Part Two
Customs
Introduction to “Customs”
“Customs” has become a separate part of the book not because my notes come from a journey to a different part of the world, but because the style in which they are written, as well as their focus on local customs, rather than impressions, has been a dominant factor.
The customs described have been the result of a two-week’s journey to Dubai, a modern and pretty international city in the United Arab Emirates, where Victor conducted a ten-day course on adaptive technology. Since during the entire stay we lived in a hotel, my description of customs should not be treated as a reflection of customs of people living in Dubai. They should rather be thought of as snapshots, fragmented and incomplete pieces of information about people living in Dubai. These snapshots, moreover, are not taken from any travel, ethnography or anthropology book, but are the most sincere copy of what I’ve heard from others or what I’ve experienced.
CUSTOMS
Monday, Nov. 5, 10:00 a.m.
As the plane was taking off from the airport in Amsterdam, it was, to my surprise, going backwards for some time, before finally going in the forward motion. What did that mean? Was that a journey backwards in time and space? And which is the world that is moving backwards and which is the one that moves forward? The Arab world in relation to the European civilization or the other way round? No fixed ideas present themselves yet, except for the vague notion of our—Western--relative darkness. I am saying “relative,” because we are, I truly hope, far from Joseph Conrad’s depiction of the African as well as Western civilization of “Heart of Darkness, ” we are, at least, not colonizing other nations anymore, and hopefully are not as powerful so as to utterly change the political and cultural system of the non-Western countries.
Considering the cultural developments, it is hard to determine which civilization is “backward” and which is “progressing.” When “One Thousand and One Tales” as well as all the descriptions of great cities with architecturally magnificent palaces and rich Persian carpets come to mind, it is hard to call the Arab civilization backward, and it is hard to deny the cultural heritage of the non-Western world. Nowadays, however, many of these beautiful places do not exist anymore, or are nothing more than tourist attractions, while most of the population lives in the poor villages. It is, therefore, hard for a Westerner of modern times to realize the greatness of these places.
But despite all my vague presumptions, I realize that it is hard to talk about the Arab world as a whole, since it is quite vast, extending from the larger part of Africa to many countries in Asia as well as small areas in Europe. It should, therefore, be considered inappropriate to generalize or judge the Arab civilization as a whole with regard to any matter. The “Arab world“ brings to mind the “Oriental world,” the term Edward W Said defines and criticizes so much. Said claims that Orientalism is the term that has been applied to all countries which may have been less known to the majority of Europeans or Americans in the last four centuries. It has embraced, therefore, countries so distant in geography, culture and language, countries like China and Palestine, Jordan and India. In his book entitled “Orientalism” Said writes:
As a system of thought about the Orient, it always rose from the specifically human detail to the general transhuman one; an observation about a tenth-century Arab poet multiplied itself into a policy towards (and about) the Oriental mentality in Egypt, Iraq, or Arabia. Similarly, a verse from the Koran would be considered the best evidence of an ineradicable Muslim sensuality (p. 96).
I fully agree with Said that “Orientalism” or the “Arab world” consists of thousands of tribes, nationalities, as well as ethnic groups, cultures and religions. Throwing them all together to the same, general scheme of ideas only because they all fall under the category of “vaguely known” is not justifiable. I have to admit, that I feel ashamed when I write about the Arab world, because I realize that by doing so, I too have gotten used to the “Arab world” as a convenient substitute for any part of the world which is Muslim, or which speaks the Arabic language, without bothering to make any further distinctions. This term has been, without reflecting upon it, thoughtlessly reused throughout my education and in the media.
In such circumstances, I can only open my mind to the new, more specific outlook on the countries of the Gulf Region and treat them as a small part of the “Arab world,” rather than make any general conclusions about Arabs, based on my encounter with people from that region. In the meantime, I probably should treat the backward motion of the plane only as a condition necessary to correctly position the plane before taking off and flying towards our destination.
