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I do live in a very multicultural city, although it has taken an international resort (not even some exotic third world country,) for me to feel and take notice of such differences. As one of a few, maybe three or four Australian couples and very few Anglo-Saxon couples, I quickly experienced things I haven’t before.
My first attendance to the buffet breakfast in a stunning, open dining space, overlooking the infinity pool and ocean, I was struck by the number of woman in burqa’s, full length black cloths covering every part of them except for their eyes.
In the humid heat of thirty eight degrees, and amongst a “beach holiday” setting I thought it was appropriate to wear my bikini under my sheer beach dress. All of sudden though, I was made to feel very vulnerable, inappropriate and almost offensive.
As I stood in line to help myself to a serving of muesli, I was waiting behind a man serving his wife in a burqa, once done, rather that walking off, he stopped, turned and faced me, staring into my eyes (with what I perceived to be) such hatred and disgust, I looked away and felt a number of emotions very quickly.
Now I am the first to admit that I am a sensitive person, and I do take things personally, although I would say one of my strengths is understanding the process of communication, I can read people very well. He had judged me, maybe even assumed I was worthless, that I should be ashamed for the way I was presenting myself, for my bare legs, arms, face, for my blonde hair and blue eyes.
In my teenage years I was absorbed in books like “Princess“ and “Not without my daughter,” tails of the horrific, barbaric ways the Islamic countries like Saudi Arabia treated and perceived woman, so maybe these were the inspiration for my thoughts at the time.
I continued to see him and many others like him throughout my holiday, staring at bewilderment at my exposed skin. If I did catch their eye there was certainly no warmth only contempt.
You could argue I am being hypocritical, I am making these judgments and assumptions of these men with no facts to prove this. But there really was no common human interaction with them at all. With other guests from other cultures (even the Chinese who are not known for their manners), a nod, a smile, a “good morning”, opening of a door, just an acknowledgement through the most basic body language was expressed towards me.
Being in a predominantly Muslim country even the staff addressed my partner rather than me. I don’t mean to sound arrogant but at home I am not use to being invisible, or ever feeling less than. So this was definitely some food for thought.
What I became fascinated with was the woman of these men. Although they were covered head to toe I found them incredibly beautiful. Black, petite shadows full of mystery, exposing only their heavy made up eyes. A glimpse of a hand, skin so smooth, young and soft, would have my imagination run wild with what exotic creature lay beneath. All of a sudden I understood the sexual appeal this attire has, it really is a tease, leaving it all to the imagination.
I found them to be so much more attractive that those of my fellow western woman, sunburnt skin, greasy hair, blemishes, cellulite, muffin tops all on show for everyone to see. I felt the urge to cover my prickly legs, holiday tummy, freckled back, hair roots and create some dignity.
Although these woman sat in their burqa’s by the pool while their husbands and children swam, and sat in the lobby while their families sped around on jet skis, they almost seemed sacred to me. I imagined them to be adored, so precious they are not to be put at any risk, are covered to protect them from a world that is so harsh.
I found myself envying them, I saw them as more superior, a way of life that had more dignity and respect, not vulnerable to the sexed up world of mine. I opened my Vogue magazine and felt I was looking at pornographic images, woman so vulnerable to criticism, being objectified. Every image no longer was inspiring and empowering to me but tacky, I felt sorry for the woman of my magazine.
Or do I have this completely wrong are the woman of mystery no more than a walking womb in their world? Are they envious of the freedom I enjoy in my bikini? Should the woman in my magazines show off their legs, hair, breasts because they are so beautiful and are to be admired?
No matter if you are in a burka or a bikini as a woman you are still vulnerable to your world and whatever challenges it possesses.
