“Wednesday evenings in our house were akin to the Jewish Sabbath, a time when worship ceased and people turned away from worldly concerns.” This is how my mother described her memories of growing up on the island of Djerba, in southern Tunisia. Wednesday was considered a harbinger of the people known as “ahl bismillah,” a phrase that literally translates as “beings in the name of God,” but is in fact a euphemism coined to avoid saying their names: demons and the jinn, the invisible beings that the Quran tells us were made by God from fire, sometimes known in English as genies.
My mother also mentioned that women warned against trimming nails on Wednesday evenings and advised children to avoid harming black cats. Girls were cautioned against bathing, lest a young jinn see them, become tempted and possess their bodies. Visits were suspended to protect new mothers and their infants from the bismillah people, as it was feared that a jinn, disguised as a family member, might attempt to snatch the newborn.
Stories supposed to date from the time of the Prophet Muhammad suggest that Wednesday is a day of continuous bad luck, during which neither buying nor selling should take place. These sayings seem to have embedded themselves in Tunisian imaginations and customs, leading to accepted practices to ward off jinn. This belief was so ingrained in our family in Houmt Souk, Djerba, that there was hardly any movement on Wednesday evenings. Mrs. Halima would even stop using her sewing machine, my mother told me. Though I didn’t know Mrs. Halima myself, there was no doubting my mother’s seriousness.
The tale of Wednesday is one of many legends passed down by people in Djerba and elsewhere in Tunisia. In his book “How Tunisians Became Tunisians,” the historian Al-Hadi Al-Taymoumi argues that these beliefs are not limited to the common people but have also touched a significant portion of the elite. Despite efforts by intellectual and cultural leaders since the 19th century to combat superstitions and the establishment of compulsory education to promote modern scientific thinking, belief in magic and jinn possession persists. This is evident in Tunisian talk shows and the fascination with “haunted” spots and homes, which have become tourist attractions. Even politicians and rulers, including former President Zine El Abidine Ben Ali and his wife, are rumored to have practiced sorcery and magic.
I grew up hearing stories about such things in the old courtyard of our house, which was large and in a distinctive architectural style, featuring an open, roofless space in the center. Every Saturday night, relatives would gather in the yard, chatting away, and their conversations were always filled with tales about the bismillah people. The storytellers among us were so skilled that it was hard to tell fact from fiction, as their stories were deeply intertwined with the local environment and the landmarks of our island. They spoke of abandoned tourist hotels where jinn lived and held their weddings, with ululations and drumming heard in places deserted by humans years ago.
The tales of Djerba and its ties with the bismillah people weren’t confined to family gatherings. Some stories, like the one about the haunted Djerba House, gained fame across Tunisia and the Arab world through social media, attracting so much curiosity that some travel agencies included it in their tour itineraries.
Every resident of Djerba seems to have their own version of the haunted house story. It’s said that the land belonged to a farmer who refused to sell it to a Moroccan sorcerer seeking a hidden treasure guarded by jinn. The sorcerer cursed the land, making it barren, and the farmer’s family. His daughter and wife became immobilized and his son was found dead, hanging from an olive tree. After the farmer fled the land, the sorcerer built a house on it and, in a dark ritual, sacrificed his orphaned niece to the jinn.
To this day, people claim to hear her cries and see her silhouette whenever they pass the still-deserted Djerba House, which haunted my youth. I avoided deserted places, darkness and emptiness as much as possible. I repeated prayers and carried a booklet called “The Strong Fortress,” filled with invocations from the Quran and Sunnah, wherever I went, both awake and asleep.
I have also heard various interpretations and viewpoints about the small structures found across Djerba known as “maamouras.” These are small cylindrical buildings, just a few meters high, with an opening that looks like the entrance to a small cave. Some believe they are buildings inhabited by the bismillah people, while others say they are resting places for the graves of God’s righteous saints. My mother recalls visiting the maamoura of one such saint, Sidi El Bechir, every Friday evening before sunset with her aunts and older women. They would light a lamp inside and place food such as olive oil and bsisa, a North African dish made from grains like barley and flavored with fenugreek.
