The skyline of Tunis glints with headquarters bearing names of a select few families. In cafés and souks, ordinary Tunisians swap knowing looks at mentions of these dynasties. They speak of how a handful of surnames – Mabrouk, Ben Ayed, Bouchamaoui, Elloumi, Driss, Mzabi, Ben Yedder, Meddeb, and Loukil – seem to appear behind every bank, supermarket, factory, or hotel. This is the story of Tunisia’s entrenched family-owned conglomerates, the nine business families whose empires dominate the national economy and shape the dreams and frustrations of a nation.

“It’s like they own everything,” sighs Saïda, a small shopkeeper in Sousse, arranging goods on a shelf. “From the bread on my table to the bank loan I can’t get approved – somehow it all traces back to them.” Her lament reflects a widespread sentiment. These family conglomerates inspire a mix of admiration and resentment: they are engines of growth and jobs, yet also gatekeepers of opportunity in a system many describe as oligarchic. Each family’s saga is interwoven with Tunisia’s modern history, creating a mosaic of power, privilege, and perseverance.

Callout: By 2010, former president Ben Ali’s extended clan controlled 21% of private sector profits despite barely 1% of jobs (worldbank.org). The 2011 revolution toppled that “royal” family, but the economy’s reins shifted to long-entrenched business dynasties.

The Mabrouks: Princes of the Marketplace

In a sunlit office overlooking Tunis, a mid-level manager at a retail chain recounts the rise of his employer – the Mabrouk Group. “I started as a cashier at the first Monoprix supermarket in 1995,” he says, “and we felt proud, bringing European-style retail to Tunisia.” The Mabrouk family’s retail arm now operates 87 Monoprix and Géant stores, commanding a hefty slice of Tunisia’s grocery sector (sagaciresearch.com , en.wikipedia.org) . In 2007, Mabrouk’s chains held 38% of the supermarket market share (en.wikipedia.org) , making them a dominant player in how Tunisians fill their fridges.

But groceries are just the tip of the Mabrouk iceberg. This family empire, helmed by the three Mabrouk brothers, spans banking, insurance, automobiles, telecoms, and more (en.majalla.com). “If you withdraw cash from a BIAT ATM or drive a Mercedes in Tunis, you’re touching Mabrouk’s world,” jokes a Tunis financial analyst. Indeed, the Mabrouks own around 40% of Banque Internationale Arabe de Tunisie (BIAT) – the country’s largest commercial bank (en.majalla.com) . They hold exclusive dealership rights for Mercedes-Benz, Jeep, Fiat, Alfa Romeo, and Mitsubishi cars (en.majalla.com) . Through partnerships, they even brought Orange Telecom to Tunisia’s mobile market. The group employs over 25,000 people and clocks annual transactions exceeding €1 billion. This scale places the Mabrouks among Tunisia’s wealthiest, a status cemented by marriage ties – Marouane Mabrouk was once son-in-law to President Ben Ali (en.majalla.com).

Yet even legends stumble. In late 2023, news of Marouane Mabrouk’s arrest on corruption and money-laundering charges stunned the country (en.majalla.com, en.majalla.com). Here was a magnate long deemed “untouchable,” suddenly in prison. President Kais Saïed, vowing to “dismantle rentier lobbies” and recover embezzled funds, made Mabrouk a high-profile example (en.majalla.com, en.majalla.com) . “It felt like the fall of a giant,” recalls a young entrepreneur, describing how fellow business owners watched anxiously. The arrest, likened to South Korea’s chaebol crackdowns, sent ripples through Tunisia’s boardrooms (en.majalla.com, en.majalla.com). Executives whispered: If the Golden Boy could fall, who might be next?

Despite this drama, the Mabrouk conglomerate’s influence endures. Its companies consistently rank top in revenue and profits across sectors (en.majalla.com) . The question is how the family adapts to new scrutiny. Will the Mabrouks cede some control in banking or retail under reform pressures, or tighten their grip and rebound as they did after past crises in 2009 and 2011 (en.majalla.com) ? Tunisians watch closely, for the Mabrouk saga is a bellwether of whether the era of untouchable tycoons is truly over.

