Classic Short Fiction from Tunisia: ‘Hajj Zayan’

September 14, 2026

Mostafa Khraïef (1910-1967) was a prominent Tunisian poet, writer, and journalist.

Hajj Zayan

By Mostafa Khraïef

Translated by Amr El-Zawawy

Our friend Ain used to tell us that he had known Hajj Zayan since we were children. He was a tall, dark-skinned man, a figure of unquestioned authority among the boys. Whenever we were released from our lessons and filled the lanes with noise, dust, and uproar, one of us would suddenly take to his heels, crying:

“Uncle Hajj! Uncle Hajj!”

Some would flee, some would hide, while others would stand solemnly still. Then Uncle Hajj Zayan would pass among us in his yellow or blue European uniform, adorned with shining brass buttons and clasps, his cap resting proudly upon his head. At once, greetings would rain down upon him:

“Good morning, Uncle Hajj! Welcome, welcome!”

“Do you know why the hard ḥāʾ becomes a soft ‘h’?” he would ask.

“Yes,” we would reply.

“Well, then. Let’s learn.”

His appearance alone set him apart from all the people of the town. Never was another Muslim man seen dressed in European clothes and accompanied by his basket—only Uncle Hajj Zayan. His family had no idea what blessings had descended upon them, decades earlier, when their son had been chosen to serve as a corporal at the border post.

He had first been a soldier in the early years, following the establishment of the Protectorate, and spent most of his service in Sfax. When he returned, he went back to work with his father, cultivating the gardens. Yet because of his military service, he was later invited into government employment with every mark of dignity and respect. He put on the official uniform and lived as a devout, kind-hearted man.

There was, however, one difficulty.

Whenever he came to perform the congregational prayers, some among the faithful shrank from him, seeking refuge in God from the sight of a man praying in the clothes of Christians. They nearly forbade him from praying in them, declaring the practice religiously reprehensible.

But it was one of the four impossibilities of the world that Hajj Zayan should yield—or abandon his prayers.

He continued along this good path for many years. The townspeople grew accustomed to him, their trust in him gradually taking root. They learned to respect him—sometimes willingly, sometimes not. For there was no one but him who walked beside the brigadier’s wife, carried her child, or held her daughter by the hand. Nor was there anyone but him who stood beside the stout lady who came to town by order of the government to administer vaccinations against smallpox.

Through his dealings with the Europeans, Hajj Zayan learned many things. The two most important, in his opinion, were speaking “Syrian”—by which he meant French—and medicine.

His French, indeed, was a wonder in itself. He had only to speak as the brigadier spoke in broken Tunisian Arabic, claiming to wake up early every day:

“Bagha fi ddar, ana nqoum fi ṣ-ṣbāḥ bkri!”

Stranger still, he had grown accustomed to speaking this jargon with everyone, apparently believing it to be a mark of dignity and distinction.

Yet a group of elderly men from the mosque found something to object to: his call to prayer. His peculiar pronunciation, they claimed, distorted the sacred verses.

His knowledge of medicine, meanwhile, had come partly from accompanying the stout vaccination lady and partly from his association with the brigadier, who possessed a remedy for scorpion stings. Before long, whenever anyone was stung by a scorpion, the people would summon Hajj Zayan to fetch the medicine from the government dispensary.

But Hajj Zayan was not content with medicine alone. He claimed to know a blessed charm which he would recite over the site of the sting after applying the remedy.

Then, he assured them, recovery was certain.

He plunged so deeply into the art of healing that people gradually forgot the medicine of al-Baghdadi and even the stout lady herself. Whenever anyone fell ill—whatever the nature of the illness—they called for him.

He prepared his medicines at home. On a day when he happened to be free, he would summon several boys and send them to fetch water and firewood from the woods. Then they would set up a great copper vessel large enough to hold four or five jars. Hajj Zayan would already have prepared an astonishing collection of herbs, onions, and countless other ingredients.

All day long, he would boil his medicine for the eyes.

After the afternoon prayer, boys and old women would begin arriving in crowds, each carrying some vessel: a bottle, a cup, a bowl, or even a cooking dish. He distributed the medicine freely and kept what remained to treat his patients.

And so he prepared remedies for every conceivable disease.

He gave away what he could and kept whatever was needed for the people who came to him from every distant quarter. Nor was he merely a physician to human beings. He was a veterinarian as well. No animal disease was beyond him.

Indeed, he had even invented the practice of administering purgatives to goats.

His understanding of illness and its remedies was extraordinary. As for Saïd the donkey, he would talk to it, coax it, and test medicines upon it until, one day, the poor animal fell ill and nearly died.

Once, Hajj Zayan was standing with his donkey in the marketplace. When he was about to leave, he paid one franc for himself and two francs for the donkey.

Someone asked him:

“Why do you pay more for your donkey than for yourself?”

He replied:

“Because Saïd’s ears are bigger than mine.”

Hajj Zayan also excelled in another art: the writing of charms, incantations, and amulets. His powers extended not only to bodily illnesses but also to the afflictions of love, possession, and madness.

No bride crossed the threshold of her new home on her wedding night without wearing upon her arm an amulet written by Hajj Zayan, sewn into the finest leather and sold at the highest price.

The common story—one that no one seemed to doubt—was that Hajj Zayan had once discovered ancient papers beneath the coffin of a saint. Among them, most importantly, was an amulet guaranteeing marital happiness.

