This picture was taken in the Biblioteca Alexandria. I don't know why, but we felt it was appropriate for this post.
The role of women in the Middle East has progressed since the time of 1001 Arabian Nights from being sexual objects to being...well, sexual objects. Though women's rights have progressed since
arabian days of yore, with women gaining the right to attend universities and work, in reality, the way Arab men view women's role in society is much the same as it always has been.
After just four days in Egypt, one can conclude that both Arab and foreign women receive little respect from the men that seem to run the country. Egypt, however, is very much a country of contrasts. Due to extreme wealth
disparities and extremist views, some Egyptian men act with the noblest of intentions, whereas the majority of others care nothing but to deceive, harass, and take advantage of the women around them, especially if those women are seemingly available foreigners. In a place as exasperating as Egypt can be, all one learns is to trust very little, and be extremely grateful when anyone or anything proves
trustworthy.
The problem is not just that we, as white females in Egypt, didn't blend into the streets full of covered women. It is how naked we felt when assaulted with a slew of stares, catcalls, hisses, honks, and whistles. To be ignored in the streets of a big city is a luxury taken for granted in Western countries. Even just making our way down the road to a popular local park, for example, we were met by honks from nearly every passing car. Admittedly, many of the looks we accumulated once in the safety of the park were friendly or merely curious, but most elsewhere were offensive and derogatory. It is this more than anything that made us feel so powerless and ashamed of our gender and nationality.
Unwelcome stares and exclamations were, however, the least of our problems as white girls in Egypt. Much more alarming were the men who would approach us and refuse to leave us alone or go so far as to physically molest us. In Alexandria, for example, we asked a seemingly nice young man for directions to the
Biblioteca Alexandria. Offering to lead us the short distance there, we thought we had met one of the few nice Egyptian men. When we later ran into him on the street and he proceeded to follow us around for nearly an hour, we realized how wrong that conception had been. Lying about our plans and saying we were married proved our only out from the situation. Furthermore, in the Ramses train station in Cairo, we were approached by an Arab man claiming to be a metal musician. While he seemed only to want to help us in our travels, all we wanted was to be left alone,
unobligated to yield to his desires.
Worst of all, however, is the physical harassment that, in the U.S., would be worthy of screams for help, at the very least, and most likely, lawsuits. On our first day in the city, a gaggle of young Arab boys followed us through the streets, grabbing at our breasts and other inappropriate places. To be molested by a fully grown man is one thing. To be molested by children without anyone stopping them is much more degrading. This is not to say we escaped violation by the men. On the bus from Cairo to
Nuweiba, a police officer at a security checkpoint began slyly caressing our thighs as he calmly asked for our passports. In the street, one might be able to call out for help. But when confronted by a man with a brigade of armed men behind him, there is little that can be done. It is the combination of such physical and verbal abuse that made us feel as helpless and vulnerable as children throughout much of our stay in Egypt.
It would be unfair, however, to write off all Middle Eastern men or to hold them accountable for beliefs that have accumulated for centuries. As a Norwegian man in the Alexandria train station pointed out, after all, Arab women are not available even for harmless flirting and conversation. As white women, we are perceived as the only available females around. Furthermore, Egypt is full of a number of considerate, trustworthy men, if one only looks closely enough. A man in an Alexandrian bank was more than happy to politely converse with us in our broken Arabic and point us in the right direction. In addition, the staff at our hostel, though mildly flirtatious, were nothing but helpful and respectful, even purchasing train and bus tickets at no extra cost, and offering us as much advice as possible. In the end, all these people desired in return was our friendship and, yes, our email addresses.
As we depart from Egypt and the men that run the country, we are met with mixed emotions. Today, we leave behind a country that we both love and hate.
our sitting room. we're not really sure what to do with this.
our oven exploded when the landlady turned it on. i don't think we'll be baking many apple pies.
my king-size bed in my master bedroom.
bidet.
the view from our balcony. yes, we have a balcony.
