Cherchez la Femme

P R O L O G U E

If I win the game of love – you are mine.
If you win – I am yours.
— Arabic proverb

written in 2003 after visiting OMAN

Since I don't speak Arabic very well, I translated the wisdom from English—and unfortunately, English does not make the grammatical distinction (understand: gender) between man and woman that Czech or Arabic does. This proverb could very well (and probably does in the Arabic original) be spoken by a man — but for today's story about Muslim women in the Middle and Near East, this translation suits us just fine. Make no mistake:  Arab women are no angels.

"Sabah al-kheir, Izmi Jana" — صباح الخير، إزمي جانا   meaning "Good morning, my name is Jana" — I politely intrude with a smile toward three young Omani girls (perhaps sisters?) walking, beautifully dressed, across a vast, empty, dusty square on their way to the mosque. The scene unfolds in a picturesque village called Quriat, about two hours' drive over mountains and desert from Muscat. The girls are heading to the last Ramadan prayer, for today is the end of the fasting month. The sun is setting, casting warm colors on their stunning robes and chocolate-toned skin.

I stand in the middle of the square like a Martian — in a pink hat, holding a tripod in my right hand, and with my left hand, facial expressions, and even my feet, continuing the conversation. Because that's as far as my Arabic goes. I try to stop the girls (which I succeed in doing) and use this moment for a photo session (which I fail at). The girls are curious, they understand what I mean, but they refuse. They glance toward the mosque, checking whether their brothers or father are spying on them. Occasionally they flick their eyes toward Paul, who is standing a few meters away pretending not to exist.

After about fifteen minutes of what is more emotional persuasion than insistence, they agree to stand as models for two quick shutter clicks. I ask them for their address so I can send them the pictures (how naive — the houses in their village do not have postal addresses) and so they write something in Arabic on a scrap of paper. As I later discover, they wrote that their hobby is working on the school computer.

The trip was well worth it.
We're taking one last stroll along the waterfront and dealing with hordes of kids (mostly girls), who have absolutely no issue with being photographed. They're also beautifully dressed.
I call them little rascals.

They follow us boldly, clearly enjoying being the center of attention. And why not? Let them have their fun now—soon enough, once they get their first period, it's the beginning of the end: a life of restrictions, privacy, and constant supervision.
Let them enjoy the freedom while they still can. 

"The whisper of a beautiful girl carries farther than the roar of a lion."

it is described in this  story  

We are back in OMAN                    

E P I L O G U E

The souk is one of the few places in the Muslim world where even men can safely approach women without fear of punishment. What fascinates me most about Eastern bazaars is the display of women's lingerie and nightwear. It is very sophisticated, certainly far more seductive than the nightgowns available in Europe, which more often resemble tents.

So girls, women, if you want to set your lover ablaze, go shop for wild night robes in Oman or Syria.

Veiled women sift through the provocative lingerie on display, while the eyes of passing men fixate, vividly imagining how the woman before them might look in that daring red piece. 

As my happily married colleague Khadim  — also originally from an unnamed Muslim country — told me yesterday the sight of veiled women drives him wild. If he steals even a glance (an innocent one, he claims), his world tilts, the intensity so strong, as if the woman poured everything into that one forbidden moment of connection, and he keeps asking himself: "What does she want from me, by Allah?" 

(He, of course, blames the woman. She sows the seed of the Devil.) 

I must add that Khadim has an equally captivating gaze — and for a man over 50, he's very attractive. (And I find myself asking, too: what in God's name does he want from me? And yes, often it becomes clear. It's something necessary for the project we're finishing — unfortunately.)

Khadim also admitted that he feels the energy of a veiled figure, and can recognize a woman "with whom devils sew mischief." And, he says, there are many of them! And I suspect he has no idea what goes on inside the hammams...

I have to tell you: it's much harder to keep a man in check in Arab countries than it is, say, in Cuba. In Cuba, some of the most beautiful people I've ever seen — a mix of all races, all slim and free. But there, they're totally exposed; of course it's hot, and many have a lot of African blood. So fantasy has little work to do — everything is served up in full view.

In an Arab souk, though… all the senses are on permanent alert. Even an "ugly" woman has a chance to cause a sensation among the crowd of men if she knows how to steal a glance and smell irresistibly. A flirtation at the highest level.

Women, if you have crooked teeth, a hooked nose, or any feature you think holds you back — and if it's hard for you to flirt with men and make them breathless — go to Arabia, put on a loose robe, accentuate your eyes. Give yourself that indulgent journey; it will feel sweet. Don't forget to put all your desires into that furtive look.

So, I think maybe these Muslim men know what they're doing when they want their women entirely swathed in black cloth. 

"The Almighty Allah created sexual desire and divided it into ten parts. He gave nine of them to the woman and one to the man."
– Ali ibn Abi Talib, founder of Shia Islam

Footnote:

"Cherchez la femme" is a French phrase that literally means "Look for the woman", and in Czech (and many other languages), it is used with the meaning "Behind everything, look for a woman."