Some accounts say that in the past, maamouras were a marker of land ownership. Their small domes indicated that the land was owned and off-limits, signaling “This is inhabited.” They also reflected the generosity of the island’s people toward travelers. If a traveler stopped at a maamoura, they would find food, drink and candlelight to guide them at night. Children would gather on summer nights near the farms, spreading out on the ground and eating their food, believing that a blessing was present in their meals.
It is widely agreed on Djerba that maamouras are protected by the bismillah people, who are harmless to visitors but punish anyone who tries to destroy them. Djerbis often visit the maamouras to seek blessings, healing, protection from calamities and the fulfillment of wishes. Each maamoura has a name and is believed to protect the neighboring households, as long as the residents visit it regularly and light candles. This belief is reflected in the Djerbi proverb: “He came to light a candle in the maamoura,” meaning someone whose visit was brief and urgent.
I was born when televisions were common in homes and backyards and my exposure to them was limited to children’s programs. I would never have expected that this talking box would compete with our grandmothers in sharing stories about the people of bismillah. But from 2008, I remember Saturday nights, staring at the screen, waiting for an episode of “Al-Mousameh Karim” on the Tunisian Hannibal channel. The presenter, Abdel Razzaq Chebbi, with his clean-shaven face and gelled black hair, would look at us and say in his familiar voice: “This is where the story begins. If you don’t find anyone listening to you, we will listen to you.”
At the time, this was the most-watched show in Tunisia because of its coverage of social issues and crime stories that shocked public opinion. What set “Al-Mousameh Karim” apart from other programs on the same channel was its focus on stories about jinn and afarit — creatures like jinn though without the same abilities to possess humans. The show covered haunted locations and jinn possessions, and hosted victims seeking ways to treat and break spells cast on them. Chebbi was particularly fascinated by these topics.
“Such things would not have been shown before.” My grandfather would often say this when he saw us watching “Al-Mousameh Karim.” I later learned that by “before,” he meant in the time of Habib Bourguiba, the first president of Tunisia after its independence.
My grandfather, like many people in Djerba, wasn’t a fan of Bourguiba, but he respected him. He seemed saddened by what the country had become after his time. Bourguiba prioritized education, emphasizing the importance of scientific thinking in his speeches. He once said, “We must raise the level of the people. We must educate them so that they can be human beings like other peoples.” From the 1950s, he advocated using reason to address all of the country’s spiritual and material problems to combat backwardness. He took a stance against the Sufi orders by issuing a decree on July 18, 1957, to abolish the system of private and joint endowments. As a result, Sufi establishments known as “zawiyas,” used for both education and social and cultural gatherings, were turned into state property and repurposed according to Bourguiba’s modernizing vision. Some were demolished; others converted into government buildings, museums and arts centers; and many were neglected.
This was all to change under Ben Ali. In the last years of his rule, he lived in complete isolation from the country’s concerns. The journalist Salah al-Din al-Jorashi portrays him in an Al Jazeera documentary as only occupied with having fun and playing with his youngest son. During that period, Tunisia seemed like a ship without a captain, and Ben Ali’s beliefs were clearly at odds with Bourguiba’s. Chebbi confirmed in an interview with Tunisian Radio Shems that Ben Ali enjoyed watching “Al-Mousameh Karim” and the similar “Fi Dairat al-Daou” and would call the management of Hannibal TV to inquire about the topics to be broadcast, as well as taking pleasure in resolving some of the issues mentioned in these programs, intervening directly to help the people featured.
Ben Ali was therefore clearly fond of these programs and did not object to their content about jinn, exorcisms and breaking spells. Furthermore, it was rumored that the Ben Ali regime supported the channel due to the familial ties between the channel’s director and the president’s wife, Leila Trabelsi. But this was not enough to protect “Fi Dairat al-Daou” completely. Ben Ali did not stop the broadcast when it dedicated two episodes to discussing jinn and haunted houses, but it was a different story when it touched on an association called Basma. This association, owned by Trabelsi, claimed to care for people with special needs. An episode of “Fi Dairat al-Daou” casting doubt on the legitimacy of this association was the last episode of the program ever aired.
