“Souq El Brat is the heartbeat of the medina,” says Mourad Bughanmi, an herbalist in this historic part of Tunis. Indeed, local herbs have sustained the bodies of those who live here for centuries: strands of wild thyme, sage, poppy, garlic and eucalyptus have adorned the walls of this dimly lit souk for at least 700 years.
Demand for plant medicines increased when the coronavirus entered Tunisia in early 2020, as more people looked to naturally boost their immune systems, some herbalists say. But habits are changing and the trade is at risk of extinction without government support.
5,000 years ago, the Sumerians of Mesopotamia recorded the health-promoting properties of wild plants. These early documents articulate an ancient herbal medicine at the intersection of ecology, biology and chemistry. Over the next millennia, herbs have been collected and used to treat a wide range of ailments – a trade that continues to this day in the vast shops of Souk El Blat.
On Bacha Hamba Street, herbalist Taufik Ben Yacoub's shop has the cluttered feel of an artist's studio. Flasks, bottles, paintings, old herb bags and the sweet smell of incense fill the air. Over the hum of motorbikes and the quiet static of the radio, Yacoub tells stories.
Souk El Blat is the heart of the Medina.
As a boy, he hiked with his Libyan father through the lush mountains near Benghazi, where he learned about herbs. He recounts how 10th-century Tunisian physician Ibn al-Jazzar developed herbal medicine in Tunisia and across North Africa. Ben Yacoub says that the reason medicine stagnated across the Islamic world compared to Europe after the Islamic Golden Age was because of weak institutionalized scholarship. “We lost this knowledge of science when we lost our texts,” he says. “Today, our children are learning about Ibn al-Jazzar, but not for scientific training, but as history.”
Clockwise from top: Wild thyme, fresh green almonds, dried esfand (aka harmal), garlic. Many herbalists apply a holistic, intuitive approach to healing.
In his shop next to the nearby Kirwiya Bilhassan Mosque, herbalist Chouki El Hout sees his profession as part of Tunisia's rich, complicated history. El Hout says it was the Ottoman Turks who established herbal medicine here between the 16th and 18th centuries. He sees his work as part of Tunisian tradition. “Just like there is a tradition in clothing and language, there is a tradition in herbal medicine too. It's something we have to preserve.”
But the widespread availability of medicines can make these herbalists appear artisanal, and they lack outside support — a marginalization that is frustrating for herbalist Samir Ben Yousef, who took over his father's business and has been treating patients at Souk el-Blat for 20 years.
Just as we have traditions in clothing and language, we also have traditions in herbal medicines.
“100 years ago, the road to this mosque was [Al-Zaytuna] “There were herbalists lined up,” he says, “and chains of people going to collect herbs. But the young people these days don't want to do this job anymore, and the elders don't want to pass on their knowledge. So this job is going to disappear.”
Others are younger herbalists, like Yassine Ben Moussa, in his 30s, who sees advantages in the modern age. “Before, we only had herbs that grew in Tunisia,” he says. “Now we have the internet, so we can Google them and order foreign herbs online.” Among shelves of plant medicines like cloves, anise and chia seeds, he shows me a framed certificate in phytotherapy issued by the Academy of Complementary Medicine.
But as Samir Ben Yousef alludes to, the reputation of the herbal sellers may spell trouble. They are associated with black magic. Many shops sell dead turtles as good-luck charms; some are rumored to sell crushed iguana and hedgehog carcasses. One shop gave me a bag of cowrie shells and black nigella seeds to ward off the evil eye.
Despite Tunisia being secular, spiritual beliefs still have a strong influence on Tunisian society. In medicine, Tunisia has largely adopted Western practices, but the connection between spirituality and healing remains alive. This broader view of medicine, which herbalists work with, has helped maintain a more holistic and intuitive approach to healing.
As I leave the medina, smelling the leather and jasmine perfume wafting from the rows of shops, and walk past the portico of the 7th-century Zaytuna Mosque, I think of the men and women who once worked to collect plants and seeds from across the country to cure the sick, searching the rugged rocks of the southern Jebel Oost mountain range for wormwood, a cure for diabetes.
This is important. It reminds people that most medicines are essentially extracted from living organisms and organic matter. This is a basic fact that many consumers of Western medicine forget. This is not to dismiss Western medicine; its importance to billions of people is undeniable. But we need to remember the humble and sacred side of medicine, that much of what heals us comes from nature.
