only algorithms. Sometimes a few hundred francs can turn into an existential crisis – one that ends up costing taxpayers far more. Brilliant, isn’t it?
Tunisia: Harsh, but Predictable
Tunisia, on the other hand, is simple: say nothing wrong, do nothing forbidden, follow the rules – no matter how strange – and you’ll be left alone. Harsh, yes. But at least predictable.
And if, one day, I do feel like another joint? I’ll just book a quick trip to Amsterdam. Or Zurich. Or anywhere else that has figured out what should be obvious by now: that cannabis bans are nothing but stupid.