Trabelsi herself was said to be a staunch believer in magic and sorcery. A former servant claimed that since the late 1990s, the Carthage presidential palace had become a center for rituals of witchcraft. For example, Trabelsi would burn or slaughter a chameleon, using its blood to draw a circle around Ben Ali’s ankle. According to the servant, Ben Ali was compliant, bewitched and completely under her control. Testimonies from astrologers and spiritual healers confirmed these rituals.
Given these accounts, it’s no wonder the rest of the population was similarly influenced by such beliefs.
Trabelsi responded to these accusations in her 2012 book, “My Truth,” in which she included a chapter titled “Magic and Other Amulets.” She insisted that she had never sought help from a magician or sorcerer and had never traveled to Morocco for such purposes. Instead, she claimed it was her enemies, including the president’s former wife and close associates, who did these things. Trabelsi alleged that these individuals traveled from Tunisia to Morocco, passing through Djerba, “known for its excellent fortune tellers,” to plot against the president.
Despite the contradictions between the testimonies of servants and magicians and Trabelsi’s rebuttal, she notably did not deny her belief in the influence of magic, instead accusing others of using it against her.
This was not the first time Tunisia had changed course regarding superstitions. Long before Bourguiba fought against such beliefs, a 19th-century reform movement under the Husaynid dynasty had been backed by intellectuals and politicians such as the historian Ahmad ibn Abi Diyaf and the reformist minister Hayreddin Pasha. Pasha founded Sadiki College, the most prestigious school in Tunisia, named after Muhammad III as-Sadiq, the last bey before the French colonial era. Its curriculum included modern subjects like mathematics, physics and natural and social sciences. The school produced Tunisia’s first doctors and engineers and many political leaders, including Bourguiba himself.
The Christian missionary Ferdinand Christopher Ewald noted the widespread superstitions among Tunisians during his travels in 1835. He described women performing rituals at the shrine of a righteous “wali” or saint named Fathallah, sliding down a hill on their backs to fulfill prayers and aid fertility. The reform movement aimed to curb these local rituals and other activities like astrology and divination. Section 656 of the Criminal Code and Martial Laws issued during the reign of Muhammad III in 1861 penalized those practicing divination with imprisonment and fines.
The 1920s were a period of great hardship for the people of Tunisia. Poverty spread, years of drought followed, markets were flooded with foreign goods, epidemics appeared and misery descended on the population. In 1929, the thinker and trade unionist Tahar Haddad wrote “Our Women in Sharia and Society,” calling for the advancement of society and the completion of the reform process at a time when the French occupation was overwhelming Tunisia. Haddad realized that the renaissance of a people cannot be achieved solely through the efforts of men, especially in such difficult and threatening times. He argued that the spread of superstition and reliance on magic and sorcery was partly due to the exclusion of women from social and economic life. A woman deprived of education would lack the tools to call into question everything she was taught, he posited. In turn, this woman would pass on outdated beliefs to their children, condemning the next generation of girls to illiteracy and ignorance.
Haddad acted like a doctor diagnosing society’s ills, fighting superstition in the form of ignorance and revealing its causes. He advocated for solutions, emphasizing the necessity of women learning mathematical and natural sciences. Haddad concluded that if women were educated, their situation and that of their children would improve, helping them raise their children well.
In the last century, the Tunisian sheikh and jurist Ibn Ashur, head of the Zaytouna Mosque, drew attention to the widespread belief in Tunisia that some days, like Wednesday, and some months, like Safar, the second month of the Islamic lunar calendar, were inauspicious. Ibn Ashur issued a fatwa prohibiting the belief in such omens. (In Arabic culture such omens are called “tatayyur,” and Islamic teachings prohibit them under the belief that good and evil are in the hands of God alone.) He attributed these beliefs to ancient pre-Islamic ideas, calling them lies that were spread among the people, along with stories of afarit and jinn.
Ibn Ashur devoted a section of his fatwa to the custom of tatayyur on Wednesdays in Tunisia, especially the last Wednesday of the month of Safar. He said, “The people of Tunisia call it ‘Dark Wednesday,’ meaning black, as a metaphor for the bad luck it brings because blackness symbolizes sadness and calamities.” He noted that some people, whom he described as ignorant, practiced a form of prayer to ward off bad luck and harm. The sheikh’s stance on this matter was clear; he considered it a heretical doctrine.