What was remarkable was that he gave his medicines freely to anyone who wanted them and treated his patients without charge. Charms and incantations, however, were another matter. For these, payment was required—and the price was fixed by Hajj Zayan himself.

Indeed, payment was an essential condition for the remedy to work.

The personality of Hajj Zayan was vast and many-sided, casting its shadow over everyone. No one could easily forget him.

Especially after he retired.

He left the border post behind, settled permanently in the village, abandoned his European clothes, and made the pilgrimage to the Sacred House.

The year he returned from Mecca, he appeared one morning at one of the religious festivals dressed in an astonishing outfit of his own design. He wore a jubbah slit from the collar to the hem, with his undergarment hanging loosely over his trousers. Around him was wrapped an enormous cloth, while his turban was not wound in the ordinary fashion but folded broadly around his head.

Even his handshake was different.

“This,” he declared, “is how the people dress on the pilgrimage. This is how they shake hands. This is how they exchange festival greetings.”

Before long, however, he abandoned the pilgrim’s costume. He sewed up his jubbah, though he kept the distinctive turban. From then on, he devoted himself chiefly to medicine and the call to prayer.

At the five appointed times, Hajj Zayan would climb to the minaret—the highest point in the town—and call the faithful to prayer in a powerful, beautiful voice.

It should be said that he performed the adhan and led the prayer without payment, for the mosque already had its official caretaker: a blind muezzin who received about twenty francs a month from the association. Yet, out of respect for Hajj Zayan, the official muezzin would surrender his duties and go off to the coffeehouse.

No one rose earlier than Hajj Zayan.

Only an hour after midnight, he would leave his bed, climb the minaret, and begin his praises. By this, he meant a series of poems and prayers which he would chant until dawn. Often, however, he would drift into love songs and lyrical verses:

“On the banks of the Agate we met…”

or:

“Layla has robbed me of my reason…”

and others of the same kind.

No one needed a timepiece as much as Hajj Zayan. Fortunately, he possessed the finest and most accurate watch in the town. The brigadier had brought it from France, and Hajj Zayan had bought it from him years before at a considerable price.

He was fiercely proud of this watch.

He would argue, challenge, and debate with anyone who claimed to possess a timepiece more accurate than his. Standing upon the bare roof of the minaret, he could be seen holding the watch in hand. It was so large that its black cord, hanging around his neck, could be clearly seen from below.

No muezzin in any of the town’s mosques could beat him to the call to prayer. He knew their habits, and they themselves acknowledged the accuracy of his timing.

And we shall never forget one evening during Ramadan.

It was the moment of the sunset call to prayer. Hajj Zayan stood at the top of the minaret, while the entire town waited in silence, listening.

Then another muezzin dared to begin:

“Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!”

Hajj Zayan immediately shouted down to the people, waving his burnous:

“Don’t break your fast! Not yet! Not yet!”

Then he burst into a stream of abuse against the unfortunate muezzin until the man fell silent.

Only then did Hajj Zayan himself raise the call to prayer.

May God have mercy upon him.

He was, indeed, one of the strangest and most unforgettable figures among men.

Mostafa Khraïef was a prominent Tunisian poet, writer, and journalist whose literary and cultural contributions left a significant mark on modern Tunisian literature. Born in Nefta on October 10, 1910, he belonged to a generation of intellectuals who witnessed major political, social, and cultural transformations in Tunisia during the first half of the twentieth century. Throughout his career, Khraïef combined his interests in literature and journalism, using language as a means of artistic expression and cultural engagement. His writings reflected his deep connection to Tunisian society, its traditions, and the changing realities of his time. As a poet, he contributed to the development of modern literary expression while maintaining a strong relationship with Arabic cultural and linguistic traditions. His work demonstrates an awareness of both local identity and broader intellectual developments in the Arab world. In addition to his poetry, his activities as a writer and journalist enabled him to participate actively in cultural life and public discourse. Mustafa Khraïef remained an influential figure in Tunisian letters until his death on March 21, 1967. His legacy continues to represent an important chapter in the history of twentieth-century Tunisian literature and intellectual life.

Amr El-Zawawy is Professor of Linguistics and Translation, Faculty of Education, Alexandria University, Alexandria, Egypt. He has also practiced written and simultaneous translation for more than 20 years now. He contributed important articles to different international scholarly journals, including but not limited to Babel (John Benjamins), Journal of Psycholinguistic Research, California Linguistic Notes and Advances in Language and Literary Studies. He published a number of books and translations, including Studies in Contrastive Linguistics and Stylistics (Novika, USA), Exploring the Cognitive Processes of Simultaneous Interpreting (Lexington Books, USA), Seminal Studies in Linguistics and Translation (Cambridge Scholars, UK), Selections from Arabic Poetry (Kindle, Amazon), and English-Arabic Dictionary of Rare and Difficult Words (Lincom).

Other stories in the Classic Short Fiction series, curated by Amr El-Zawawy:

Ali Al-Douagi’s “A Criminal Against His Will”

Ali Al-Douagi’s “My Neighbor”

Fouad Elshayeb’s “East Is East (Inspired by Paris)”

Fouad Elshayeb’s “The Funeral of the Machine”

Ameen Rihani’s ‘The Crown of Disgrace’

Mohammed Hussein Heikal’s ‘The Atonement of Love’

Mohammed Hussein Heikal’s ‘The Second Family’

Ibrahim Abdelkader Al-Mazni’s ‘On New Year’s Eve’

Mahmoud Saif al-Din al-Irani‘s ‘The Last Bullet’