Pull Quote: “Successive arrests of businessmen – culminating in Marouane’s incarceration – have stoked concern about the business climate.” – Al Majalla report (en.majalla.com, en.majalla.com)

The Ben Ayed Clan and Poulina: From Chicks to Conglomerate

In a bustling feed mill outside Tunis, the scent of grain and the clucking of hens hint at humble origins. Here, in the 1960s, Abdelwaheb Ben Ayed started Poulina as a poultry business. Fast-forward six decades, and Poulina Group Holding (PGH) is a behemoth spreading across eight industries – from food processing and steel to real estate and electronics (wattagnet.com) . Its journey from chicken coops to the commanding heights of industry is Tunisian capitalism’s favorite success story. Poulina today is “the largest private capital group in Tunisia,” a title it earned through relentless diversification (apl-datacenter.com) .

Consider some numbers: Poulina’s annual revenues hover around 3.45 billion dinars (about $1.1 billion) (stockanalysis.com), making it one of the country’s highest-earning conglomerates. It encompasses 80+ subsidiaries and employs tens of thousands. Analysts note Poulina’s evolution over 54 years into a “leading creator of value and jobs” in Tunisia (en.africanmanager.com, apl-datacenter.com) . The group pioneered ventures in sectors previously undeveloped domestically – such as modern steel fabrication and agribusiness on an industrial scale. Many Tunisians first encountered processed foods, furniture superstores, or even ice cream brands thanks to Poulina’s investments in those markets.

Inside Poulina’s corporate museum, an old incubator machine is on display – a nod to the chicks that started it all. A veteran employee, nearing retirement, points to it proudly. “We hatched not just chickens, but an entire economy,” he laughs. There’s truth in the jest: Poulina’s growth mirrored Tunisia’s own post-independence push for self-sufficiency. During tougher times, like the 1980s debt crisis, Poulina was among the private firms that kept expanding, providing rare employment opportunities outside the bloated state sector. The Ben Ayed family behind Poulina cultivated an image of patriotism – investing in inland regions, exporting “Made in Tunisia” goods abroad, and hiring local talent. Poulina became, in effect, too big to fail, woven into the country’s economic fabric.

However, size begets scrutiny. Rival business owners quietly grumble that Poulina’s close ties to every government have afforded it generous tax breaks and easy credit. (It’s whispered that when Poulina sneezes, finance ministers catch cold.) Indeed, scholars note that major private groups like Poulina have ventured into finance since 2011, even acquiring stakes in banks and insurance (bti-project.org) – influence that can tilt policies in their favor. But if Poulina is an octopus, many Tunisians see its tentacles as largely beneficial – delivering jobs and affordable goods in a country hungry for both.

As one young Poulina manager puts it, “We’re proud that something Tunisian became this big. But it also means responsibility. Everyone expects Poulina to keep prices stable, keep hiring, keep leading.” In an economy starved for growth, the onus on Poulina and the Ben Ayeds is immense. They are the standard-bearers of Tunisian private enterprise. Whether they open doors for smaller businesses through partnerships, or guard their turf against newcomers, will influence if Tunisia’s economy diversifies or remains an exclusive club.

Callout: Poulina Group’s revenue hit TND 3.45 billion in 2024 (stockanalysis.com) , a slight dip but still towering above most peers. With 30 subsidiaries and 10,000+ employees, the Elloumi Group is similarly sprawling – a sign of how giant family firms permeate all sectors (en.africanmanager.com) .

The Bouchamaouis: Oil Barons and Beyond

Down in the southern deserts, where oil rigs pump black wealth from the earth, the Bouchamaoui name looms large. It was 1948 when Ahmed Bouchamaoui founded a small civil engineering firm in Gabès (inkyfada.com) . By the 1970s, with Tunisia’s first oil and gas discoveries, this family firm pivoted to servicing the booming hydrocarbon sector (inkyfada.com). Laying pipelines and building refineries, Bouchamaoui Industries grew in tandem with the country’s energy ambitions. In 1984, they became the first Tunisian company to construct an offshore oil platform, a patriotic milestone in a field long dominated by foreign multinationals (tarekbouchamaoui.com). As one oilfield worker quips, “From the sands of the Sahara to the depths of the Gulf of Gabès, somewhere you’ll find a Bouchamaoui crew at work.”

