Hello there.

I remember the night that Louis declared….

... “the Saudis are bombing Sana’a”. 

I was awake due to my full bladder, having gone to bed without any sign of distress or imminent conflict in Yemen. It took all of my willpower to avoid checking my Jordanian mobile phone, knowing that if I was contacted on that, then things were bad. Instead, I chose to send a WhatsApp to my mother to see if they were ok and convinced myself to go back to sleep, thinking that whatever would happen will happen and I’ll find out in the morning.

When I woke up, I checked the news. It was true. The Saudis had decided to start bombing Sana’a overnight, while people were asleep in their beds, thinking they were going to wake up to another day of the Yemeni chaos they’d gotten used to over the past two years. I stared at the screen in disbelief. I started following the story. For the first time ever I felt angry at the world. I felt betrayed, abandoned, shocked. I managed to speak to my mother daily, but the situation was deteriorating. In a ridiculous effort to brand this ridiculous operative, the attacks were called "Operation Decisive Storm". I'm not quite sure what was so decisive about this operation, save that they could've decided to storm their libraries instead of their weapon halls.

Shortly after, I posted some thoughts on social media, feelings I still have over 9 months later: 

...I don’t know why I feel it’s so important to post my opinion, but I guess in a time where I feel so helpless, this is the only way I know how to express...These countries ["the coalition"] have sufficient problems of their own  -perhaps consider spending the millions that you are destroying my country in fixing up yours (or mine if you insist on spending money). You stand for “democracy” yet none of you are democratic...The world has disappointed me so much over the last few days. I feel so, so, so sad. I’m heartbroken...I feel no sense of justice. And I don’t want anyone to start claiming that Syria or Palestine or whoever are worse or better or whatever. This has nothing to do with them. This is about Yemen. And the World has failed us...

I read article after article, trying to understand what was going on. I think what bothers me the most about this war, well any war, is that it is all political. It sprouted out of (seemingly) nothing and there's no end in sight. I'm reminded that I can't blame the Saudi's fully, and I can accept that. I can accept that Yemen was already in a bad place, that we were most likely heading towards a civil war. But ultimately, it was our civil war. It bothers me that, in a country where the gun to man ration is 4:1, the population witnessed what was relatively a bloodless revolution. The fact is, us Yemenis are fairly laid back people. We are simple and are just about getting by with what we know. And here are these power drunk, egotistical, filthy rich neighbours who have decided to play a game with our lives.

We are all bleeding for Yemen. I can’t begin to imagine the fear that the people still living in the country are feeling. Less than a month into the war, we started discussing evacuation with my mother and siblings in Sana'a. It was not something we ever thought we'd have to discuss, assess, resort to. What made me most sad about that, however, was the fact that millions of people throughout history have been through this. They've had to abandon their homes, their lives, and sometimes, their families. And yet, this gave me a weird sense of calm - knowing that my family were going through something so many before them have had to endure, survive and ultimately, prevail over. And yet it made me so sad at the state of the world. Of course I know that I stopped to analyse my feelings towards this because my family were being affected. Of course it's selfish. But it doesn't make me any less heartbroken for those who've been through it before.

My family have now managed to leave Yemen, not without the stories that inevitably arise from any evacuation quest ever undertaken.

When I started this post back in April 2015…let that sink in…I was going to recount some events that others have shared with me and photos from family members of their houses being destroyed. But now, over 200 days since the first bomb was dropped, I’m not sure that’s sufficient. Truly, I don’t know what is. I'll read the news stories and hear family accounts. We'll all see horrendous photos being posted of the inconceivable humanitarian situation and wonder why any of it happened in the first place. And maybe one day, nowhere in the near future unfortunately, those in power will finally realise that the only way to live in a peaceful world is to stop weapons from ever being made, invested in and mostly, profited from. 

Selfishly, I had to publish this post, to move on a little bit. I’ll bury my head in the sand and focus on myself to survive another hour, day, week, month. I’ve never felt as confused as I have in 2015, when I truly grasped the concept of political games and how, logical and attainable answers are ignored because those in power have their own agendas to fulfil.

