As Mr Abdullah led me through the Zaouia of Sidi Sahab in Kairouan I thought I heard a scream.  Mr Abdullah stopped.  He turned to me and said ‘come quickly, there is a circumcision taking place’.

He hurried through the marble corridor and for a moment I lost sight of him in my hesitation.  Did I really want to witness a circumcision; let alone intrude on what I assumed would be a very private event?  Camera slung over my shoulder, I have never felt more like a voyeuristic tourist.

Mr Abdullah appears again at the end of the corridor. ‘It’s OK!’ he murmurs, ‘come’.

As we spill out into the central courtyard, the women folk of the Berber family who have travelled to this most holy place to have this rite of passage performed, begin to make the unique and haunting ululation sound. High pitched and trilling, the sound echoes around the courtyard; amplified with each bounce off the beautiful tiles and marble.  It is a sound of celebration; deeply emotional, and it is haunting.

The women wait outside the mausoleum containing the tomb of Abu Zama el-Belaoui; companion to the Prophet.  They peek occasionally through the glassless window and beckon me forward.  I stand apart but with the women, not wanting to look through the window.

The cries of the boy compete with the sounds from the women, which intensify.

A man comes running from the room into the centre of the courtyard carrying a red pottery urn, and raising his arm high in the air the urn is smashed and sweets tumble from the wreckage.  As two small children run to gather up as many sweets as will fit into their tiny hands, Mr Abdullah sighs and says ‘it’s done’.

Finding Sweeties

From the depths of the mausoleum, a boy of about 3 or 4 years old emerges wearing a fez and a gown of cream and red satin.  His outstretched arms are supported on each side by the men of his family, and his head is lolling to one side.  He treads carefully, as if each step were being made on a thousand shards of glass.  His mother sweeps him up in her arms and holds him like a newborn as he goes limp in her arms.

The family is closely followed from the tomb by what looks like an official photographer.  I’ve just witnessed a circumcision in Tunisia.

I ask Mr Abdullah if his 11 year old son was circumcised here, as this is a most auspicious place for the ritual that marks the transition from boy to man.  Abdullah says that they held a ceremony and celebration here, ‘but the circumcision?’ I ask. ‘Clinic’ he says.