Today, the Bouchamaoui business empire spans construction, petro-services, and even upstream exploration. The family’s holding (sometimes referred to as Hédi Bouchamaoui Group, HBG) holds multiple exploration licenses – at one point four oil prospecting permits simultaneously (tarekbouchamaoui.com) – and pumps gas in joint ventures with global energy firms. It also has diversified interests in textiles, agriculture, and real estate (hbs.edu) , though oil remains its beating heart. The Bouchamaouis have thus ridden the rollercoaster of global oil prices, weathering busts and booms. In family lore, a favorite tale is how they once pawned assets to meet payroll during a 1990s oil slump – only to strike a new gas find months later.

Yet the Bouchamaouis’ influence is not merely economic; it’s deeply civic. Ouided Bouchamaoui, of the family’s younger generation, rose to national prominence as the head of Tunisia’s business federation (UTICA) during the post-revolution crisis. In 2015, she was one of four civil society leaders awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for brokering national dialogue. Her message was often that an economy dominated by a few must give way to opportunity for many. “We, the fortunate, must help open the system,” she said in speeches – a nod to the critique that business elites and Ben Ali-era cronies stifled competition. Insiders say this introspection rattled some fellow tycoons, but also signaled a possible new ethos.

On the ground, how do Tunisians regard the Bouchamaouis? In the oilfields of Tataouine, locals acknowledge the family has brought jobs and training to their region. “They built a school in our village, sponsor apprenticeships,” notes a young technician, “but they also drive luxury 4x4s past unemployed youth. It’s bittersweet.” Transparency advocates have flagged Bouchamaoui companies in the Pandora Papers, alleging use of offshore entities (inkyfada.com, inkyfada.com) . Ahmed Bouchamaoui’s BVI-registered firm and other revelations fed suspicions of tax avoidance. The family counters that international structuring is normal for a global business and that they comply with law.

What’s certain is that the Bouchamaoui conglomerate remains a pillar of Tunisia’s energy and construction sectors. When international oil investors weigh entering Tunisia, a partnership (or at least a phone call) with the Bouchamaouis is almost a given. As Tunisia eyes renewable energy now, the family is already pivoting, bidding to build solar farms. They seem determined that whichever way the economic winds blow – desert oil, coastal wind, or sun – their sails will catch it.

The Elloumis: Industrialists Wiring the World

In a neat factory on the outskirts of Tunis, bright copper wires spool off a machine destined for export. The Elloumi Group, led by siblings Hichem, Faouzi, and Selma Elloumi, has turned Tunisia into a surprising global player in automotive and electrical cables. Their flagship company, Coficab, founded in 1992, now supplies wiring systems to European carmakers (digitalmag.th, eceomagazine.com) . “Every time a BMW headlights switch on, a little bit of Tunisia is inside,” a line supervisor smiles. It’s not far-fetched – Coficab and sister firms under Elloumi control have factories not only in Tunisia but across Europe, Mexico, and China, employing thousands.

From these modern manufacturing success stories, one could mistake the Elloumis for upstart entrepreneurs. In fact, their rise is rooted in a family legacy dating back to 1946, when patriarch Taoufik Elloumi started an electrical goods workshop (coficab.com). Over generations, the Elloumis methodically built an empire across 30 subsidiaries worldwide, now employing over 10,000 people (en.africanmanager.com) . They have earned the moniker of Tunisia’s “largest industrial group and exporter” (en.africanmanager.com) . The group’s portfolio ranges from automotive wiring and cable harnesses to agribusiness, household appliances, and even real estate (en.africanmanager.com) . If you use a Tunisian-made home appliance or notice “Made in Tunisia” parts in a car abroad, chances are the Elloumis had a hand in it.

Crucially, the Elloumis represent a breed of family business that has aggressively internationalized. In the 2000s, they were early to partner with multinational firms and secure a foothold in Europe. This gave them resilience as Tunisia’s domestic market stagnated post-2011. The Elloumi-owned One Tech Holding, for instance, supplies high-tech components beyond Tunisia’s borders. A proud moment for the family was opening a design center in Germany – a Tunisian firm innovating in the heart of Europe’s auto industry.

Domestically, the Elloumis’ influence has extended into finance. In 2021, they acquired a majority stake in BTK Bank, becoming the fourth family to own a Tunisian bank (en.africanmanager.com) . At the signing ceremony, Bassem Loukil (another business magnate, more on him later) quipped that “the Elloumis have joined the banking club.” Indeed, the Elloumi Group’s diversification into banking raised eyebrows, symbolizing how industrial conglomerates seek clout in finance as well (en.africanmanager.com, en.africanmanager.com) . Some economists worry about conflicts of interest, given how big business families on bank boards could favor their own ventures. The Elloumis insist their banking foray is about supporting enterprise and that regulators will enforce fair play.