Yemen will never be forgotten, because anyone who’s spent any time there has a unique love story that will forever live on. I’m not sure how the Yemeni people will come out of this - they remained optimistic for so long but now have every reason to give up hope. The dust won’t settle anytime soon. I hope that when it does, there will still be remnants of the Yemen I once knew.

I start writing here more often again. I have an inkling that my ponderings will be more sombre, but I promise to include some random photos and musings in between so as not to push anyone over the edge!

Here’s hoping 2016 will be kind to us all.

Sx

I am Girl

In May 2013, I watched The Stoning of Soraya M., and I started writing this blog post. 

Today, on account of it being International Women's Day and the discussions happening all around me, I will finish what I started writing. I must preface my post by saying that I am not a social expert. I am not a historian. I am only an observer in this life of mine, trying to make sense of what I've seen, heard and felt in my years on this planet. And you know what else, I must mention that perhaps my name - an ancient land in Yemen ruled by Queen Balquis, lends itself quite nicely to my determined, outspoken personality!

 

Within minutes of starting to watch The Stoning of Soraya M, I knew it would hit some very sensitive nerves with me. The theme of men controlling women and using religion as their justification made my blood boil. I cried so much, thinking of all the losses women must suffer on account of their sex and / or "religion". 

I will try not to let emotion get in the way, but I guess it's difficult when it's a subject so close to home.

I am a very, very fortunate person. I have a family who are kind to me and my dear father, may he rest in peace, never made me feel that I was worth anything less than my brothers or the people around me. There are women who are brought down their entire lives, told that they are worth nothing, until they believe it themselves, and worse, proceed to tell other women around them that they, too, are worthless.

I don't make out that I understand what these women go through, or know the kind of emotional abuse they, sometimes unknowingly, suffer. I do know women who have stopped going to school at the age of 11, because it was wrong for them to be in a class taught by a man. It was a'aib (shameful) or haram (against Islam). Imagine, generations of girls growing up uneducated, not being able to read or write. Tradition then stipulated that they be married off to a man whom they may never live with, who is in a different country sending them money, while they stay at home with their mothers and serve the males around them.

These women do not feel that they are victims, they feel that this is the norm and are usually grateful to be married rather than growing up a spinster. Which does make me realise that, what is happiness for me is not happiness for them. But that is getting off topic.

I get angry because I see men stopping women from advancing, using excuses like Islam prohibits it, or that it's a'aib or that it's "for their own good". And so all of these women believe that, indeed, these men are looking after their welfare by taking their salaries and marrying them off to men and taking their dowries and stealing their inheritance. It's all because these men care about them and, even if they disagreed, they wouldn't dare challenge them because they are men. I have seen sister grow up never challenging their brothers because they are the men in the house and their opinions, as women, amounted to nothing.

It's an easy trap to fall into if you live in a society like that. To believe that you are only worth as much as the men tell you are. You are disposable. If you do have an idea, a dream of bettering yourself, everyone around you, women included, tell you that you are crazy. That this idea won't work. That you will bring shame. And that you will be ousted from the family if you bring dishonour.

Family. The people who are meant to love you unconditionally. Instead, they hammer at your head, until you are at ground level and believe irrational things like your son is worth more than your daughter and you teach her this. And the cycle continues.

Of course all of these (depressing) thoughts made me think of empowerment. I don't believe that empowerment or liberation is acting recklessly without accountability. I also don't believe that empowerment is demanding to be equal with men. We are not equal to men. Men are not equal to us. That is why life is so wonderful - we are different and we are complimentary. But what we do need to strive for is having the same opportunities, the same options. That is equality. That is what this movement is about, has been about and should continue to be about.

And I think empowerment goes deeper than that. I don't believe it's telling someone that they are better than someone else. I believe it's telling someone that they throughout their lives, they will be presented with the same opportunities as everyone else around them, regardless of gender. Imagine if we began to instill this confidence in women. The world would change, for the better.

