Emily Majka on Gender and Islam in Syria and Egypt

By: Emily Majka

January 6, 2007

For my second letter from abroad I wanted to compare two Arab countries in which I have spent roughly three and four months respectively: Syria and Egypt. At the suggestion of my former Arabic teacher, Margaret Nydell, I spent this past summer in Damascus, Syria improving my Arabic at the University of Damascus. As a graduation requirement for Arabic majors in the college I also spent the fall abroad in Cairo, Egypt studying at the American University of Cairo. Syria and Egypt can at times seem quite similar: both Arab, Muslim, each budding with political liberalization and each facing development issues such as pollution, poverty, and lack of healthcare. Yet, as my good friend, current Master of Arts in Arab Studies student, and Syria co-explorer Victoria Zype once told me, "The countries of the Middle East are tremendously different. Just because you lived in Syria does NOT mean you know the Middle East." I have come to agree.
Damascus is home to one of the most glorious monuments to Islam, the Ummayyad Mosque. Some say that the Ummayyad Mosque is the third most important mosque after those at Mecca and Medina as it holds the head of Hussein and a shrine to John the Baptist. The mosque is gorgeous with smooth marble floors, spluttering fountains, and gleaming gold decorations. Apart from its enormous religious significance as a Shi'a pilgrimage site, the Ummayyad Mosques is tremendously important for the country's budding tourism industry. While Syria remains literally and metaphorically blacklisted by Americans, every summer Damascus draws in throngs of religious tourists from the countries of the Persian Gulf who want to visit the mosque and escape the soaring temperatures of their home countries.

The effect of the large influence of Muslims from the Gulf countries results in Damascus seeming much more conservative than the Syrians alone would have it. Walking through the Souq al-Hamidiyyah in the still significant swelter of July in Damascus, I was stunned by the image of a woman wearing a black burqa that covered her from head to toe—black veil covering her hair, eyes, face, shoulders; black robes covering her body; long black gloves covering her hands; and long socks covering her ankles. It was as though she wore a long black sheet over her body without even an aperture to see her eyes. And then I laughed when she took one long gloved hand and lifted the veil covering her face slightly to feed herself an ice cream cone! From my conversations with Syrians they have told me that they themselves do not wear such conservative apparel, and that all the women sporting burquas are visitors from afar.

Yet Syria is not a bastion of liberalism. A typical Syrian woman wears a floor-length beige trench coat tightly buttoned and a white or a black hijab or headscarf that covers the hair, but not the face (think Marilyn Monroe). In my three months in Syria I met only three working women. A humorous consequence of the male-dominated society was when I asked a male friend out to dinner as a thank-you for having helped me find an apartment. Not only would my male guest refuse to let me even think of paying the check, lest it threaten his manliness, when the check arrived and I grabbed it, the waiter refused to let it go! I took him out as a thank you, and he ended up paying for it! Syria spoiled me; chivalry was alive and well in this corner: I never picked up the check, never paid for club entrances or drinks, and I never stood on the bus. Yet after all the delicate treatment, I was ready for a change, and in Egypt I got it.

From the moment I lugged my suitcase up the marble stairs to my dorm, everything in Egypt seemed different from Syria. I was greeted by female security guards who searched my bags, escorted me to my room, and supervised all the male dorm employees in their dealings with the female residents. These women had power. When I walked on the street I was taken aback by the colorful hijabs of Egyptian women. They wore lime green scarves as well as baby blue ones, designer Prada scarves and intricate lace ones. Instead of the Syrian manteau, or trench coat, I saw Egyptian women in Western style shirts and long peasant skirts wearing any color that they pleased. The girls that I met at the American University of Cairo wore high heals and tight jeans that, I was told, they had shopped for in Dubai. The campus newspaper had articles criticizing girls who wore Louis Vuitton and Coach together. Even coming from Syria, Cairo was a culture shock!

For the Muslim world, Cairo is extremely important because it is home to Al-Azhar University, which describes itself on its webpage as "the impregnable stronghold and mainspring for the sciences of Muslim Jurisprudence and Arabic Language, ever end favoring to propagate them in the various Islamic countries for the maintenance of Islam and the advantage of Muslims" (About). Women have attended the prestigious institution since the mid-1960s. I wonder if the great center of learning was a liberalizing force for the city, or if perhaps even the city had a liberalizing effect on Al-Azhar. Many of the women whom I have met, both in Syria and in Egypt, study at the highest levels of university. However, I was left with the distinct impression that in Syria women received college degrees and then became housewives, whereas in Egypt women received college degrees and then became doctors, lawyers, and educators.

It would be a mistake, however, to portray Egyptian women as free as American ones. I was often touched, harassed, or catcalled when walking down the street. Ratios of males to females in clubs were roughly 9:1, and it seemed that most Egyptian girls I knew would rather spend the weekend at home in their pajamas with all their best friends than go out and party. I am not familiar enough with Egyptian culture to know if the idea of 20 year old Egyptian girls out partying until 3 a.m. is culturally inappropriate. However, I am certain that Egypt is still a very gender-segregated culture, where women do not spend unsupervised one-on-one time with men. Premarital sex is had in the highest circles of Egyptian society, but it is kept very quiet.

It is evident that Syria and Egypt are in two very different places when it comes to accepting the Western role of women—dress, comportment, morals—in their society. It is interesting to note that the differences that I saw hardly influenced how I could act. In both countries I was an outsider who was privy to all my Western habits, as long as they were toned down. In Syria and Egypt I drank, stayed out late, and wore loose, Western clothing unless I was in a mosque, and then I would wear a hijab and a long dress—just as a woman visiting a Western church would be expected to cover her shoulders out of respect. However, by and large, I was free to act and dress how I desired. I am thankful that in both societies, different as they may have been from my own, there was still room for one little black American sheep.
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