Politically, the family kept a relatively low profile, though Hichem Elloumi held leadership roles in the business union (UTICA) and Selma Elloumi briefly served as tourism minister after the Arab Spring. They generally project technocratic competence rather than overt partisanship – a strategy that has kept their ventures stable through Tunisia’s upheavals.

One striking anecdote: during the COVID-19 pandemic, when global supply chains faltered, an Elloumi factory repurposed lines to produce hospital oxygen equipment for Tunisia, at cost. “It was a way to give back,” says a family member. Such stories burnish the Elloumis’ image as responsible captains of industry. They’ll likely need that goodwill as they continue expanding. With eyes on emerging industries (renewable energy tech, digital infrastructure), the question is whether the next generation of Elloumis can maintain the group’s innovative edge and integrity. In the meantime, every cable and gadget they export quietly boosts Tunisia’s reputation as a manufacturing hub – a legacy of wires binding Tunisia to the global economy.

The Driss Family: Hospitality Royalty and Diversified Dreams

On a sun-soaked hotel terrace in Sousse, German and Algerian tourists sip cocktails under parasols emblazoned “Marhaba Hotels.” This popular hotel chain – whose name means “Welcome” – is the pride of the Driss family. To many Tunisians, the Drisses are the uncrowned monarchs of the tourism sector, having built one of the country’s largest hotel groups from the ground up. The late M’hamed Driss, patriarch of the family, started with a single hotel decades ago and expanded into a hospitality empire that today boasts 16 high-end resorts and hotels, totaling around 13,500 beds across Tunisia’s prime beach destinations (elmouradi.com, elmouradi.com) . From the luxurious Marhaba Palace in Port El Kantaoui to city hotels in Hammamet, the family’s properties helped define Tunisian tourism for generations of visitors.

But the Driss footprint goes beyond sun and sand. Over time, the Driss Group (often called Groupe Marhaba) diversified into real estate, healthcare, industry, and finance (ilboursa.com, ilboursa.com) . Under the hood of the holding, one finds a surprising array of enterprises: a stake in ICF (Industries Chimiques du Fluor) – a chemical plant exporting fluorine derivatives (ilboursa.com, ilboursa.com) ; ownership of private medical clinics and an ophthalmology center (Les Oliviers Medical Group); an aquaculture farm; and investment companies and SICAF funds. This breadth reflects M’hamed Driss’s philosophy that a family business should not put all eggs in one basket, especially in a country where a bad tourism season (due to, say, a terrorist attack or pandemic) can devastate the economy. By branching out, the Drisses hedged against volatility.

However, tourism remained their crown jewel – and their barometer of success. In 2014, before Tunisia’s security troubles curtailed travel, Marhaba Group’s hotels earned a record TND 229 million in revenue (ilboursa.com) . In subsequent years, amid terrorist incidents and COVID-19, revenues seesawed and even turned to losses (a TND 10 million loss in 2016 as per financial reports) (ilboursa.com, ilboursa.com) . These swings have made the Drisses vocal advocates for stability and branding Tunisia as a safe, quality destination. Zohra Driss, a prominent family member, even served as a parliamentarian and used her platform to push for tourism-friendly policies. She famously cautioned, “Tourism is Tunisia’s lifeblood – we cannot afford to kill it with neglect.” Critics noted her positions often aligned with protecting big hotel owners’ interests (like tax breaks for resorts), but few doubt her expertise in the sector.

Employees describe the Driss management style as “old school paternalistic.” Many staff have been with Marhaba hotels for decades, some following in their parents’ footsteps. A longtime concierge at Marhaba Beach Hotel recounts how M’hamed Driss would personally shake hands with employees at staff parties. “He treated us like extended family,” he says, eyes moist with nostalgia. That personal touch engendered loyalty, though labor activists argue it sometimes came at the expense of formal wage growth and unionization. Still, when the patriarch passed away in 2023, obituaries across business media lauded “a captain of industry” who left an indelible mark (africanmanager.com, leaders.com.tn) .