I have a real issue with the term "feminism" and the negative connotations attached to it. It seems as though when a man calls for equal rights for men and women, he is hailed as a liberal, as a hero, a warrior. But when a woman does the same, she is labelled a feminist. I almost began to think that feminism was only attributable to females, in the way that some people around me used the term to only describe women striving for their rights. So this morning, and before I came to hash out my thoughts on this forum, I looked up the word "feminism". Here is the definition from Merriam-Webster:

 
As I suspected, feminism did not call for a biased treatment of women. It calls for equal treatment. For those that think that feminists insist that everything should be divided 50-50 between men and women (for example, that out of 10 board members 5 must be women), you are missing the point. Perhaps men are better suited to the corporate world. Perhaps women are better suited to be teachers. But the opportunity to be either should be the same for both sexes. If you are telling me that men are getting certain jobs more than women are because they are more qualified for those roles (after, say, an interview process), then I have no issue with that. Currently, unfortunately, women are not given those opportunities. And even more sadly, women get paid less than men for the exact same job. The glass ceiling is real and it's time we eliminate it.

I started reading a book last night. It's called Men Explain Things to Me. I am not very far into this collection of essays, but the author said something that struck me. She said, 

"Most women fight wars on two fronts, one for whatever the putative topic is and one simple for the right to speak, to have ideas, to be acknowledged to be in possession of facts and truths, to have value, to be a human being."

Ain't that the truth? When a woman MP speaks into that mic, not only is she making the point she is hoping to make, she is also fighting against generations of people believing that she has no place in Parliament. She is fighting to validate her appointment, to give credibility to her voice. Her words are not always heard for what they are. They are marred by the niggling thoughts in some of her peers' heads. She is up there proving that she is worthy of being up there and trying to get her point across, at the same time. And without being too emotional, or passionate, or compassionate, or tough, or rude, or loud, or soft spoken. So many variables to keep in check, so that you can come off as "not an emotional woman".

These thoughts had to come off my chest. This topic is so close to my heart, it's so close to my upbringing, to who I am. The strive for equality for our genders, sons, daughters, brothers and sisters cannot be halted, suspended. Maybe it's time a new word replaces "feminism" to give way for positive connotations and actions to follow them. I don't know. I just know that this topic is real, that women around the world are mistreated and that we need to change the status quo.

Sx

Where to from here?

I know I've not been very vocal on here for a while.

I do have some exciting photos and reviews I'd like to share with you.

I do have posts that are lighthearted and liken me to Dora the Explorer.

But it's been difficult when my mind has been really occupied with figuring out how to escape the maze that is my brain.

Conundrum.

I'm not one to plan where I want to be and by when. I find that things tend to work themselves out and well, whatever's meant to be will be. Of course, I do hope for things and strive to achieve them because not doing so would kind be crazy...right? It's just if you had told me 3 years ago that I'd be living and working in Jordan I don't think I would've really believed you. And the reverse situation is true, I have no clue where I'll be three years from now.

But for some unknown reason (maturity possibly being it, but let's not be too ambitious here) I lay awake in bed many nights wondering if this is where I imagined life would take me and if this is what I want right now. It's a weird question, because I have nothing to compare it to. I can't bring up my notes from last year and say "yup, crossed that off my list" because, you know, I don't have that list.

Whenever I'm at a cross-roads I tell myself, ugh I wish decisions would just be made for me. Of course I don't want that. Of course I realise that making your own decisions is a privilege. Unfortunately growing up and making decisions are such painful processes for me, since I prefer to bury my head in Topshop.com instead of facing my realities. But I've really started to think about where my life is heading, what choices I want to make next and where I want them to take me.

Here's a confession, I started writing this post about a week ago. And here I am tying it off because I am no closer to finding my decisions than when I first started.

I know one thing is for sure though.

I want to make a plan. I want to reach conclusions, decisions. For once, I am not going to hide. I am going to figure this out...whatever "this" is to me right now. I won't settle. I can't settle. It would be wasting that privilege I'm so fortunate to have.

Sx

Just ooooone more...

From here.

I have a *REALLY* addictive personality. For example, a few Christmases ago, a friend and I (this is our little secret) became obsessed with white chocolate Cadbury fingers. When I say obsessed, as in, we hunted them down in every super market we visited and I must've eaten about a trillion of those little pieces of white chocolatey yummies. Now, just the thought makes me feel a bit queasy. I ate so many, that I think I reached the set lifetime quota for an adult female.

