Close Call: Tunisia

Close Call

I was in Tunisia when many innocent holiday makers lost their lives.

I remember it clearly. I had just got out of the pool and glanced at my phone.  Nothing was going to be there, I didn’t have very close friendships or a boyfriend at the time and so wasn’t expecting anything.

However, I had 10 missed calls and texts ranging from friends, family and my new employer. They were asking if I was ok, what was going on and where exactly in Tunisia I was.

I had no clue what was going on. And then one of my friends starting sending screenshots of the news. Panic started rising from my stomach in icy waves and despite the heat I felt cold.

We would later find out, after the panic, that a man had gone to the beach of holiday resort  an hour away from where we were staying and murdered British holiday makers. It was unreal. Like a nightmare.

We could have gone home but we decided to stay. It felt like losing to go home. We were part of the few to stay. I didn’t blame those for leaving. A holiday does not normally involve sun loungers, cocktails and a heavily armed police presence.

There was a memorial. We put down flowers and stood with the Tunisian Staff and the kids played in the sea for the first time on the holiday.

Thankfully we were about an hour from the resort which was attacked but we were still lucky.

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