Moving forward, the Driss family faces a familiar challenge: succession and innovation. The next generation must modernize aging resorts, adapt to new travel trends (like the rise of Airbnb and eco-tourism), and possibly consider partnerships or equity funding that the founding generation shunned. There’s talk that the Drisses might emulate international chains by creating experience-based offerings – desert glamping, medical tourism packages at their clinics, etc. In essence, leveraging their diversified assets to create new revenue streams. As they do, Tunisians watch with interest because the Driss saga encapsulates the arc of the national tourism industry – its promise, perils, and necessity to reinvent. The family that has long said “Marhaba” (welcome) to the world now must say “Marhaba” to change.

Mzabi and Ben Yedder: Djerba’s Financial Families in the Mix

In the winding market alleys of Djerba, Tunisia’s southern island known for traders and free spirits, originate two of the nine powerhouse families: the Mzabis and the Ben Yedders. Both hail from this region and both built fortunes bridging finance and commerce, earning reputations as astute, if low-profile, business barons.

Moncef Mzabi, the figurehead of the Mzabi family, is often described as “media-shy but deal-savvy.” The Mzabis quietly assembled a diverse portfolio that touches everyday Tunisian life in subtle ways. For instance, do you drive a Renault or Nissan car in Tunisia? The dealership ARTES (Arab Tunisian Automobile Company), which holds the Renault franchise, is chaired by Moncef Mzabi – the family owns roughly 25% of ARTES’ shares (billionaires.africa, billionaires.africa). They also were known as the Sony electronics distributors in Tunisia (africaintelligence.com), bringing consumer tech to Tunisian households. Beyond these, the Mzabi Group has dabbled in oil exploration (through Carthago Oil) (africaintelligence.com) , retail, and heavy equipment import. With offices on multiple continents, the Mzabis embody the Djerbian merchant tradition of casting a wide net.

Where the Mzabis really made a mark is banking. The family’s name is closely associated with UIB – Union Internationale de Banques, one of Tunisia’s major private banks, historically linked to Société Générale. The Mzabis became significant shareholders in UIB and reportedly in Attijari Bank as well (bti-project.org) . In fact, financial circles joke that the “U” in UIB could stand for “Uznec”, a local nickname for one of the Mzabi branches. A banking regulator in a candid moment said, “The Mzabis have mastered the art of being influential without being seen. They’re on boards, not on front pages.” Indeed, while not as publicly visible as a Mabrouk or Ben Ayed, the Mzabi family’s silent power is felt when board decisions are made in finance or when industrial tenders are won by companies they quietly back.

Meanwhile, the Ben Yedder family carved a more public financial empire under the banner of Amen Group. The late Rachid Ben Yedder founded Amen Bank in the 1970s, growing it into one of Tunisia’s largest private banks. Today, the Ben Yedder family controls roughly 65% of Amen Bank’s shares (through their holding PGI and directly) (disclosures.ifc.org) , and their influence extends to COMAR Assurance, a leading insurance company (bti-project.org) . Walk into an Amen Bank branch – the logo itself, a stylized flying horse, has become synonymous with the family’s legacy of financial stewardship.

Amen Group is more than a bank. Under its umbrella are investment firms, a leasing company, and stakes in various industries (from printing to food). One offshoot even produces Tunisia’s famous Cafés Ben Yedder coffee – a reminder that this family began as traders (in coffee and spices) before banking made them titans. The group’s revenue was estimated around $476 million in recent years (datanyze.com) . Karim Ben Yedder, a scion, once described their philosophy: “We invest in what Tunisians consume daily – finance, food, shelter. That way, we grow with our people.”

The Ben Yedder approach to business has generally been conservative and collegial. During the chaotic days after 2011, when many banks saw runs and panicked depositors, Amen Bank’s calm stood out. Rachid Ben Yedder’s reassuring public statements – urging trust in the system – likely prevented worse outcomes. Many attribute that to the “social contract” ethos he upheld: that wealthy families must ensure stability for the nation. It wasn’t entirely altruistic, of course; banks survive on confidence.

Both Mzabi and Ben Yedder clans illustrate how regional (often Djerbian) merchant families integrated into the national elite. They are fixtures on bank boards and in business councils, yet often operate behind a veil of discretion. The challenge ahead for them is navigating a more transparent, regulated era. Banking reforms call for more disclosure of ownership and limits on insider lending. For families used to doing business by gentleman’s agreements, this is new terrain. As Tunisia grapples with monopolistic practices, even these “smaller fish” among the big families might face calls to democratize access – for example, by funding more startups or loosening their grip on key franchises.