This is true for many things. Nutella for example. I don't really like Nutella *collective gasp from the European continent, je sais*. I don't have crepes with Nutella, I don't eat toast with Nutella. I pretty much dislike the majority of hazelnut flavoured food stuff. However, about a year ago, for some unknown reason, I bought a jar of Nutella, unscrewed the lid and picked up a spoon. Approximately 7 jars later, I'd had enough. Again, can barely think of Nutella at the moment without feeling a teeny weeny bit of nausea.*

However, one of my few habits obsessions passions, that is here to stay is: SHOPPING. I love it. I can't help it. I could shop shop shop till I drop and still find new and more exciting things to "aim" for. I'd say I mastered shopping sometime between 2007 and 2010 - when I was living in Central London and Oxford Street was my best friend. I surprised myself once (ok I was actually proud) by noticing a woman's shoes on the Tube, guessing they were from Office and then confirming that my guess was indeed correct (and, of course I got them in my size, what do you take me for, an amateur?). 

I got that good.

I spent *a lot* of money on shopping during my time in the UK. Of course, it doesn't help when you work in the City and everyone around you looks like as if they're auditioning for "Suits". My wardrobe grew, and I am not ashamed to say that I loved and still love all of my clothes. Every piece, I bought after falling in love with it. Boy do I have a lot of capacity for love!

Anyhoo, when we moved to Jordan, I had to be very choosey about the clothes that I brought with me. Louis and I limited our luggage to 3 suitcases...between us! The rest of my clothes are neatly packed away in leafy Hertfordshire. Every once in a while, I wish I had a virtual wardrobe, you know, like the one that Cher had in "Clueless"? Well, I would love if someone would invent a virtual closet like that. Better yet, a wardrobe where I can look into my closet back in Sunny England and get my clothes delivered to me here...I guess kind of like a Narnia-wardrobe situation (and they used it to live as royalty - silly people!). I know it sounds crazy. 

The truth is, I miss my clothes. As in, every once in a while, I get the feeling you get in the pit of your stomach that you get for home sickness, but for my clothes, shoes and bags. 

Living in Jordan has made it easy for me not to go all cray-cray on buying clothes. First of all, the clothes here are like 1.5 - 2 times the price they are back in the UK. Sure, I can go find outlet shops, but that will just mean I re-start my addiction ahem, talent. Secondly, and this may be a controversial point, I feel that living in Amman kind of suffocates any expression through fashion that I may have. While back in England my go to daily work outfit was a dress, tights and waist belt, I haven't worn tights in God knows how long. And I don't intend to. I get enough hassle when I wear jeans, let alone "show" some leg. (feel free to read more here)

Going back to my original point, of having an addictive personality, I recently spent a week in Dubai (read: credit card havoc) where I allowed myself to go and buy a few essentials. I went to the mall on my second day there and, after buying a couple of tops and a pair of shoes, I calmly informed my brother that I was satisfied with my purchases and that I wouldn't be returning to the shops for the rest of my trip. 

He had to drive me to the mall 3 more times after that :D 

Love,

Sx

*current obsession is Butterscotch pudding (American definition). I give it 3 weeks.

**I'll post a separate entry with some of the things I bought from Dubai.

There are 8 exits on this plane...

Hot stuff.

I'm really not the biggest fan of flying. Actually, I'm not a fan at all. Which is a 180 degree flip from when I was younger. You see, when I was a little itsy bitsy Saba one of the things I wanted to grow up to become was an air stewardess. 

Aren't they glamourous? They wear heels 35,000 feet above the ground. Their make up is always in place. Their hair! Pulled up into sophisticated chignons. And they were always so nice. Handing out those [let's be honest] kinda horrible puzzles that have 12 squares but only 11 pieces so you could solve them. And they are always friendly and take care of you. 

But, since about 2005, which is when I believe this random fear started, I have been terrified of flying. 

Some people don't like the sensation. Others get travel sickness. Some don't like the food. For me, I don't like turbulence. In particular. In general? I don't like the idea that I am tens of thousands of feet above the ground and can "fall out of the sky" at any moment. It's crazy, I know. But I sit there, all tensed up, wondering when we'll hit turbulence or when the plane will just fail in what is was made for. Many a flights I spent on the edge of my seat, unable to enjoy movies or food because I was petrified that "it" would happen at any moment. And sometimes I sit, paralysed, afraid of getting up and going to the bathroom - my walking up the aisle may SHAKE the plane! I mean, this borders on is madness! I wouldn't sleep, because of all of the adrenaline, and this was when I was still mainly doing 7 hour flights. Madness I tell you.

