Contrasts

This weekend I was hit with the stark reality of contrast. 

A friend from work invited Noe and I to a family wedding. I was over the moon excited, since I had heard Arab weddings were quite the event. The women in her family seemed to be just as excited when they heard I'd be attending and couldn't stop talking about the dress I would wear and the make-up they'd put on me. The day of the wedding, her son, a senior in college named...let's call him "A", picked us all up from work and we started the long drive to their home. 

Once we got there, I was whisked away into a flurry of make-up, dresses, and hair. When one of the women began doing my make-up, I noticed she was putting pink eye shadow on me. I cringed and contemplated telling her I was not about that life, but as I noticed the small group gathering around her as she styled me to her liking, a sudden realization hit me: this was not for me. This whole make over experience was for these women. Weddings are a rare opportunity for them to take off their hijab, put on tight dresses, and dance to their hearts content. It was a chance to enjoy themselves and their womanhood, if only for a couple hours. 

Sometime later, we all piled into a car and headed to the event location. As we drew near, the men suddenly separated from the women. I had a moment of panic, not knowing what was happening, but my friend quickly told me not to worry, the men had their own area and I would be safe with her. We entered a beautifully decorated hall with tables full of chairs. There was a small dance area and concourses of women. Women, everywhere. Just women. It was like walking into an Arab Prom. Arab women are beautiful by nature, but when you add false eyelashes, pounds of make-up, and a ton of glitter; the result is downright intimidating. The women were stunning. They were all happy and laughing and I must have met/kissed at least a couple dozen. Only a few donned the traditional hijab. I sat and zoned out as Arabic began to be spoken all around me. After about an hour, I wondered where Noe was, and when the boys would be joining us. I asked a young girl who spoke a little English when I could expect the men, and she quickly said, "No men."

My stomach dropped as I realized I would be with these gorgeous women for another couple hours with no one to talk to. The night progressed, and as my lungs slowly filled with nicotine smoke, I assured myself it was almost over. After what felt like a little eternity, we finally began to file out and as we stepped outside, I began to look for Noe. There were men everywhere, standing near the cars, waiting for the women. I saw A who waved us over, but still no Noe. When we got closer, I asked where he was. Her son responded, "He's with my dad. They're at our house. We are going to them." Her younger son drove the car, and as we piled too many people in the small sedan, A somehow ended up next to me. Men and women aren't typically seen in public together and in car seating, it's not appropriate for a man and a women to sit next to each other. I guess being here for the past month and a half has started to effect my cultural acclimation because I felt my anxiety rising as our legs touched. I tried to ignore it, and instead focused my attention on the woman next to me, whose elbow was puncturing my lung. 

After a fairly long drive, we approached a house and the car stopped. I looked around confused as everyone began to get out of the car. This wasn't my friend's house. "Where's Noe?" I asked. When everything around you is foreign, it's incredible how much you begin to value the familiar and not being near Noe was starting to worry me. My friend quickly answered, "He's coming. 5 minutes." As everyone began to walk towards the house, A stopped me. "Jessica. I have a surprise for you." His mom stopped walking and turned to me smiling. "What?" I had heard him the first time, but the discomfort I had felt in the car was slowly started to grow. He repeated himself, "I have a surprise for you, please. 5 minutes." I looked at my friend, pretending to not know what was going on. A got in the car, turned it on and waved me in. My heart sank and I began to feel my anxiety rising. "La. La." I responded, no. His mom said, "It's fine. It's only 5 minutes." He began to call from the car, "Please, Jessica. Just 5 minutes." The sick feeling in my stomach was now almost palpable. I grabbed my friend's 9 year-old daughter and said, "I'm bringing her with me." All at once, A, the little girl, and his mother started protesting. "If she doesn't go, I'm not going." I'm not sure why I was so adamant about bringing her, but I knew I didn't want to be alone with A. Finally, they agreed and as I got in and buckled my seatbelt, my friend approached my open car door window and said, "Just 10 minutes." I felt the blood leave my face as the time allotted for this "surprise" increased by 5 minutes. 

