Boukornine: A Mountain of Memories and Myths

Our journey began with a short walk down Avenue de Carthage. But I promised you something more enduring, and so I brought you with me to Tunis Marine to take in the view of Boukornine—a mountain that, for many, is just a landmark. For me, it’s so much more; it’s my compass, my home.

I was born in Tunis, at Aziza Othmana Hospital in the Kasbah, but my childhood played out between Ezzahra and Hammam-Lif, two coastal suburbs where Boukornine’s twin peaks were always in view. 

To the ancient Carthaginians, Boukornine wasn’t just a mountain. It was sacred ground, a place of worship for the god Baal Hammon, the deity of fertility and vegetation, revered as the king of gods. 

As a child, I heard whispered tales that Boukornine was a dormant volcano. That idea terrified me, planting vivid images of Pompeii-like destruction in my young mind. But over time, that fear turned into fascination. 

I climbed Boukornine on a school trip, and my childish dread melted into awe. From the summit, the mountain felt less ominous, more like an old friend.

But my connection with Boukornine deepened profoundly thirteen years ago when it became the resting place of my father. He now lies at the mountain top, overlooking the Mediterranean—an expanse he loved and knew intimately. 

My father was born in Hammam-Lif, right at the mountain's foot, where he spent his life under Boukornine’s gaze. In a way that feels both poignant and destined, he returned to it in death.

When I visit his grave, I feel the pull of that history—my father’s, mine, and the mountain’s, all bound together. It’s a kind of reunion each time I return, a reminder that he’s there, part of the mountain itself.

Now, every day as I drive back toward Tunis, Boukornine rises on the horizon like an old friend, guiding me home. It’s a mountain, yes, but to me, Boukornine is a keeper of memories, a guardian of legacy, and a constant reminder of where I come from.

💙💙💙