In Djerba’s old Jewish quarter, an artisan who crafts traditional jewelry muses about the big island families: “They have an islander’s mind – shrewd, careful. They thrive quietly.” Tunisia’s economy has long benefited from that quiet drive. Whether the next generation of Mzabis and Ben Yedders will roar or remain quiet tigers is yet to be seen.

The Meddebs: Dairy Kings Turning the Wheels

Every Tunisian child has likely sipped a Délice yogurt or milk at breakfast. That omnipresent brand – Délice Danone – and a host of other food staples come from Délice Holding, the realm of the Meddeb family. Led by the dynamic Hamdi Meddeb, this family has become the undisputed dairy king of Tunisia. Their dominance is such that Délice controls the largest share of Tunisia’s dairy market, far outpacing any competitor (africaintelligence.com). With its beginnings in 1978 as a modest dairy plant (la Société Tunisienne des Industries Alimentaires, STIAL) (en.wikipedia.org), the company soared after partnering with France’s Danone in 1997 to create the joint venture “Délice Danone” (en.wikipedia.org) . From yogurt and milk to bottled juices and even an ill-fated foray into sodas (Hamdi Meddeb once tried producing Virgin Cola locally (en.wikipedia.org) , the Meddebs built a food and beverage empire catering to everyday consumers.

Hamdi Meddeb’s public profile got a boost from an unlikely avenue: football. As president of Espérance Sportive de Tunis, the capital’s legendary soccer club, he poured money from his businesses into the team, effectively intertwining his family’s name with national pride on the pitch. Under his tenure since 2007, Espérance won numerous titles, and fans chant his name alongside players’. This has given Hamdi a populist aura – he’s a businessman who “gives back” via sports. Some cynics note it’s also savvy marketing: every time Espérance wins, Délice’s logo (plastered on jerseys and billboards) gets extra shine.

The Meddebs exemplify a modern rags-to-riches tale. Unlike some other families who had commerce roots pre-independence, Hamdi took over a struggling family venture and truly created something new at scale. Délice Holding went public on the Tunis stock exchange in 2014, inviting ordinary Tunisians to own a slice of the yogurt pie (en.wikipedia.org) . This brought a level of transparency uncommon among family firms. The IPO was oversubscribed, reflecting trust in the brand. “We grew up with Délice products, it’s like investing in childhood memories,” one investor said.

But success attracts scrutiny. With control of such a key food sector, Délice Holding periodically faces government pressure, especially in times of inflation. The state expects the Meddebs to tow the line on price controls for milk and yogurt, which are politically sensitive staples. Hamdi Meddeb has juggled this tactfully, often absorbing cost increases to avoid public ire. In private, he has warned that price-fixing without subsidies hurts producers, but publicly he remains congenial, projecting national solidarity.

Another aspect of the Meddeb saga is their navigation through Tunisia’s turbulent political waters. In the Ben Ali era, Hamdi Meddeb maintained friendships with regime insiders (notably the President’s son-in-law Sakher Materi, with whom he co-invested in a telecom venture (en.wikipedia.org). After 2011, those ties could have backfired, but Hamdi deftly distanced himself from controversial figures and refocused on his core business and sports philanthropy. His relative absence from overt politics (save for football diplomacy) meant the revolution’s aftermath did not tarnish him as it did some peers.

Looking forward, the Meddebs are eyeing regional expansion – trying to push Délice products into neighboring Maghreb markets and beyond. They pitch it as “spreading Tunisian flavor abroad.” At home, they’re diversifying within agrifood – investing in olive oil, baked goods, and even experimenting with almond milk in anticipation of changing consumer tastes. A food technology incubator launched by the Meddebs in 2022 is nurturing young entrepreneurs in agri-tech, which observers applaud as a positive example of an entrenched conglomerate fostering newcomers.

Still, the cautionary voice comes from a farmer cooperative leader in Béja, northern Tunisia’s milk heartland: “Délice sets the rules for us dairy farmers. If they pay low, we earn low. One company shouldn’t have that power.” This highlights a lingering imbalance – the Meddebs sit atop a value chain that millions depend on. How they wield that power – benevolently, ruthlessly, or somewhere in between – will continue to affect Tunisia’s food security and rural livelihoods. As of now, the family’s story is seen mostly as a force for good, a rare case where a local brand beat foreign competitors and won the public’s affection (who hasn’t hummed the jingle “Délice, délice” from old TV ads?). The hope is that the next generation, now stepping into management, retains both the business acumen and the popular touch that Hamdi exemplified.