***
When I enter a country for the first time, I try to imagine a newborn baby, who has no idea how a society functions, oblivious to the distant future, when he/she may grow up to be its most active and respected member in the years to come. Even the basic behaviors are learned from the closest environment of the baby. When I enter a country for the first time, I may have read something or heard something about the culture of a given country. It does not mean, however, that I have experienced the culture I am about to plunge into. I cannot presume that whatever is appreciated or tolerated in the Western culture will be perceived in the same way outside the Western world. Thus, it is extremely useful to have a chance to first observe and imitate the customs of a given culture, before unknowingly abuse them.
Keeping that in mind, we have met Ali, our host and boss, at the Dubai airport. We discovered that when Ali addresses himself to Victor, he really means the two of us. Similarly, when his wife, Lamya, addresses herself to me, she often implies the two of us. We have also watched the waiter serve the coffee first to Victor and then to me. It was a strange, but not a humiliating feeling. It was a realization that there is really nothing wrong if things are done in a different way, the way one was not used to do them. Indeed, what is the difference if the coffee is first served to the guy and then to the woman? None, in my view. First of all, the coffee will have the same taste for sure, ignorant to the fact to whom it is served first. It is, after all, not mixed with any poison after it is served to the man. And then if one forgets all about the “gentleman and gentlewoman” notions coming from the West, one feels totally at ease with not being served first.
Tuesday, November 6, 9:08 a.m.
The course was supposed to begin at nine o’clock today, but since there is only one out of three morning participants present, there is some additional time to set up all the equipment, which does not seem to work properly when it is expected to.
We found out a very interesting custom that still prevails in the modern Arab culture of the Persian Gulf Region. As we were taking the elevator, Ali complained about his wife who liked to call him too often, just to check what he was doing. In most situations, I would take no notice of such things. It was the answer to Victor’s joke that after all, he [Ali] chose the wife for himself that made me listen. When he replied not in the affirmative, I was stunned. I knew that arranged marriages were still a part of tradition in some countries, i.e. rural China, but I have not met any arranged-marriage couple until now. So the idea, although horrifying, seemed very distant, as if it only existed in books and films, but not in reality. Only then did it really materialize, and one of my beloved fragments from the Chinese classic, “The Dream of the Red Chamber” immediately came to my mind:
Truth becomes fiction when the fiction is true,
The real is unreal when the unreal is real.
The other “unbelievable,” and “unreal” thing that has become “real” is the fact that guys usually do not shake hands with women. It is one thing to hear about it, and the other to experience it: the second participant, a lady, who has just arrived shook hands with me. Victor was about to do the same when Ali stopped him and shook hands with him instead. This looked comical. Poor Ali, I hope he did not feel like a woman! J
A “fiction” that did not change into “truth” was Ali’s remark that since we are supposed to feel like a part of his family now—I was to be his sister--I should not feel ashamed to change my clothes in his presence. This was, until now, the only time I had to tell someone that I wasn’t brought up that way and so it would be hard for me to change my behavior now. I felt, on the one hand, like an old, conservative witch who conforms to the rules of her own youth, which has vanished long ago. In my mind’s eye, I saw Asia described by Rider Haggard in his book inspired by adventures in Africa. Asia was a terribly old woman, thousands of years old, whose body was so wrinkled that there was no space on her body that could wrinkle or shrink in the future; she was mean and terrifyingly ugly.
On the other hand, I just could not feel like his “sister”, first because of disgust, and second because it seemed funny how the manipulation of words, i.e. “a woman-stranger” versus a “sister” can change the interpretation and probably implementation of the Arab rules related to teachings of Koran.
Thursday, November 8th, 9:30 a.m.
It is a queer feeling to see men and women all dressed up in traditional Arab clothes—men in long “dresses” and women in chadors and hair covered with “hoods” or scarves—and use computers with speech, the top edge of technology. But it is not only in the classroom that one can meet people dressed so traditionally. We visited, for instance, a company that offers the widest range of internet services in Dubai where, having exited from the glass elevator we saw a strange view in front of us: there was a countless number of computers standing on wide, white computer desks. Behind the computers, however, one could hear thin and shy voices of women, dressed in black chadors that covered their body and hair. Despite the fact that the voices were shy, they could all speak fluent English, an international language of the 21st century. Closing one’s eyes, therefore, would suffice to place these women in any part of the Western world.
