The fear made me sweat like a pig on a spit, turning slowly above a fire that refused to stop getting hotter. Seven pairs of black eyes bored into me, stabbing like needles in some kind of voodoo ritual, waiting for my response.
If I hadn’t been so curious about everything, I wouldn’t have ended up in this mess. I wished I hadn’t asked that stupid question:
“How much is it?”
Who would have thought that in Tunisia, that’s the wrong question to ask at a market?
I didn’t even want the blanket. I just wanted to know the cost of something like that. Just curious! Like that cat that was killed.
Now, because of my uncontrollable impulse to ask unnecessary questions, my husband and I found ourselves in a situation we did not want to be in.
A life‑and‑death decision (apparently)
We were facing a life‑and‑death decision. Buy or not to buy and die. There was just one tiny, microscopic problem.
We had almost no money left.
When the man said 300 Tunisian dinars, I shrugged and replied with a casual, harmless:
“No, thank you.”
He did not accept this outcome.
You are not leaving without the blanket
He stepped in front of us and refused to move, lowering the price again after shaking my head. And that’s when the realisation hit me: every single time we had asked for the price during this trip, we had ended up buying the thing.
This explained why we were already carrying half the market with us, including a wall art on animal skin, which was very unlikely to be decorating any of our rooms.
Crap.
We had exactly 50 dinars left. And a taxi ride back to the hotel.
Could we walk? Technically, yes. Realistically? It was getting dark, and we had about a 10 km journey ahead of us.
I wished I hadn’t asked that question, but it was far too late for wishful thinking. It was time to act.
Things escalate quickly
The man grew impatient, his jaw tightening as he exchanged a quick, conspiratorial glance with a colleague who sidled up silently. Another vendor joined them, his expression sharp and assessing, eyes flicking over us like a predator evaluating its prey. Suddenly, we were surrounded, an island in a sea of intent faces.
This was the moment I realised something very important:
We were not leaving without that blanket.
So I said it.
“40.”
“Come.”
The negotiation room
One of them grabbed my arm and pulled us inside the shop. Behind the counter stood an older man. They talked rapidly, waving their hands, shaking their heads, glancing at us like we were part of the merchandise.
The old man grabbed a calculator and, clearly furious, started punching in numbers. He shoved it in my husband’s face and said something that sounded suspiciously like camel and Ferrari, while pointing directly at me. Was this a joke lost in translation? I was left wondering if my bewilderment added to the scene, unsure whether to laugh or be offended…
Then he laughed.
The others joined in.
Was he… trying to exchange me for a camel?
Seriously?
In the 21st century?
Or did we travel back in time?
Standoff
My husband laughed.
I stomped on his foot.
Not funny. Not funny at all.
I grabbed the calculator, typed 50, and shot my husband a look that clearly said: We are walking back, and you are carrying all the shopping. Don’t bother arguing.
The men stared at me. Angry.
I was angry too.
I mimed a camel. Pointed at myself and shook my head. Truth be told, I had to restrain myself from showing him the middle finger. Boy, how much I wanted to, but I am pretty damn sure it would have been the last gesture I ever made in my life.
The old man picked up a phone and called someone. A woman’s voice snapped back through the speaker, sharp and furious.
“50 and go!” the man barked, his stare cold and unkind.
I slapped the money down, grabbed the blanket, and ran.
Ferrari
We left the market at full Speedy Gonzales pace, not daring to look left or right, terrified we’d be dragged into another shop, and I’d end up exchanging my husband for that Ferrari, if the offer was good enough.
Multilingual Chaos – Knowing Too Much (and Saying It All Wrong) is a collection of real-life moments where languages collide, confidence evaporates, and curiosity gets people into trouble. If you’ve ever said the wrong thing in the wrong language at the wrong time — and immediately wished for the ground to swallow you — this is your kind of comfort reading. More stories, more cultural chaos, and plenty of proof that living abroad isn’t about speaking perfectly… it’s about surviving the misunderstandings with humour intact.