Beyond Tunisia’s Shores: Parallels in Morocco and Egypt

Tunisia’s concentration of economic power in family firms isn’t unique in the region. Across the Maghreb in Morocco, a similar tapestry of elite dominance exists – albeit with a royal twist. Morocco’s palace, the Makhzen, and affiliated business families form what Moroccans dub the “500 families” who dominate commerce (bti-project.org) . Most prominent is the Royal Family’s holding, Al Mada (formerly SNI), a colossal conglomerate with stakes in banking, mining, retail, and energy (kenza-bouhaj.medium.com, en.wikipedia.org) . One cannot mention Moroccan big business without the likes of Attijariwafa Bank (controlled by the royal holding) or Akwa Group (owned by billionaire Aziz Akhannouch, now the prime minister-businessman). “Many sectors…are dominated by the royal family and the so-called 500,” notes the Bertelsmann Transformation Index bluntly (bti-project.org) . This high concentration has stoked some social discontent in Morocco, similar to Tunisia. Yet Morocco has managed to maintain faster growth lately, partly by leveraging these powerful firms to drive massive projects (e.g., OCP, the state phosphate giant, expanding globally (cidob.orgcidob.org). Still, “crony capitalism remains a scourge” in Moroccan eyes, limiting newcomers’ access (cidob.org). The Moroccan bourgeoisie’s wealth is extraordinarily top-heavy – King Mohammed VI himself is one of the richest men in Africa, and his fortune “exceeds that of even Morocco’s wealthiest commoner families”, according to MERIP (merip.org) . This dynamic, where political and business power entwine at the very top, is more pronounced than in Tunisia’s case. Yet the end result (wealth in few hands) resonates.

In Egypt, the picture tilts towards state actors – specifically the military – alongside a cadre of oligarch families. Since President Abdel Fattah el-Sisi’s rise, Egypt’s army has entrenched itself in virtually every economic sector, from construction and fish farms to petrol stations. Unofficial estimates suggest the Egyptian military controls anywhere from 25% to 40% of the economy (zawia3.com) . This “Military, Inc.” model differs from Tunisia’s private-family dominance but similarly crowds out competition. Egyptian businessmen frequently complain that firms linked to generals enjoy preferential contracts, exempt from taxes and labor rules – making it nigh impossible to compete (reddit.com) . Nevertheless, Egypt also has powerful private dynasties: the Sawiris family (Orascom group) with vast telecom and construction interests, the Mansour family (GM auto distributor, supermarket chains, and more), and others like Ghabbour and Shawky. These families thrived under Mubarak’s crony capitalism and, despite the upheavals, remain influential – though some have shifted capital abroad for safety. An Egyptian economic commentator wryly noted, “In Cairo, the joke is our economy is run by ‘MOM’ – the Military Orascom Mansour.” The mix of military and old-business oligarchy has left Egypt with an overbearing state and weak competition, not unlike Tunisia’s dilemmas (reuters.com) . Both Morocco and Egypt illustrate how structural concentration can stifle broad-based growth: Morocco’s newcomers struggle against royal conglomerates (cidob.org) , and Egypt’s SMEs face a juggernaut of army-owned firms and well-entrenched families.

For Tunisia, these regional parallels are instructive. They show alternative outcomes of reform or stagnation. Morocco managed some liberalization, but not enough to break the elite circle; Egypt backslid into quasi-state capitalism. Tunisia’s own path – whether it dismantles some monopolies or lets them persist under new guises – will determine if its economy can be more inclusive than its neighbors’ or if it falls into the same trap of “private clubs” controlling wealth.