At night, Dubai looks like Manhattan: it is full of lights and high, modern buildings that serve as offices and hotels. The buildings are not as high as those in New York, but they look more modern and pretty. They shine with clean, white and ecru walls decorated with vases of blooming flowers. Despite modernity that shined everywhere on the surface, I was told by an English lady, that the local women are still quite discriminated here, i.e. at government schools where they teach. Discrimination is present even here, in Dubai where there is a lot of foreigners and where it seems that there is more tolerance and less prejudices. Unfortunately, it is impossible to just close one’s eyes in order to feel as if one were treated like in the West.
Saturday, November 10, 8:10 p.m.
Even though today is Saturday, it feels as if it were Monday because Friday in the Arab world is equivalent to Sunday in Europe. Never have I felt so strange on a Saturday—it is hard to convince oneself that a new week begins on a Saturday. We will sweeten the beginning of the week with the sweets that Lamya has prepared.
But before we do that, I must recount our, pre-weekend, (Thursday) “business dinner.” In the hours preceding the dinner, I recalled the party that one of the French painters had thrown in the 1912 in Paris. It was an “Oriental Party” where everyone had to be dressed like a mystical or savage figure from the then-fashionable but largely misrepresented Arab world. In my mind’s eye, I could see the guests dressed in multicolored clothes and, not without pleasure, I dressed myself all in black, except for a pastel blue neckerchief. The image of the 1912 party was haunting me until we got to the restaurant. It was an elegant Italian restaurant located at the sea side. It was lit with candles and frequented by elegantly dressed guests. Half subconsciously, I looked around, but could not spot a single oriental-looking princess, nor did I see the Roks, colorful birds who laid huge eggs on the rocky and deserted islands. And finally, the music had no Arabic elements, but resounded with melodic and so familiar to the European ear Italian songs.
What has, however, brought me back to the Arab reality was a certain Mr Arab’s salutation “Hello Victor.” It is true that I have, in a way, gotten used to the fact that men did not great me here directly; but because this time it happened in a place that did not retain any Arab elements--culture-wise, decoration-wise, etc--it seemed like an out-of-place behavior. Because they have chosen to take us to a European restaurant, somehow, it was hard for me to realize that, after all, they are in their own country, they observe the customs with which they were raised, no matter in which restaurant they decide to have a meal. What is most important is the fact that I could talk to anyone with whom I wished to at the table.
I observed with a big disappointment, however, the behavior of the two other Arab women who went with us to the restaurant. Most of the time, they were just talking quietly between themselves and Lamya, who came with Ali, exchanged with him only a couple of short remarks. And the table reminded me not of a chessboard, like it would have in Europe, where a guy would sit next to his girlfriend, and the girlfriend could sit next to a guy again, and so on, but of an imperfect Tao sign, where the white would represent the masculine element (men are here, after all, dressed all in white), and the black would represent the feminine one, as women dress traditionally in black here. Thus, the black and the white parts were totally separated, without any permeation. That is where the image of the Tao gets imperfect. The “ordinary” Tao always has an element of black on the white background and vice versa. Unless one would consider the quiet and short conversation between husbands and wives as a bond, a permeating element.
I cannot be sure whether it was the enchanting breeze that blew constantly from the sea, or one magic word that made Mr. Ignorant—the one who said “hello” to ‘us’-- a little less ignorant of the feminine society. In case it was the former, there is no better way then influencing him by letting him live close by the sea side (…). In case it was the latter, the magic word was simply a “PhD”! “So what field would you like to focus on in your dissertation?” he asked. “Anthropology,” I replied. “Ah, anthropology! That is a hard subject to study.” Yes, Mr Ignorant, you see, a PhD is now a perfectly achievable goal for the feminine brains, I thought to myself. Maybe a good way to make sure that there is not too many of such Misters left is to encourage women to go on the streets of Dubai and shout “PhD! PhD! PhD! on the top of their voices.
Sunday, November 11th, 12:30 p.m.