So one summer I decided to go and get some form of calming pills. A friend had told me that they use them and I thought "why suffer?". Plus, enough of grabbing random people's hands and getting asked "is this the first time you've flown?" [so embarrassing]...

So I get to the pharmacy and I tell the pharmacist "I'm terrified of flying, anything you'd advise?" 

His reply?

"Do you want something to calm you down or something to knock you out?"

*blink blink*

"uhh just something to calm me down thanks..."

?!%("£%!))*£%&

You might wonder why I didn't pick the second option. Aha! You see, not only am I afraid of flying, I am even more terrified of getting DVT and dying. Yes, I would rather suffer 8 hours of anxiety than risk the possibility of getting a blood clot due to sleeping on a plane. Even though I don't smoke and I'm not obese. Yet I resist DVT like the plague. I constantly drink water on airplanes and pee every 20 minutes because I do not want to die after I have reached my fabulous destination.*

Some flights are better than others. And sometimes I do just pass out from exhaustion and sleep through it all. Which makes me wonder why I don't just get over my fear. 

The worst times are when I'm just starting to relax on a flight and *bump* turbulence and then...

...the fasten your seat belt sign comes on...

My brain goes into overdrive. 

omgomg we're gonna hit major turbulence

omgomgomg it must be bad if the pilot needs us to stay seated

what?he's also announcing it?this is going to be bad 

My palms start to sweat. My fingers feel prickly because of all the adrenaline. My mouth gets dry. My breath shortens. My stomach does somersaults. I need to pee....can't leave my seat...Sometimes I have a little cry. It's pathetic.

My ultimate worst experience? Flight from Dubai to London. Sitting with my brother, watching movies. And we hit the worst turbulence I have ever experienced. I mean, the stewards and stewardesses were told to sit down and buckle up. And that plane was shaking. The plastic cup on our table got knocked over. The lights were dimmed (it was nighttime). Then the TVs were switched off. And as you are in your seat, shaking like a polaroid, you suddenly look forward and realise that you are in a metal barrel in the sky. I was so scared. Squeezing my brother's hand. Asking the lady next to me if she wanted to hold hands too. It's a bonding experience. For sure.

The cherry on top? When the turbulence did eventually pass, some lady a couple of seats in front of me (who, by the way, SLEPT through the ENTIRE ordeal) turned to the stewardess and said "when will the TVs be switched back on?".

I hate those people. 

Sx

*a another crazy side of me that I will share...eventually...maybe...

A tale of Ramadhan

I can't believe that it's already day three of Ramadhan! (day four by the time I hit "publish") This is the first in Jordan. In fact, the first Ramadhan in the Middle East since 2009. I'm looking forward to it. I've heard a lot of people say that it's gonna be hard, fasting till about 8pm. So I feel compelled to say, no, it's going to be fine. Especially since my current job lets me go home at 2:30pm.

You see, in 2011, the UK experienced a nice, hot summer comprising of long, hot summer days. If I remember correctly (and with a bit of Googling to revive my memory), this meant that I would be fasting from approximately 2:30am until approximately 8:30-9pm. I'll do the math for you: that's about 19 hours of fasting. 19. One. Nine. I can't begin to imagine how difficult it must be for those who have to fast longer than that.

During that time I was working full time as Legal Assistant for a hu-mungous law firm. Meaning, I was working pretty long hours. My commute was 1.5 hours (each way). And did I say it was hot, hot, hot? Knowing it would be a difficult month, I'd requested to take off each Friday from work, to help me recover from the other four days of work and get some sleep. The Universe had other plans though and I was asked to work for 3 Saturdays of that month. Luckily, I got paid time and a half so it worked out...

I digress. 

So Ramadhan started. And there are many people who will tell you "oh you get used to it after a few days". Yes, you do. If you're at home and/or get naps and/or have someone cooking/cleaning/generally taking care of house stuff. But not if you're working full time and more often than not overtime too. 