The Crossroads: Futures for Tunisia’s Economy

As the sun sets over Tunis’s Lake, illuminating both the modern financial district and the old medina, Tunisia faces a crossroads. Its economy, long dominated by the nine families and their ilk, stands at a precipice of change – or of further entrenchment. What pathways lie ahead for this young democracy’s economic model? Let’s imagine three possible futures for Tunisia’s economy and its relationship with the conglomerates:

1. Reform and Renewal – “Breaking the Mold”: In this scenario, Tunisia undertakes bold reforms to dismantle excessive concentration. Anti-trust laws are enforced with teeth, breaking up cartels in banking and retail. The nine families, rather than resisting, adapt by focusing on core businesses and inviting public investment into their companies (diluting family ownership). New faces and startup entrepreneurs emerge, supported by state incentives and a more level playing field. A “middle class” of businesses grows, reducing reliance on a few conglomerates. This path could spark higher growth and innovation, albeit at the cost of some short-term dislocations for the old guard. It’s essentially the vision of many revolutionaries in 2011 – an economy of opportunity rather than nepotism. But can the state overcome vested interests to achieve this? And will the families play ball? Optimists point to early signs: a new Investment Code simplifying market entry, and some business leaders like Ouided Bouchamaoui championing openness (inkyfada.comcidob.org) . If Tunisia chooses this route, it could set a precedent in the Arab world by transitioning from crony capitalism to a more inclusive model.

2. More of the Same – “Old Guard, New Face”: In the second scenario, little changes structurally. The big families tighten their grip, perhaps even absorbing weaker competitors and expanding their reach. They might rebrand or shuffle leadership (sons and daughters taking over, giving a semblance of renewal) but the fundamental hierarchy remains. The state, cash-strapped and wary of scaring off investment, could quietly strike non-aggression pacts: e.g. no new wealth taxes on the conglomerates in exchange for their help in avoiding an IMF bailout. This future is essentially a continuation of the status quo, potentially with different players if some fall out of favor. (For instance, if a Mabrouk stumbles, another family like Loukil or Bayahi rises to fill the vacuum – the pie sliced among a rotating elite, but still an elite.) Tunisians might see modest growth, but also continued “insider” advantages and barriers for the little guy (worldbank.org) . Discontent could simmer, yet as long as basic needs are met, the political class may tolerate this elite bargain. Many argue Tunisia has already been drifting this way since the mid-2010s: revolutionary zeal giving way to pragmatism that “it’s the system we know.”

3. State-Centric and Struggling – “Back to Father Government”: A third, more radical possibility is Tunisia, out of frustration with private-sector inequality and IMF pressures, shifts back towards a state-driven model. Under President Saïed’s populist impulses, one could envision moves like nationalizing certain strategic companies (perhaps taking a controlling stake in big banks or utilities) under the banner of combating corruption. The rhetoric of dismantling “rentier lobbies” (en.majalla.com) could translate into heavy-handed intervention. Family conglomerates might then either acquiesce, hide their capital abroad, or collude with the state – depending on how it’s executed. This path might temporarily clip the wings of the nine families but risks scaring off both domestic and foreign investment. With the public sector already bloated, a greater state role could exacerbate inefficiencies. Essentially, Tunisia could flirt with an Egypt-style or Algerian-style model where government and military-linked entities dominate the economy, with a handful of approved private partners. This scenario may lead to short-term social pacification (“we punished the big corrupt bosses”), but in the long run, it could mean stagnation – an economy neither free nor fair, caught in a politicized allocation of resources.

Each of these futures carries its own perils and promises. Tunisia’s entrenched families will play a pivotal role in whichever path unfolds. They can be obstacles to change or agents of it. As one young Tunis entrepreneur remarked, “These families could open doors for us if they wanted – fund startups, mentor new businesses. Or they can keep the gates locked. We’re waiting to see.”

At this juncture, the conversation in Tunisia is shifting. Civil society and a frustrated youth are asking hard questions about who benefits from the current system. The families themselves, some sensing the public mood, are engaging in more philanthropy and outreach, trying to soften their image as mere profit machines. The government oscillates between courting the big investors and warning them to play fair. It’s a delicate dance.

In the end, Tunisia’s story will be written by how it balances entrepreneurial dynamism with equity and inclusion. Can the country transform the proud legacies of these nine families into a broader engine for national prosperity? Or will the weight of their dominance slow the nation’s stride? The next chapter is unwritten – and hanging in the balance is not just Tunisia’s economy, but its very social contract.

Will Tunisia remain a land where a few grand families set the tune and tempo of economic life, or can it orchestrate a new symphony that includes many more players in the nation’s prosperity? The answer will shape Tunisia’s destiny for decades to come, and Tunisians – from the boardroom to the bazaar – await the outcome with bated breath. (worldbank.orgcidob.org)