It turns out that the powerful Allah is not so merciless, pitiless and cruel as he is sometimes believed to be. Muslims are supposed to pray five times a day, that is, when they hear a loud voice of a muezzin calling them for prayer. In the morning, I was told by one of my Arab girlfriends, he convinces people that prayer is better than sleep. But of course, this is not convincing for everybody in the vast Arab empire, so Allah allows them to pray later, with a difference that it “counts less.” In other words, a late prayer is better than no prayer at all, but it is not as good as the prayer on time, my friend had explained.
And Allah allows the women--when the men are not present or are very familiar with the women (i.e. are their husbands)—to uncover their hair and not to wear their black overcoats. They can then show their stylish and colorful dresses and uncover their beautiful long hair, usually hidden behind the scarf.
Allah is so good and merciful that he allows them not to pray during their menstruation period. The irony of it is, that many women pretend they are praying to the merciful and understanding Allah, so as not to let the whole family know about their current condition. Isn’t Allah the luckiest God in the world then? He tells women that they cannot pray to him and they still do? And how many men could exert such power over women?
Another irony is, that many women pray for men, so that men stay with them, love only them, etc. So, the precipitous relationship between men, women and Allah is not easy to dissipate; it goes on and on for ages of ages.
Friday, November 16th, 12:30 p.m.
“Ramadan Mubarak!”, wishes of a happy Ramadan, were on everyone’s lips yesterday, accompanied by the sounds of incessantly calling cell phones and SMS messages announcing the beginning of the holiday and piling up into thousands of good wishes. Since I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday, I will wait until six in the evening to have the next meal, just like all Muslims here. I confess I bent the rules a little bit and drank some coffee, so my fasting is partial. Still, I hope to at least try to understand how they feel when they fast. Besides, I do not want to belong to any religion anyway. Therefore, I do not believe that not drinking the coffee would purify me of my sins. Actually, the chief reason the Muslims fast is, as we have learned, not the purity of soul (or stomach), but a need of feeling like the poor people who cannot afford to buy their food feel. But then, nowadays, to my advantage, many poor people can afford to buy a cup of coffee now and then, so, in a sense, I can still feel like one of them. Besides, in about five hours I will indulge myself in eating a traditional, hearty dinner, which is supposed to commemorate the beginning of the Holy Month of Ramadan. My feeling of being poor, therefore, is a very temporary to begin with. I wish everyone were in my comfortable situation (…).
But the most awkward feeling that I experienced happened still before the announcement of Ramadan. We went to the Association for the Blind, located just outside Dubai, in a town that was described by Arabs themselves as “a very conservative part of the Arab Emirates.” Unfortunately, I cannot describe how the Association for the Blind looked, since right after Lamya and I crossed the threshold, we were led, away, along with a women who was a member of the association, to a separate room, while Victor was shown the place. I must admit, however, that we were offered a nice Arabic coffee with spices.
In the room I felt a little like in jail. It was a “mental jail”, rather then the “physical one.” We could, after all, open the door of the room and peep outside. We could not, however, leave the room until the same man that served us coffee came to fetch us. An image of the Sultan’s palace that I have seen in Morocco appeared before my eyes: the palace had a courtyard where all the wives and concubines lived in their cells, while the sultan had the palace all to himself. I saw a prince from the foreign lands visiting the palace while I, the princess, had to converse with the wives of the sultan, in order to show respect to the customs of the place. During the conversation I found out that Lamya was not fond of this custom either. She was originally from Palestine and raised in Jordan and has not been treated in such a way in her country. Also, it turned out that this particular custom had to be obeyed due to the fact that we were only three women in a big group of men. It was, according to the custom, necessary to separate us. The local women could, according to the custom, meat with other women in public places, go shopping together, etc. They could not, however, meet with large groups of men. At last, when the foreign prince finished visiting the palace, he came back to me and, to my joy, treated me like a local woman… from Europe.
After the visit to the association was over, we were invited for dinner during which the atmosphere were utterly transformed. Having left this conservative place, we went to a restaurant on a boat, anchored somewhere in the bay. The boat was rocking gently. We were sitting on the main deck, and thus had the full view of the bay, with a lot of tiny lights coming from boats, restaurants and hotels. One could also feel the breeze coming from the sea. Our conversations and laughter were carried away for many unforgettable moments, carried away by the breeze and amplified by the lights. The boat was rocking gently. How could we not enjoy such an evening!