According to her police file, Leila Ben Younes was celebrating her 42nd birthday last December 17, when the self-immolation of a vegetable-seller set Tunisia on the path to revolution.
Mrs Ben Younes' identification card form is one of thousands littering a burnt-out police station in La Goulette, a suburb of the capital, Tunis, ransacked in January as the regime of former president Zine el Abidine Ben Ali collapsed.
"They represent the fact that each one of us is catalogued," said Aziz Tnani, a photographer who last month helped select the police station as a venue for a new photo exhibition. "Going to a police station was always a bad experience. Putting art inside one is meaningful."
Today the police station houses five of about 100 giant portraits of Tunisians taken by Mr Tnani and other photographers, one of many efforts by Tunisians to transform emblems of Mr Ben Ali's regime into an homage to the ordinary people who overthrew it.
Across Tunisia, symbols of Mr Ben Ali's regime have vanished. Posters of him have been pulled down, and offices of his dissolved political party stand empty. Graffiti have renamed streets and squares to commemorate the revolution.
Such gestures help move the country from dictatorship to democracy, said Khadija Cherif, a sociologist at the University of Tunis and secretary general of the International Federation for Human Rights. "It's important to feel oneself in a different environment to one characterised by repression."
Former allies of Mr Ben Ali have withdrawn from politics, and a commission of experts and civil society figures is charged with crafting a new electoral law for legislative elections scheduled in July.
However, political renewal remains a work in progress, said Mrs Cherif, who is serving on the commission. "Everything must be rebuilt, at both the political and symbolic levels. Ben Ali's system hasn't entirely disappeared."
Mr Ben Ali took power in 1987, sidelining his ailing predecessor, Habib Bourguiba. His Tunisia was a land of plainclothes agents, tapped phones, censored media and jailed dissidents.
"Occasionally I would wake up hearing strange cries from the station," said Virginie Poupeney, 32, a French NGO worker who has lived next door to the La Goulette police station since last year. "People avoided the police. They were seen as authority, not protection."
Straddling a canal linking Tunis' lake with the Mediterranean, La Goulette was once called La Goleta, or "little throat", by Italian immigrants. Until January it was the fiefdom of then-mayor Imad Trabelsi, a nephew by marriage of Mr Ben Ali.
"Sometimes the police arrested the right people, and some cops were nice guys," said Tarek, 21, the son of a port worker having coffee one recent afternoon at a café near the waterfront. "But I also have friends who were detained and beaten by the police."
One of those was Bajo, 24, sitting beside Tarek. Both men declined to give their surnames.
Bajo said he was jailed legitimately for one year in 2007 for drug use after police stormed a house party. But he describes a second arrest as abuse of power.
That arrest took place last September when Bajo went to the police station after his brother was detained, seeking an explanation.
"Have you been drinking?" a policeman asked. "Yes," said Bajo, who had drunk a beer earlier.
The policeman struck him several times on the face and clapped him in handcuffs, he said. He was jailed for one month.
Last December anti-government protests erupted in the rural town of Sidi Bouzid. They spread to Tunis, and Mr Ben Ali abruptly fled the country on January 14.
Across Lake Tunis, protesters spilled into the streets of La Goulette and converged on the police station.
Accounts vary as to what happened next: Ms Poupeney said that several masked men set fire to the police station before speeding off in a car; Tarek said that he and other protesters crowded inside and set it alight. The fire gutted the police station, leaving blackened ceilings and crumbled interior walls. Somebody discovered the ID card forms in their metal drawers and scattered them on the ground like confetti.
Each bears biographical details, a photograph - Mrs Ben Younes wears a floral print dress and a headband of blue gems - and a thumbprint.
Last month Mr Tnani and other photographers found the forms while scouting locations for "Artocratie en Tunisie", a portrait exhibition to honour the Tunisian people.
"We thought about cleaning up the debris, but decided it would be more powerful to leave it and post several very expressive portraits alongside," said Mr Tnani.
The metre-high faces of a girl and a young man flank the entrance, and the face of another girl glares from above the reception counter with righteous anger. An older man photographed last month by Mr Tnani calmly regards the ID card forms.
"Tunisia is all these people, with their different beliefs and sensibilities," said Slim Zeghal, a businessman who helped initiate the project. "But there's something that unites us. We have a historic chance in the Arab world."
