When I landed in Amman my eyes were so wide that I thought they were going to pop out of my head. People drive like every single one of them is late for the birth of their first child, pedestrians routinely play Frogger with the maniac cars, stores are packed into every nook and cranny of a block, and vendors lounge on the sidewalks taking long pulls of their cigarettes. In short: there’s a lot to take in. Even though I’ve been here for two months, I have not stopped my intense observation but rather have narrowed my watching; I’ve focused on the women.
Walking the 20 minutes from the south end of campus to the main gate everyday is like swimming through a sea of hijabs. I am at least a head taller than all the other women, so I tend to focus on the bobbing brightly covered heads surrounding me. Some are electric blue with big white flowers, some have fringe, some are silk, some wear adjoined black niqabs, and there are even one or two in the full black burqa.
Even though, or perhaps because, they are all similarly covered, their personalities shine through in their choice of hijab and their often-matching bags and shoes. I love looking at the women here because as irrational as it may be, I feel as if we have an instant connection. Despite being worlds apart I know that they alone can sympathize with me the most here, and sometimes I can almost guess their thoughts. They know what it's like to be honked and hollered at, to be harassed daily, to be constantly aware of your modesty, to always be on guard.
I am, unfortunately, not the only one intensely watching the women. Men young and old unabashedly stare, their heads literally twisting to follow the women, yours truly included, as they walk by. The man laugh, whistle, ask you to come home with them, or even to marry them. If they’re in a car they flash their lights, honk, lean out the windows, and yell. No one is immune, no matter what they are wearing.
When I find myself glancing at the hemline of my skirt when I get singled out and wondering nervously “Is this too haram [forbidden]?” I have to force myself to remember that even covered women, such as my Arabic professor, get harassed. Alhamdulillah (Thanks be to God) that the harassment has been strictly verbal thus far, but even verbal harassment has its effects: I, and many of the other girls, American and Jordanian, refuse to walk alone at night and avoid it when possible during the day. Words, just words, threaten my security and heighten my sense of vulnerability.
But the women here are fighting back. On my university campus a group of female students from an "Introduction to Feminism" course made a video about the daily harassment on campus. Sadly the female professor of the course was fired because of the video, but petitions for her reinstatement, and for the curbing of harassment on campus, have popped up.
Even the older generation of women fight back. My host mom is a single working mom of four who is fiercely independent and even more fiercely protective of her three daughters. On a recent evening walk through the neighborhood she and my two oldest sisters regaled me with stories of how my approximately 5' 3" tall host-mom very publicly confronted a man who had inappropriately touched her oldest daughter. She cornered the man and then yelled at him to ensure that the whole street knew what he had done.
One afternoon I sat outside a café eating lunch when a Muslim woman walked by, completely covered in black from head to toe. She even had her eyes screened. But my eyes were drawn to the flash at her dress’ hemline: underneath she was wearing hot pink, bedazzled suede mega-heels. She embodies the women here. They are so much more than the stereotypical view of the demure Arab women covered in their modesty. Underneath what may seem like an impersonal exterior they are passionate individuals not to be objectified. And they fight back.
> For more information about the video made at the University of Jordan
> Petition to reinstate the female professor who encouraged the video
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