Darcey Rakestraw: dancing across the culture gap.

• Author: Rakestraw, Darcey
• Position: WORLDWATCH FIRST-PERSON

"Do you know Arabic dance?" asked Souha, my husband Atef's cousin, on my first night in his home on the Tunisian coast--somewhere between the unrelenting Sahara and the tourist-laden beaches of the Mediterranean. I was meeting most of Atef's family for the first time and was eager to make a good impression.

"We dance now," said Souha, wrapping a shakira hip scarf around my Vassar College t-shirt and a pair of borrowed bright-orange hot pants (my luggage was delayed). So I danced with my mother-in-law, sisters, aunts, and cousins like a jet-lagged, giddy teenager. Atef, hesitating, had just left for the coffee shop with the other men. I told him to go. Tonight and the next three nights were for the women.

I had come to Tunisia expecting some culture shock. As an American woman, I was a stranger to the concepts of duty central to my husband's culture, which put family, tradition, and Islamic beliefs first. I, on the other hand, was raised in suburban San Diego by an independent-minded mother who had refused to teach me how to sew because she was sure I'd rule the world someday and wouldn't need to bother with such trifles. How would this cultural divide be crossed?

With an open heart and an open mind, I decided. After all, as communications manager at Worldwatch, connecting with a global audience was my job. Besides, Tunisia is a Muslim nation known for its progressivism and is the only Arab country to have outlawed polygamy, part of a suite of policies that help account for its high literacy, low population growth, and relatively low poverty rates.

Atef's sister Jihene was getting married soon, the main reason for our visit. But on the third day of festivities, my family requested that I share honors with Jihene that evening, since Atef and I were married in America and had never had a celebration in Tunisia. Reciting my mantra "open heart/open mind," I accepted, knowing what it would mean to the family. But I didn't really understand what was expected of me.

That afternoon we prepared for my "bachelorette party." First was the traditional application of harquus (tattoo ink) to my hennaed hands while two old women played derbouka (drums) and my new female family members encircled...