He began driving towards a small town and as he spoke Arabic to his little sister, I couldn't ignore the uneasiness I felt. Finally, the car stopped. He told me to get out, and I grabbed the little girl's hand as I followed him into a jewelry store. "If you see anything you like, let me know." I quickly nodded and sat down. He started showing me various heart lockets, most encrusted with precious stones, all the polar opposite of anything I'd ever wear. "Do you like this? This?" I responded I didn't want him to buy me anything. He told me it wasn't for me, and continued to show me different jewelry items, asking if I liked anything. I said no to everything, and didn't let go of the little girl's hand. After a while he thanked the sales clerk and crossed the street to yet another jewelry store. I felt my heart pounding as the same conversation began, "Do you like this?" I must have said no 50 times that night. The "surprise" ended up taking about an hour and a half and consisted of 7 jewelry stores, the little girl constantly pushing me towards her brother and insisting I pick something, and A saying nauseating things like, "You are the moon." "I feel happy when I see you." "Can Mormons marry Muslims?" "Will you come back to Jordan?" and "I don't care, I bought this for you."

When we finally returned to the house where his mother was, I noticed I was shaking. I was so afraid and uncomfortable with the entire situation that I could literally feel my entire body trembling. It was dark at this point, and as the car came to a stop, the little girl sprinted from the back seat. "Where is Noe?" I asked. "Oh, he'll be here soon. Maybe 5 minutes." At this point, I had began to despise the phrase "5 minutes." I began to get out of the car when he told me to wait. He said he would drive me to another house, where Noe was. At this point, the dark feeling I had felt all night was practically burning me up inside. I ignored him and began to run into the house. Once inside, I felt humiliated as I was greeted by his entire family. They were all kind and welcoming, but I couldn't help and wonder if they knew the purpose of A's "surprise." His mother smiled at me and asked if I was happy. I silently nodded. I asked where Noe was and she responded with the familiar, "He'll be here in 5 minutes." They served me food, and as I crouched near a corner to eat, I sensed A sit right behind me and begin to smoke. I wanted to disappear. 

After about an hour, I heard some commotion near the front door and I saw A's father walk in. I quickly looked behind him and thankfully, after what seemed like hours, I saw Noe. I ran and hugged him as my eyes welled up with tears. He asked if I was okay and I told him I wanted to go home. 

Long story short, I learned a valuable lesson that night. I thought I had been hurt by guys before, or been disrespected, but nothing in my life has come close to how upsetting that night was. The fact that my constant negative responses were ignored and his advances increased in aggression made me feel more oppressed than I've ever felt. When I got home, I felt so angry at myself. How had I let myself get into that situation? Why hadn't I seen it coming? Furthermore, how would we be able to accept other invitations to my friend's home? How was I supposed to continue to have a professional relationship with her?

The internal anger affected me more than I thought. The following 3 days were a blur of random flashbacks followed by bursts of sobbing that I tried my hardest to hide. Doing so, of course, influenced my mood around my internship group, and I found myself wanting both to be alone, but petrified at the idea that A could be behind any corner. 

I went to work this morning nervous to see how I would act near his mother. However, within a few minutes of arriving at the ministry, I was invited on a field visit to a women's center. I went, not really sure what to expect. I sat through a meeting with a group of men and women and after a while, one of them told me she would introduce me to their intern, so I could learn more about the center. I met Costenze, an italian whose specialty was honor killings. She sat with me and began to explain what SIGO-Jo, the center's objectives were. Their 4 main goals were to prevent 1) child labor, 2) human trafficking, 3) gender-based violence, and 4) early marriage. 
I was so impressed with the entire atmosphere of the center, and as she began to talk about women's rights, I felt my heart swell. She spoke of oppression and harassment as not only inconsistent with the teachings of the Quran, but as a violation of human rights. The center's goal was not only to give women the chance to do great things, but have the right to choose.  I couldn't help but reflect on my experience this past weekend. Buying someone jewelry isn't a bad thing. Telling someone they are beautiful isn't a bad thing. But, stripping away their choice to accept the aforementioned, is a very bad thing. A had taken away my right to choose, and my power to control my environment. This weekend was important, because it solidified my stance towards women's rights.

No one has the right to force someone to do something. Regardless of whether it is a good or bad thing. I'm grateful I experienced what I did. I hope I'll remember what I'm feeling and strive to never make someone feel this way.