My month went something like this:

First week or so, you're tired, but you're ok, because you still have energy from the past 11 months. I managed to go to sleep around 12am each night, and wake up around 2am to eat something and have a drink. I would literally force myself to sit down and have a bowl of porridge.

By about the second week, your body is thinking..what the..?! You see, I would eat dinner at about 9ish and then I would be literally dying to go to sleep (because I had to wake up at 7am and I'd have been awake since 7am) but I had to digest the food I'd just eaten. So I would try to stay up. But not too late, because I had to wake up again around 2ish to eat and drink and generally stock up. On the days I had to work late, I would break my fast at work and just figure out the rest when I got home. And although the days were so long, there was no chance of napping. 

By these calculations I generally slept about 7, broken, tormented hours before being rudely awaken by my alarm. While at work, my Egyptian colleague and I would reminisce in the corridor about how we took coffee for granted.

By week three my body was exhausted. I was so tired that when my alarm rang for me to wake up to eat and drink, I would just dismiss it and go back to sleep. Which meant I was starving and thirsty the next day. But when sunset came along, I was too tired to have a big dinner. My body couldn't handle it anymore. My concentration at work dwindled. I would dream of swimming pools and just dunking my head in water. I was just tired all the time. My body went into a state of shock I think. (I'm no doctor so please don't quote me). 

I'm not sure how I survived week four. I guess pure adrenaline that Eid and that cup of coffee I so craved were around the corner. It was the hardest month of my life. I honestly believe that my body did not get used to it. On the contrary, with each passing day, it just became more challenging.

I'm not gonna lie. Every day of Ramadhan that year, I woke up with an intention of breaking my fast. Every. Single. Day. But it'd get to 12pm and I'd think, "oh I have 8 hours to go..." Then it'd get to 3 and I'd think..."oh I have 5 hours to go". And, somehow, I managed to do it. 

I'm not trying to boast. I just want to say, to all of those people fasting crazy hours this year, you are incredible. It's no easy task. Just think of how you'll be laughing when Ramadhan comes around in December :D 

And if someone tells you that "oh you'll get used to it" then just tell them that, until they've fasted 18 hours whilst working full time, then unfortunately, you'd rather formulate your own opinions ;) 

Sx

PS I found this article the other day, which, had I found it two years ago, I would have definitely only fasted 12 hours instead of about 19!

Either I'm Right or You're Wrong

Almost a week ago, an old family friend passed away. I am not at liberty to feel what the family do, or even pretend that I know what they are going through. Nevertheless, I feel that every time someone I know passes away, my soul takes a hit and cannot fully recover.

The scariest thing about death is its finality. In this era, this is magnified. The most simple example? Your Facebook account. There's your photo, and you're not there anymore. Your email accounts, your clothes, your papers, your life, left behind, for your loved ones to make sense of it while grieving. Maybe it's a silver lining, to be able to obsess over their matters while you grieve, complimenting the process until you find closure of some form.

Like most people, death makes me think about my own mortality. More so, it makes me think of the choices I have made and the decisions that are still pending. Particularly, battles I am fighting with myself and/or with others.

I think, as we grow older, we become more picky in what we chose. And I think there are two reasons for this: 

1 - we think we have experienced enough to know what we want in certain situations, and 
2 - we realise that life is too short to settle for anything less than what we want. 

I'm just not sure where the balance lies. I'd like to think I'm fairly chilled and go with the flow (a work in process admittedly). Then again, there are some situations where I will just not back down.

Someone recently requested that I remove something from cyberspace on account that it was "unacceptable". Um, no, I thought, your request is unacceptable - why should I bend because our opinions are not "aligned"? And their response was that it was such a silly thing that I shouldn't make a big deal out of it. Hang on, I wasn't the one bringing it up..!

But then this person reminded me of how quickly a life can be taken from us. And it just made my brain hurt. I wanted to stand my ground. For the sake of standing my ground and in the hope that standing my ground would yield better results in the long run. If I backed down, then they "win" and a precedent would be set. Should I win, the precedent would benefit me!

We're always told to be the bigger man. But I really wonder how much impact the bigger man really made in his life. Furthermore, surely the bigger man is only the bigger man if the majority agree with his viewpoint and realise he is keeping peace. Otherwise he is just seen as the one who was wrong who is finally getting in line with what's right. 