Tunisians were divided over the country’s identity and direction following the revolution and the flight of Ben Ali on Jan. 14, 2011. Some called for modernity without tyranny, while others rallied behind the slogan “Islam is the solution.” Due to regional turmoil and social volatility, extremism and fanaticism found fertile ground, intensifying societal disputes to the point where some resorted to violence to assert their beliefs. Between 2012 and 2014, Tunisia witnessed campaigns led by Salafists and Wahhabis targeting numerous Sufi shrines, due to their belief that erecting shrines is forbidden in Islam. Over a hundred shrines were burned, including the shrine of Our Lady of Manoubia, that of a wali from the 13th century, and the zawiya of Sidi Abdelkader, a Sufi jurist and imam from the 12th century.
The island of Djerba was not spared from this campaign. The shrines of saints were targeted and various maamouras on the island were attacked. Buildings were vandalized and their domes were demolished. A sign was even written on a maamoura in the village of Mahboubine in Djerba that read: “This is idolatry.” This led some Djerba residents to reconsider these buildings and come to see them not as local heritage, but as heresies brought by the Turks or remnants of French colonialism meant to encourage backwardness and ignorance. People debated whether preserving the maamouras was necessary, with these discussions spreading on social media.
However, while the campaigns of violence and demolition were intended to guide people to the path of truth, they had the opposite effect. Destroying the maamouras is no longer limited to those with extremist ideology. Grave diggers searching for treasures have joined them, demolishing maamouras and excavating their soil, believing they contain wealth hidden by ancestors. Some even summoned a Moroccan fortune teller to help decipher the monuments.
This period saw a widespread surge in people claiming they could know the unseen, read palms, break magic and bring back lost lovers. This followed the Salafist uprising, which passed over Tunisia like a summer cloud, leaving behind a sense of unease among its people. Al-Taymoumi attributed this rejection to Tunisians’ tendency toward moderation and their aversion to extremism. He emphasized that, despite their belief in the importance of science and openness to contemporary Western civilization, Tunisians have continued to cling to beliefs in magic and sorcery. Satellite television channels have once again started paying attention to stories of jinn and afarit.
Chebbi continued to follow this path on “Al-Mousameh Karim,” despite sanctions imposed by the Independent High Authority for Audiovisual Communication. The authority decided to stop broadcasting the program and fined it multiple times due to episodes that featured poor people and sheikhs who were experts in divination, with the aim of inciting the guests to faint and wail. This phenomenon was not limited to Tunisian channels. It was also seen in various Arab programs, such as “Ana El Awan,” which aired in 2014 on Mehwar TV, hosted by Egyptian broadcaster Hala Sarhan. This program included episodes dedicated to extracting jinn and investigating the involvement of afarit in the burning of the village of Taramsah in Egypt. Al Kahera Wal Nas TV also discussed these matters in its programs, focusing on casting out demons. On one occasion they even brought in a man with a disfigured face, claiming he was a priest of demon worshipers, with a prior warning to those with weak hearts.
These programs may have increased people’s belief in magic and sorcery, leading to a greater interest in fortune tellers and sorcerers. Some are prominent figures on Tunisian television, presented as spiritual healers and dignitaries, such as Cherifa El Maghribia, who appears on Tunisian satellite channels with weekly segments titled “With Cherifa.” The association with Morocco is deliberate, as it lends a sense of professional credibility. It is common in Tunisia and North Africa to believe that Moroccans have extensive knowledge of the jinn. These programs promote the magical mixtures and amulets that Cherifa offers, claiming they can remove bad luck, ward off the evil eye and bring good fortune.
Some fortune tellers have taken advantage of people’s gullibility, stealing their money and violating their trust. One notorious case from three years ago involved a sorcerer named Belkacem. He convinced women that they were possessed by jinn and that the only way to cure them was through “lower treatment,” which involved intercourse. Belkacem admitted in an audio recording broadcast on the “Les Quatre Verites” program that he had “treated” hundreds of women this way.
Despite the combined efforts of the 19th-century reform movement, Bourguiba, the Islamists and others to remove the “superstitious beliefs” in the jinn and afarit in Tunisia, it seems that they are too deep-rooted, or too appealing, to ever be eliminated.
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