How do we decide what is important enough to stand for if the importance is subjective in the first place? Perhaps for 10 years we don't think something is worth fighting for and then suddenly decide otherwise. What then? Are we hypocrites? Do we waive the right to stand by our new opinions? Is it just human nature?

I'm not sure. I guess it's part of growing up knowing which battles to fight. I think it's important to allow yourself to be won over by other opinions so that you can enjoy life. And I think it's important to spend more energy on spending time with loved ones than trying to figure out who should back down. Especially since we don't know what is waiting for us around the corner. 

Sx

Shameless

I feel like I need to write an extensive waiver as a preclude to this post.

1. This is not a religious post. 
2. This post generalises some issues and I am aware that there are exceptions to every rule. 
3. There is no doubt that there are many positive aspects to Arab culture.
4. I understand that people are trying to change the world we live in, and I admire them.
5. I understand that actions speak louder than words and if I dislike something I should try to change it, but for the moment I want to speak.

Thank you.

I walk to work everyday. It takes me about 25 minutes and during my walk, I go down my mountain and then eventually up the neighbouring mountain to the language centre. Not many people decide to walk in Amman - taxis are so cheap and available that locals use them all the time. Of the small majority who decide to walk, only a handful are women. And only one of those is carrying a backpack and wears sunglasses. Me.

So everyday, at the same time, I make my way out of my building to head to work. And everyday, I am subjected to leering, whistling, honking of car horns, slowing down of cars and little under-the-breath remarks. Fab. Let me clear this point, I usually wear jeans (in the baking sun, just so I can limit the leering) and a top of some sort. Nothing provocative. No shiny blonde hair bellowing in the wind. No soiree style make up. No.

Here's the part that really tipped me over the age a few days ago. To go up the second mountain and toward the language centre where I work, I have to climb 144 stairs. I counted them. So picture this, I have already walked for approximately 10 minutes and received some form of harassment or another, and then I have to conquer a mountain of stairs (pun intended) and then continue walking. So, I'm already in a bad mood by the time I get to my Everest. Right so I am climbing, climbing these stairs and I'm quite close to the top when I see a man starting to walk down.

I immediately feel on guard, preparing myself for what may be mumbled. But on this particular day I'm just so tired of this nonsense (insert appropriate profanity), because that's what all this intimidation is, nonsense. So as our paths cross I hear a mumble. I don't know what he said, but I am not going to give him the benefit of the doubt. A few steps later, I turn around and wait for him to look back. Because, of course he will. And, of course he does. And I just raise my hands in despair and turn around. But you see, he didn't expect any type of confrontation.

It just riles me up. They harass you, they expect you take it without a fight or struggle and then you are expected to change your ways. Granted, some honks are from taxi drivers who think that I may need their services. But usually, they are just men who act like they've never seen a woman. In Yemen, you could be covered, naked, foreign, Yemeni, girl, teenager, woman, walking or in a car and I guarantee that you will receive attention.

Why does our culture continue to breed men who have no sense of privacy? Ultimately, that's what it's about. I should have the right to a private life, where I dress how I want (within wide perametres) and walk hand in and with my English husband. Why does everyone have to have an opinion on what you do or how you dress? Why does everyone feel that they need to give you advice and you should be grateful for it? Sometimes they're curious, which is why they stare, and I try to see that as flattery. But when I am walking up stairs and a man is muttering under his breath, probably something on the lines of what is this crazy woman doing, then I can't accept it. It angers me that they feel invincible - if they harass a lonely women, she's unlikely to retaliate. So they continue to do it because they have nothing to lose.

Should I feel sorry for these men who live in a society that makes women only attainable by marriage (rather than friendship, respect, etc)? Or should I be furious that they feel women are like pieces of meat to be evaluated? I unfortunately come from a culture where women are conditioned to obey men, where women are taught and told that they have no opinion, no worth (& if you are dubious, some women never see their dowry and never see their inheritance, worthless in the most basic form of the word) and where men tell them that they have their best interests at heart. And when we start to do what we want, to seek a more equal life, we are questioned so much so that many of us will begin to question our conviction. We begin to convince ourselves that our actions were audacious. 

And in this fashion, women in the Arab world are left behind.

Sx